Uncommon Criminals

by Ally Carter

  “Part of the family?” Maggie guessed. Kat nodded, too tongue-tied to speak. “That is a long story, my dear, and one that I will not be telling,” Maggie said simply. “Besides, I do my best work alone. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I see.”

  “I heard about Moscow, by the way. It was—”

  “Risky, I know,” Kat said, unable to bear another lecture.

  But Maggie just shook her head. Her eyes sparkled. “It was exactly what I would have done.”

  When Maggie raised her eyebrows, she appeared younger than Kat had seen her yet. Age is just a number, after all. Youth is something else, and Kat could see that there—in the middle of the con—Maggie was turning back the clock, and Kat envied her. She thought of Gabrielle’s words and wondered if she was really looking at the female Uncle Eddie. Or maybe Kat was simply seeing the thief Kat herself might grow up to someday be.

  “Personally, I love a Cézanne,” Maggie said longingly, and raised her glass again. “So I, of course, wouldn’t have given it away.”

  And just like that the spell was broken. The last few days came rushing back, and there was only one thing about the woman that mattered. When Kat spoke again, she couldn’t hide her disappointment. “You broke the rules, Maggie.”

  “There is no honor among thieves, Katarina. No matter what you might have read in storybooks.” She smiled a terribly wicked smile. “Part of the fun is getting the best of our rivals.”

  “You said Romani sent you.”

  Maggie waved the concern away. “I played the mark.”

  “You used a Chelovek Pseudonima for your own purposes.”

  Maggie pointed a finger at Kat, as if she’d just realized something. “I was once young like you—so fiery, so passionate.

  When I heard about the Henley…I was impressed. That was very nice work, Katarina.” If she expected Kat to acknowledge the compliment, she was mistaken. “And then I started hearing stories of other jobs…and I knew that you had become noble. It is an adorable look on you. It goes with your eyes. You can tell your uncle that.”

  “Uncle Eddie isn’t part of this.”

  Maggie laughed. “Well, if Eddie didn’t send you, then who did?”

  “Visily Romani.”

  Maggie laughed harder. “Well, I’m here on behalf of the Easter Bunny, so—”

  “We’re going to get it back, you know?”

  Maggie nodded slowly. There was a harsh, sudden edge to her voice when she said, “You’re going to try.”

  Rich, dense curtains blocked out the sun. It was quiet—almost peaceful—in the dim room, and Kat thought she heard her own heart pounding as she sat listening to Maggie say, “I’m very proud of you for coming here, Katarina. I would have found it insulting if you’d insisted on skulking around in the shadows as if I wouldn’t see you—as if I wouldn’t hear you.”

  “Well, as long as you’re not offended…”

  “So what would you like, dear? Ten percent?”

  Kat didn’t even do the mental math—she didn’t dare. “That’s so nice of you to offer, but I think I’ll just take it all.”

  Maggie threw her head back and laughed. “So you’re going to try…what? Birds of a Feather?” she guessed.

  “Of course not,” Kat said. “Everyone knows the French government banned the importation of peacocks in 1987.”

  “True.” Maggie frowned as if that particular development had caused her a great deal of grief on many occasions.

  “London Bridge?” she guessed, but Kat said nothing. “A Jack and Jill?”

  “Well, it is one of Hale’s favorites,” Kat managed to quip. “He makes an excellent Jill.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  Kat felt a little dizzy, watching her options fall away like the shattered panes of a broken window. She feared she might get cut.

  “So what is your play, Katarina?” Maggie poured herself another drink and sipped, her lips pursed against the crystal rim. “What is the master plan of the master thief who robbed the Henley?”

  Kat prayed that her silence would read as strength instead of weakness, wisdom instead of foolishness. Most of all, she wished she knew the answer to that very question. But she didn’t. So instead she just said, “You shouldn’t have gone after the Cleopatra. You shouldn’t have used me to do it. But your biggest mistake was using the name Romani. When this is over, you’ll know that was where you blew it.”

