Six Days Before the Auction

 

London, England

 

They couldn’t go to Interpol, that much was obvious, and no one even started to suggest that they stroll through the front doors and ask to speak to Amelia Bennett.

So Kat was somewhat relieved when Marcus drove them through the center of London and opened the back door of Hale’s Bentley to reveal a small café, three blocks from the Magi Miracle Network’s office.

Inside, it was dim, and the air smelled like hot chocolate. Her fingers were cold and she wanted nothing more than to wraps her hands around a steaming cup, but all thought of chocolatey goodness went away as soon as she stepped foot in the small room near the back of the café.

“Did you find him?” Elizabeth Evans asked.

Her hair was pulled into a sleek red ponytail, but not the kind that a woman might have spent hours getting just right. No, it was the hairdo of last resort, and judging by the dark circles under her brown eyes, the rough fingernails on her right hand, Kat knew that things hadn’t improved in the forty-eight hours since they’d last met.

“Did you find the man?” Elizabeth asked again, and Kat couldn’t bring herself to lie.

“Yes. We found him.”

Something like relief crossed the woman’s face.

“Did he still have it? Were you able to get it?”

Hope is a fragile thing—a dangerous thing. It can heal and it can wound and Kat wasn’t sure exactly which fate she was getting ready to bestow on the director of the Magi Miracle Network.

“I’m afraid the answer is yes. And no.”

“I don’t understand.” Elizabeth shook her head. She sounded angry. “Either you got the Egg of the Magi or you didn’t.”

“We got the egg that was taken from you,” Kat told her. “Unfortunately, it is not an Egg of the Magi.”

She looked back and forth, from Kat to Hale to Amelia, who sat beside her, a chocolate croissant and cup of tea in front of her, untouched.

“The egg you were given—the one that was stolen—it was a fake. A counterfeit. A forgery. And not a very good one, I’m afraid,” Kat said, but the woman was still shaking her head in disbelief.

“How do you know?” she challenged. “You’re just a girl.”

“True. But she’s my girl,” said a voice behind Kat, and Kat watched Elizabeth’s face fill with shock, then confusion, then a very special brand of anger called Woman Scorned.

“You!” she shouted and lunged, but for once Hale moved between Bobby and danger and Elizabeth Evans had to claw at the air around him.

Bobby, being Bobby, merely smiled.

“Hi, Red. It’s good to see you,” he said.

The redhead clawed harder.

“Elizabeth, wait,” Amelia said and the woman seemed to remember her friend, the Deputy Director of UK Operations for Interpol.

“Amelia, it’s him!” she shouted, spinning.

“Of course it is.” Agent Bennett scanned Bobby from head to toe, as if to make sure he was still the same man he’d been when their paths had last crossed.

“So…Arrest him!” Elizabeth snapped, but Amelia merely crossed one long leg over the other and eyed Bobby skeptically.

“Elizabeth, meet Bobby Bishop. He is one of the world’s premier art thieves, con artists, and grifters. He’s also her father.”

Amelia pointed at Kat, and Elizabeth shrank back. From Bobby. From Hale. From the whole room and maybe the whole world, no longer sure that anyone could be trusted.

“What are you people playing at?” she said, looking around the room. She glared at her friend. “Why don’t you look surprised?”

“I didn’t know Bobby Bishop was behind it. But I’m not surprised. He never really surprises me anymore.”

“Oh, Agent Bennett. That hurts me. Right here.” Bobby put a hand over his heart, but Kat didn’t wait for Agent Bennett’s snappy comeback.

“I think what we’re all trying to say is that it’s complicated.”

“But—”

“Ms. Evans. Elizabeth…” Hale took her arms in his big hands, turned her slightly and looked into her eyes.

“Who are you?” she snapped, pulling away.

“I’m W. W. Hale the Fifth. I’m Hazel Hale’s grandson.”

