The Heist Read Online Free PDF Page B

look like a board of inquiry?”
    “Yes, in that they are typically made up entirely of men over the age of forty, even though nineteen percent of FBI special agents are women. But the board rarely convenes in women’s bathrooms, so I’d have to go with no.”
    “Let me repeat myself. You hit Nick Fox with a bus!”
    “I got a lot of flack from you and everybody else for letting him get away in Vegas, remember?”
    “And that made you so angry, you wanted to hit him with a bus,” Jessup said. “So you did.”
    “Yes,” she said.
    “Just so we’re clear, you and I.”
    “We’re clear,” she said.
    He nodded, satisfied. “How did it feel?”
    “Great,” she said, breaking into a smile. “
Unbelievably
great.”
    “I’d leave that part out when you meet with all those men on the board of inquiry,” Jessup said. “But don’t worry, I’ll handle them. It took five long years of dogged pursuit and investigation, but you got your man. That’s what the FBI is all about. Now put him away and claw back what he stole.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Sometime today would be nice.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Got some butterflies in your stomach?”
    “Butterflies are awfully girlie for a woman who carries a Glock, don’t you think?”
    “Okay. African killer bees.”
    “That’s more like it.”
    “Don’t sweat it, O’Hare. I’ve stared into the eye of the porcelain god a few times after a big arrest. You’re feeling the adrenaline, that’s all.” He looked around the room and frowned. “It smells nice, and there aren’t any urinals, but other than that, this isn’t any different than a men’s room.”
    “What were you expecting?”
    “A bowl of mints, maybe a tea service.”
    She turned and looked at him. “You spent three years undercover as a white supremacist?”
    “Yeah,” he said.
    “How did you live with yourself?”
    “I became an alcoholic,” Jessup said, and left the room.
    She gave herself another once-over, unbuttoned the third button of her blouse, and followed Jessup.
    Nick Fox wore a white T-shirt and polyester slacks and sat at a gunmetal gray table. He was in a lopsided chair, his hands cuffed behind his back and the chain around his ankles locked into a steel eyelet on the floor. He faced the mirror that hid the agents watching him in the next room, but of course he knew that they were there. It was like he was starring in a play and the stage lights were so bright in his eyes that he couldn’t see the audience in the darkness.
    Kate came in carrying a fat, dog-eared file, her crisp white shirt unbuttoned enough to show cleavage. He knew the show of cleavage wasn’t normal for her, and he appreciated the effort. He would have appreciated it even more if she’d popped a fourth button.
    He smiled and Kate was almost blinded by the wattage. How does he do that? she wondered. She should have worn sunglasses, she thought, like those poker players on TV.
    She sat down at the table, placed the file in front of her, opened it, and examined one of the pages. “You’re in a lot of trouble,” she said.
    “I know,” he said. “I was taken to an ER last night and I don’t have medical insurance. It’s going to cost me a fortune. Those crooks charge fifty dollars for a tongue depressor.”
    “Was your tongue depressed?”
    “Thankfully, no. It’s very well adjusted.”
    “Because it gets a lot of exercise. You’ve got to be a fast talker in your line of work.”
    “I’m a professional hand model.”
    “You’re a con man and thief, wanted on three continents,” she said. “That’s how I knew you’d be at the Kibbee. It was the first time in decades that anyone knew exactly where to find the Crimson Teardrop and a rare window of opportunity to steal it. You couldn’t resist. I was at the auction house in Santa Barbara, waiting for you to make your move before the diamond sold, but you didn’t show.”
    “Sorry to have disappointed you,” he said.
    “It’s okay,” she