Heist Society Read Online Free PDF Page B

spoke from the doorway of a dark room, toward the silhouetted figure in the massive bed. She saw it jump upright, felt the lights flash on, stinging her eyes. But she was far too tired to blink against the glare.
    “Kat,” Hale groaned, then fell back onto the pillows. “Funny, I didn’t hear a doorbell.”
    “I let myself in; hope that’s okay.”
    Hale smiled. “Or the alarm.”
    She stepped inside, tossed a pocket-size bag of tools onto the bed. “You’re due for an upgrade.”
    Hale propped himself against the antique headboard and squinted up at her. “She returns.” He crossed his arms across his bare chest. “You know, I could be naked in here.”
    But Kat didn’t allow herself to think about what Hale was or was not wearing underneath those Egyptian cotton sheets. “He didn’t do it, Hale.” She dropped into a chair by the fireplace. “My dad has an alibi.”
    “You believe him?”
    “Normally?” Kat asked. “Maybe.” Then she shrugged and admitted, “Maybe not.” She looked down at her hands. “But I’m pretty sure he couldn’t have been pulling a big job in Italy on the same night he was pulling a small job in Paris.”
    Hale let out a slow whistle of admiration, and Kat remembered that, for all of his resources and talent, the most dangerous thing about W. W. Hale the Fifth was that, when he grew up, he really wanted to be her father.
    “He’s still in Paris?” Hale asked. Kat nodded. He swung his bare feet to the floor and looked at her. “So . . . what? He’s got the loot stashed somewhere and a twenty-four-hour tail keeping him from recovering it and leaving town?”
    “Something like that.”
    “What’s he gonna do?”
    “Nothing.”
    Hale shook his head. “You Bishops . . . one of you won’t leave”—he cut his eyes at her—“and one of you won’t stop running away.”
    Without even realizing she’d done it, Kat pulled a card from her pocket and ran a finger across the heavy paper. “What’s that?” Hale asked.
    Kat looked toward the dying fire and felt herself tremble. “Arturo Taccone’s business card.”
    In a flash, Hale had thrown the covers aside and moved toward her. Part of Kat couldn’t help but notice that no, he wasn’t naked, but other parts—the thief part and the daughter part and the part that had seen the darkness in Taccone’s eyes— barely noticed the Superman pajama pants. “Please tell me you found that on a sidewalk somewhere,” Hale said.
    “He was probably there following Dad, but then he saw me and . . . he gave me a ride to the airport.”
    “Arturo Taccone gave you a ride to the airport?”
    Hale’s hair was sticking up at strange angles, but even as Kat said, “Nice pants,” she knew there was nothing funny about the situation.
    “Kat, tell me you weren’t alone with Arturo Taccone.”
    “I’m fine.”
    “You’re fine?” Hale snapped. “I’m telling you, Kat. Uncle Eddie says this guy means business, and Uncle Eddie—”
    “Ought to know. I know.”
    “This isn’t a game, Kat.”
    “Do I look like I’m playing, Hale?”
    Hale kicked at the fallen covers, and to Kat he looked like a man who was scared and a little boy who hadn’t gotten his way. Both. After a long silence, he said, “Well, did you at least tell him he’s after the wrong guy?”
    “Of course I did, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to take my word for it.”
    “Kat, you’ve got to—”
    “What?” Kat cut in. “Hale, what am I supposed to do? My dad doesn’t have the paintings. There’s no way this Taccone guy is ever going to believe he doesn’t have the paintings, so what? Should I tell my father to go into hiding so he’ll have a nice head start when the biggest goons money can buy start chasing him in two weeks? I don’t know about you, but the fact that he’s got an Interpol surveillance detail watching him twenty-four-seven feels pretty good to me right now!”
    “This guy really wants his paintings back.”
    “So