She seemed somewhat mollified but still leery, especially when Hale went on. “I’m also her boyfriend—” he pointed at Kat. “And his…protégé. I guess,” Hale grudgingly admitted with a nod at Bobby. “And we are here to help.”

A war was waging within Elizabeth Evans, as anyone could see. On one hand she wanted to run from the small, empty café, call the cops, shout from the rooftops that one of the best thieves in the world and his teenage accomplices were running free throughout London. She wanted the world to know that Interpol was in on it.

But Hale was Hale. Blue eyes. Big smile. And that very special kind of charisma that could make a person want to believe anything and everything he said.

“Please, Elizabeth,” Amelia’s voice seemed to break the tie inside of her friend. “I think we should hear them out.”

The director pulled away from Hale, shaking slightly, but she stayed in the room.

“The egg that you were given—the one my father stole—it was a fake. And someone wanted it stolen,” Kat said, but Elizabeth just looked doubtful.

“How obliging of you,” she told Bobby, who shrugged, and Elizabeth grew colder.

“How do we know he didn’t steal the real egg and exchange it for a fake?” she asked Amelia, who raised an eyebrow as if to say it was a very good question.

“Oh, Red. Don’t you trust me?” Bobby asked.

“No!” she shouted. “I don’t.” As if from instinct, she glanced at Hale.

“I don’t trust him either,” Hale said and Bobby eased into one of the chairs, pulled off a piece of Agent Bennett’s croissant and popped it into his mouth.

“He has reason not to trust me,” Bobby admitted.

The director’s face was almost as red as her hair. “Then I have reason to kill you.”

“It was a fake,” Kat moved to cut the woman off. “I’ve seen the pictures you were given. As soon as a real appraiser came in it would have been obvious. Someone wanted that egg stolen. And they wanted the job done before you knew what you had. Or, more specifically, what you didn’t have. That’s why someone called my father and told him where to find it. That’s why someone called one of the best thieves in the world.”

Something about that made the woman recoil and turn away. When she turned back, her face was ghostly white as if some terrible fact was sinking in.

“Someone has to notify the earl,” she said. “When we lost it—when I lost it—I told myself that the end result wouldn’t impact him: he gave the egg away. But now… If we never had the real egg, then… Someone has to notify the earl and figure out where the real egg is.” She turned to Amelia. “Do you think it was stolen in transit? Or maybe… What? What is it?”

Elizabeth Evans was a good person. An honest person. And Kat kind of envied her. She also kind of pitied her. Because she was the only one of them who still had any innocence left. Which meant she still had some left to lose.

“What?” Elizabeth said. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“You’re assuming the earl doesn’t already know exactly what you were given,” Hale said.

A shocked expression crossed her face. “No. You don’t think the Earl of Greymore, one of the peers of the realm, actually wanted to give a fake egg to charity?”

She looked from at the three hardened criminals, then at the woman who may or may not have been her friend.

“Amelia, do you think the earl intended to donate a forgery?”

Amelia had to shrug. “Right now, I’m afraid there is more that we don’t know than there is that we do. Perhaps the earl is simply mad or confused, as the rumors suggest. Perhaps he has been the victim of foul play himself; as you said, the egg could have been swapped in transit or at any time while in the earl’s custody. I highly doubt he would have had it authenticated after so many years in his possession. Or maybe it is all a colossal misunderstanding. But the fact remains: that is not a genuine Egg of the Magi.”

She gestured toward the egg that Hale had placed upon the table.

Elizabeth moved away, like it might be a viper, coiling and preparing to strike.

“So where is the real egg?” she asked after a moment.

Kat smiled.

“That’s exactly what we intend to find out.”

 

 

Surely Elizabeth Evans had come to expect the unexpected, but she still seemed mildly surprised when a curtain was pulled back and a very tall, very gorgeous teenage girl appeared in the back of the coffee shop, a laptop under one arm.

“Ms. Evans, please allow me to introduce my cousin, Gabrielle. She’s been doing some…research on this matter for us,” Kat said.