  “You’re good, Katarina. You really are. A bit reckless, though. And entirely too gullible. It’s a shame there is so much your family has failed to teach you. There’s so much I could teach you.”

  “The thing you’re forgetting, Mags, is even if we can’t steal the Cleopatra back, that doesn’t mean you can sell it—not before I call New York and suggest that the Kelly Corporation run a few tests on the stone they’ve got under glass.”

  “You won’t do that, Katarina.”

  “Oh, believe me, Maggie. I would.”

  Kat didn’t smile because she was gloating. It was simply the smile of someone who has made her peace with her mistakes and is prepared to live with consequences. But then Maggie joined her, a phone in her hand.

  “I do love the new technologies,” she said, smiling down at the device. “They’ve made certain elements of our profession much more challenging, don’t get me wrong, but some things…” Her voice trailed off as she pressed a button. The tiny screen was instantly filled with a small but perfectly clear picture: Marcus and Hale outside the Kelly Corporation. Then the image changed, and Kat saw Hale and Gabrielle walking into the corporate headquarters in full dress and mid-con.

  There were at least a half dozen images, but it was the final one that caused Kat’s heart to stop.

  A small park. A quiet day. Maggie brought one heavily jeweled finger to the screen and said, “That’s me. That’s you.” Finally the fingernail came to rest on the envelope in the center of the screen, passing between the two of them. “And that is you giving me the Cleopatra Emerald.”

  Maggie walked to the door and turned the key, then glanced back to the girl by the window.

  “Do think about what I said, Katarina. I’d be most happy to teach you all I know.”

  CHAPTER 23

  The tide was low off the coast of Monaco that Friday evening when the W. W. Hale pulled away from the long row of yachts that were an almost permanent part of the shore. The moon was only a tiny sliver as it rose in the distance over Italy. Everything, it seemed, was at its lowest as Kat stood in the doorway of the ship’s galley kitchen and said, “It’s over.”

  The big door on the Sub-Zero refrigerator slammed closed, and Hale turned to Kat, a look on his face that was somewhere between rage and relief. Gabrielle had a new scrape on the side of her face and ice on her knee. The Bagshaws stood together beside Simon, who was still slowly sorting through Interpol’s files—face by face, job by job.

  Kat smiled despite herself at the sight of them. “So…the gang’s all here.”

  “Hey, Kitty,” Angus said.

  “Sorry for getting in the way, Kat.” Hamish eased closer. He seemed even taller and significantly wider. She wondered for a second what he’d been eating to grow so big. “If we’d known you guys were pulling a job, we never would have blown into town unannounced and—”

  “It’s okay, guys. Really.” Kat climbed onto one of the stools that lined the granite-covered bar. It felt harder than it should have to pull herself up. “It’s over. It’s fine. I’m assuming they filled you in?”

  The Bagshaws had never been ones for overthinking, and Kat highly doubted they were going to start then.

  “Sure did, Kitty!” Hamish threw his arm around her. Angus joined from the other side, squeezing until she hurt.

  “We heard you were in Edinburgh in January,” Angus said. “But you didn’t call.”

  “You didn’t write,” his brother added.

  “Don’t feel bad, boys,” Hale said from across the galley. “She doesn’t cal
l anyone anymore.”

  Part of being a great thief means seeing what isn’t there—the hidden sensor or invisible grid, the lie a guard really, really wants to believe. So Kat knew what Hale was saying; she’d heard it on an escalator and in the backseat of a chauffeured car, on the brownstone stairs, and now, half a world away.

  “Don’t be mad, Hale.”

  “You went off script today,” he snapped.

  “We were blown.”

  “And you got in an elevator with that woman. Alone.”

  “I’m a big girl, Hale,” Kat said. “Besides, she’s not going to hurt me.”

  “We don’t know that,” Hale shot back. “We don’t know anything about her.”

  “Yes.” Kat had to laugh. “We do. I’ve known her my whole life. Sure”—she added before he could cut her off—“I met her two weeks ago, but I know her.” Kat thought about Maggie at the age of nine, pulling a diamond heist at Harrods. “I know her very, very well.”

