“Come on. We’ve got to find whoever lives here and figure out what these guys are after.”
“Don’t bother,” Macey said.
“Why…”
She looked at an oil painting that hung over the fireplace, a woman in a canary diamond necklace that was even more famous than she was. “Because she’s in the ballroom right now.”
Macey spoke slowly. “So if you were right and the necklace Mrs. Calloway wore to the ball was a fake…”
Hale nodded. “One guess where she’s keeping the real one.”
Macey peered through the vent at the place where the men were working. They were methodical as they unloaded their equipment, laying it all out on the coffee table like a surgical team preparing their tools.
There were a half dozen devices Macey hadn’t seen before but one small packet that was far too familiar.
“C4,” she whispered, and froze, staring down at the tiny but powerful explosive. “What will they do if they can’t crack the safe?”
“You don’t get it, Macey. They can’t crack that safe.”
“And what will they do?”
“Try to pry it open,” he said.
“And will that work?” she asked.
He shook his head and said, “No.”
“Can you blast into that safe, Hale?”
“What? Why are you asking?”
“Because I think we have bigger problems.”
“What kind of problems?” Hale asked, but Macey just pointed to the fireplace under the painting.
The gas-powered fireplace.
“The kind that go boom .”
Katarina Bishop had been many things in her young life. The daughter of a con man, the niece of a thief. (And once, during a particularly delicate operation in Hungary, the heir to an American ketchup dynasty.) But on that evening, she was something she had never, ever been before: helpless.
Needless to say, she didn’t like it.
“Kat,” Abby called, strolling in her direction. “Tell me about your boyfriend.”
“Well…I don’t know that he’s my boyfriend. I mean…he’s a boy. And he’s my friend. And there’s recently been the addition of kissing. But does that make us friends with benefits or—”
“Kat,” Abby snapped.
“Sorry,” Kat said. “What were you asking?”
“What is his training?”
“Oh…” And then, for an excellent liar, Kat had absolutely no idea what to say.
Abby seemed to read her face, because she inched closer and lowered her voice. “Look, I’m not a cop. And I’m not Interpol. I’m just someone who took an oath a long time ago to keep Macey McHenry safe, so whatever you can tell me…”
“He’s a con man. An inside man. He’s pretty good at short cons and street work. Picking pockets, sleight of hand—stuff like that—but what he does best is…lie.”
“Can he handle a safe?” Abby asked.
“What kind of safe?” Kat asked.
“A Scribner 9000,” Abby told her, and Kat couldn’t help herself—she laughed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, righting herself. “But that safe is drill-proof, hack-proof, and has an internal gyroscope with titanium shafts that bolt into place if anyone even breathes on it funny. Seriously. They don’t even install them in California because of earthquakes.” Kat watched the way Abby gaped at her. “Maybe I don’t know much about boys.…” Kat shook her head. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know about safes.”
“Can you pry your way into it?”
“You mean like with the Jaws of Life?” Kat thought about what Hale had seen hidden in the ballroom. “You can try, but it won’t work. Or…well…it didn’t work at the Israeli Diamond Exchange in 2009.” Kat thought about what she’d said, then quickly added, “ Allegedly . There are only two ways into a Scribner nine series. Either you hire one of the half dozen or so safecrackers in the world who can work the tumblers or…” Kat cut her eyes up at Abby, who was totally not liking the answer. “You get someone to give you the combination.” Kat drew a deep breath. “Why?”
“I think we might have a problem.” Abby looked up at the
“Don’t bother,” Macey said.
“Why…”
She looked at an oil painting that hung over the fireplace, a woman in a canary diamond necklace that was even more famous than she was. “Because she’s in the ballroom right now.”
Macey spoke slowly. “So if you were right and the necklace Mrs. Calloway wore to the ball was a fake…”
Hale nodded. “One guess where she’s keeping the real one.”
Macey peered through the vent at the place where the men were working. They were methodical as they unloaded their equipment, laying it all out on the coffee table like a surgical team preparing their tools.
There were a half dozen devices Macey hadn’t seen before but one small packet that was far too familiar.
“C4,” she whispered, and froze, staring down at the tiny but powerful explosive. “What will they do if they can’t crack the safe?”
“You don’t get it, Macey. They can’t crack that safe.”
“And what will they do?”
“Try to pry it open,” he said.
“And will that work?” she asked.
He shook his head and said, “No.”
“Can you blast into that safe, Hale?”
“What? Why are you asking?”
“Because I think we have bigger problems.”
“What kind of problems?” Hale asked, but Macey just pointed to the fireplace under the painting.
The gas-powered fireplace.
“The kind that go boom .”
Katarina Bishop had been many things in her young life. The daughter of a con man, the niece of a thief. (And once, during a particularly delicate operation in Hungary, the heir to an American ketchup dynasty.) But on that evening, she was something she had never, ever been before: helpless.
Needless to say, she didn’t like it.
“Kat,” Abby called, strolling in her direction. “Tell me about your boyfriend.”
“Well…I don’t know that he’s my boyfriend. I mean…he’s a boy. And he’s my friend. And there’s recently been the addition of kissing. But does that make us friends with benefits or—”
“Kat,” Abby snapped.
“Sorry,” Kat said. “What were you asking?”
“What is his training?”
“Oh…” And then, for an excellent liar, Kat had absolutely no idea what to say.
Abby seemed to read her face, because she inched closer and lowered her voice. “Look, I’m not a cop. And I’m not Interpol. I’m just someone who took an oath a long time ago to keep Macey McHenry safe, so whatever you can tell me…”
“He’s a con man. An inside man. He’s pretty good at short cons and street work. Picking pockets, sleight of hand—stuff like that—but what he does best is…lie.”
“Can he handle a safe?” Abby asked.
“What kind of safe?” Kat asked.
“A Scribner 9000,” Abby told her, and Kat couldn’t help herself—she laughed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, righting herself. “But that safe is drill-proof, hack-proof, and has an internal gyroscope with titanium shafts that bolt into place if anyone even breathes on it funny. Seriously. They don’t even install them in California because of earthquakes.” Kat watched the way Abby gaped at her. “Maybe I don’t know much about boys.…” Kat shook her head. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know about safes.”
“Can you pry your way into it?”
“You mean like with the Jaws of Life?” Kat thought about what Hale had seen hidden in the ballroom. “You can try, but it won’t work. Or…well…it didn’t work at the Israeli Diamond Exchange in 2009.” Kat thought about what she’d said, then quickly added, “ Allegedly . There are only two ways into a Scribner nine series. Either you hire one of the half dozen or so safecrackers in the world who can work the tumblers or…” Kat cut her eyes up at Abby, who was totally not liking the answer. “You get someone to give you the combination.” Kat drew a deep breath. “Why?”
“I think we might have a problem.” Abby looked up at the
Similar Books
Relics
Shaun Hutson
Prep work
PD Singer
Walking with Jack
Don J. Snyder
Lost in You: Petal, Georgia, Book 2
Lauren Dane
Collected Poems in English and French
Samuel Beckett
Mania and the Executioner
A. L. Bridges
Surfeit of Lampreys
Ngaio Marsh
Whispers
Erin Quinn