  Angus looked at Hamish. “I hate it when Mom and Dad fight.”

  Hamish smoothed his brother’s messy hair. “Me too.”

  It was then that Marcus appeared in the room. His dark suit coat was gone, and he wore the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to just below his elbows. Kat might have joked about the display of skin were it not for the neat apron he wore and the sense of purpose he exuded as he walked to the wide stove top and took the cover from a large Dutch oven. Steam billowed from the pot, and Kat closed her eyes. Instead of the smooth cool granite, her fingers felt rough old wood. They were at sea on the other side of the world, but with one deep breath, Kat was sitting at her uncle’s table.

  The child who had never had a house felt homesick. The thief who had robbed the Henley wanted help. And the girl who’d walked away from her family business came to realize that, no matter what she did, she never could leave the kitchen.

  “So…someone stole the Cleopatra,” Hamish said, as if he couldn’t take the silence one minute more.

  His brother gave a low whistle and shook his head. “Wish we’d been around for that.”

  “No.” Gabrielle repositioned her ice pack. “You don’t.”

  “Angus,” Kat said, turning to the brothers. “Hamish, her real accent is British. Do you know her?”

  The two brothers stared, each daring the other to speak.

  “No,” Amish said softly.

  “How bad is it?” Hale asked her.

  “Bad,” Kat said. She stared down at the granite, trying to find a pattern in the specks of light and dark, but there was no sense to be found in it. “We’re blown. She knows both of you.” She pointed between Hale and Gabrielle.

  “She doesn’t know me,” Simon said.

  Kat laughed. “I think we should assume she knows everyone. It would be like…” She shook her head, tried to bring her mind back into focus.

  “Uncle Eddie,” Gabrielle finally finished for her. “It would be like trying to con Uncle Eddie.”

  “Yeah,” Kat said. “She knows…everything.”

  “Like what?” Gabrielle asked.

  “Like who we are…Like why we’re here…Like every con we could possibly run to get the emerald back…”

  “So?” Hale asked.

  “So she’s better than I am!”

  Part of Kat hoped that at least one member of her crew would exclaim, Of course not ! Another part of her presumed that someone might say, Don’t be ridiculous. But no one quoted her résumé. Not a soul mentioned the Henley.

  “We can’t do it,” Kat admitted slowly. “We just can’t…win.”

  Hamish smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Sure we can. What do you say? Pigs in a Blanket?” He leaned over the cool counter and raised his eyebrows at Gabrielle.

  “The only way I’ll get under a blanket with you is if both of us are on fire,” she told him.

  “You guys don’t get it,” Kat snapped. “We can’t con her.

  She knows all the old cons. She probably invented half of them.”

  “So we think of some new ones.” Gabrielle rose.

  “She knows us.” Kat looked at Hale.

  “So we don’t rely on us,” Hale countered.

  “She knows Uncle Eddie. I’d bet money she knows everyone we know.”

  Hale moved closer. “So we find someone she doesn’t know.”

  The ship was moving, slipping farther and farther from the shore, and yet it felt as if the whole world was watching. The kitchen was too crowded. Kat’s stomach turned, and so she kept her gaze on Hale, as if he were a solid point on the horizon that she was going to focus on until she could no longer feel the yacht rock or sway.

  “We’re going to find someone she doesn’t know,” Hale said again.

  Right then, Kat swore she wouldn’t look away for anything, but that was before she heard the footsteps, saw the shadow in the doorway, and heard the voice that asked, “You mean someone like me?”

  CHAPTER 24

  The first time Kat had seen the boy who stood framed in the doorway, they’d both been standing on a street corner in Paris. Their first conversation had been over a picked lock and a picked pocket, and Kat had had a sneaking suspicion that she was in the room with someone with a great deal of natural talent and the subsequent disrespect for laws and truth. But those weren’t the moments that came to Kat’s mind as the whole room stood staring, waiting to see what other surprises might be lurking on the other side of that door.

  “What?” Nick asked, looking at the awestruck teens. “You can’t recognize me when you aren’t leaving me in a locked gallery for the police to find?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Nicholas,” Gabrielle said, casually inspecting her nails. “We knew museum security would find you long before the cops did.”

  “Sweet as always, Gabrielle.” Nick nodded at the girl, then turned to Simon and the Bagshaws. “Fellas…sorry to barge in.”

  “I think the technical term is stow away,” Hale said.

  Nick snapped his fingers. “I think you’re right.”

  “What?” Hale looked him up and down. “No wet suit?”

  “Didn’t want to mess up my hair,” Nick said with a smile.

  And through it all, Kat sat speechless.

  “Boys, boys,” Gabrielle said, leaning against the counter like a jazz singer from the thirties. “Play nice.”

  “I am nice,” Hale said, but his voice was made of glass. “I was just about to ask our old friend Nick how Paris is these days.”

  “Lyon,” Nick corrected. “My mom’s at Interpol headquarters now.” His gaze slid sideways to Kat. “Or didn’t you know?”

  He sounded perfectly straight when he said it, and that was when Kat realized two very important things: the first was that Nick was going to keep her secret. The second was that Nick…was good. She wasn’t sure which she wanted to think about, so instead she just said, “How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough.”

  “And exactly why are you here?” Kat asked. “The last time you offered your services, I seem to remember you secretly planning to catch us all red-handed and turn us over to Interpol. Or are you out of your family business?”

  Kat saw her reflection in the windows. There was nothing beyond the glass but an empty expanse of black.

  “Maybe I switched sides.” Nick ran a hand along the granite island. “Maybe I came all this way to help you steal the Antony Emerald.”

  “It’s not the Antony,” Hale corrected.

  “Interpol sent a team to help authenticate it,” Nick told them. “It’s real, Kat.”

  “Oh, it’s a real emerald, all right,” Gabrielle said, then smiled smugly. “It’s just not the Antony.”

  “No,” Nick said. “Can’t be. The only other emerald that size is…”

  “Oh yeah. It’s the Cleopatra,” Gabrielle told him.

  “How do you know?” Nick asked.

  “We know,” Kat said slowly, “because we’re the ones who stole it.”
<
br />   Lying awake in the king-size bed she shared with Gabrielle, Kat stared up at the chandelier that hung overhead, watched it sway like a pendulum with the waves.

  When she tossed and turned, she tried to blame the sea. When sleep didn’t come, she wanted to think it was because of Gabrielle’s snoring. But when Gabrielle began to kick, Kat knew there was no use in fighting. A fully conscious Gabrielle was a force to be reckoned with. A sleeping (and possibly cursed) Gabrielle was a whole other level of dangerous, so Kat slipped from the bed and quietly toward the door.

  The phone was right where she’d left it. The number was one she knew by heart. And as she stepped out onto the deck, she realized it was early evening in Paraguay. Or was it Uruguay? It didn’t really matter, Kat thought as she stood, waiting to be able to say, “Hi, Daddy.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, and Kat laughed.

  “Nothing. I just—”

  “Kat, what is wrong?”

  “I missed you. Is missing you not allowed?”

  “No, it is allowed. In fact, it’s my preference. But you don’t exactly have a track record of preferential behavior.”

  Kat leaned against the railing and whispered, “I miss you.”

  “You said that already,” her father told her from the other side of the world.

  “Yeah, but this time I really mean it.”

  “So, word on the street is that your cousin has conned you into something with a count.”

  “A duke,” Kat corrected. “We’re—”

  “So what are you really doing?”

  “Scoping the caves around Zurich, looking for a Degas no one’s seen in sixty years.”

  She could almost imagine the smile on her father’s face when he said, “That’s my girl.”

  It was too cold on the deck, and Kat wished she’d brought a jacket, wished she’d waited for the sun. She imagined her father, tanned and tired and happy. She thought of Maggie, and for a second, considered begging for forgiveness or pleading for help, but Kat couldn’t do either. She had too much of her uncle’s pride, too little of her father’s charm. Kat was just…Kat—chasing after the past, and doing it, for better or worse, all on her own.