“What kind of research?” Elizabeth asked.

“The kind that says the earl is in debt.”

It seemed to take a moment for the words to sink in, but even then they didn’t make sense. Elizabeth shook her head. “That can’t be. The Earldom of Greymore is one of the oldest titles in the realm. It dates back to Henry the Eighth. It’s rumored the first earl was one of Henry’s illegitimate sons. The estate is massive. It’s… That can’t be.”

“Oh, the title is old,” Gabrielle told her. “And at one time it was prosperous, but the past three earls have had very good pedigrees and very bad sense. That’s led to a series of extremely bad investments and just outright mismanagement. Like a lot of men who had an empire handed to them, the current earl proved to be a financial moron,” Gabrielle said, then slid her gaze onto Hale. “No offense.”

Hale smirked. “None taken.”

“So, in short,” Gabrielle went on. “The estate is all-but-broke which is actually fine with the old earl because he’s dying anyway.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Kat asked.

When Gabrielle opened the laptop and turned it to the group they saw a picture of an old man with a cane across his lap, sitting in a wheelchair. A heavy plaid rested around his shoulders, and his face was gaunt, his color pallid.

“I haven’t been able to find out what he has exactly, but whatever it is, it’s acting fast.”

She touched the laptop and the picture changed to one of a much heavier, much healthier man. Kat would have assumed the photo was at least ten years old, but Gabrielle said, “This was taken last year.”

“Wow,” Hale said.

“Yeah.” Gabrielle leaned back in her chair and crossed one long leg over the other. “I can’t find anyone who knows what’s wrong. Or no one who will talk, at any rate. I was hoping to get into his medical records, but Simon’s busy.”

“He is?” Kat asked. “I was hoping we could get him. I think we’re going to need him.”

“We could try,” Gabrielle said, but he’s doing a—”

The sound of Bobby clearing his throat cut her off. He cut a warning glance in Agent Bennett’s direction.

Slowly, Gabrielle continued. “Semester at MIT,” she said and practically rolled her eyes at her uncle. She seemed insulted that Bobby wouldn’t trust her, but she finished anyway. “He has finals.”

Part of Kat wanted to laugh at the exchange. And a part of her wanted to cry with the knowledge that there are normal kids in the world who go to normal schools and do normal things like take finals. The kids in Kat’s family had the kinds of tests that come with potential prison sentences if you failed. She was proud of Simon for stealing just a little piece of normal for himself.

Agent Bennett, however, did not sound convinced. “Simon is sixteen years old.”

“Yes,” Kat said. “He’s a sixteen-year-old genius. Trust me. If Simon’s there, then the average IQ at MIT is up this semester.” She turned her attention back to Gabrielle. “What else?”

“Not much on the earl. We haven’t been able to hack any hospital records. Or, at least, we haven’t. If Interpol were to…”

“Interpol is not yet involved in this…operation,” Amelia Bennett said. “Which is why none of you are in handcuffs.”

“Oh, Agent Bennett, you say the sweetest things,” Bobby said, and Gabrielle talked on.

“The earl is sick. That’s the moral of the story. And he’s broke. And…” As Gabrielle stretched the moment out, Kat could tell that she was building to something: that this was her big scene. She looked around the group until, finally, her gaze came to rest on the charity’s director. “The Egg of the Magi is very heavily insured.”

Something clicked inside of Kat, like the final tumbler of a lock falling into place. Suddenly, the world made sense.

“Of course it is,” Hale said.

Only Elizabeth seemed to breathe easier with this know-ledge.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. She seemed ten years younger and a thousand pounds lighter, as if the weight of this terrible mistake had finally been taken from her shoulders. “Finally, some good news, I’d say. Now we just have to admit to the earl what happened and then…” She seemed to finally see the faces that were looking back at her, to feel that the temperature in the room was not changing for the better.

“What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

Gabrielle shifted, then looked at Agent Bennett and cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want to take this one or should I?” Gabrielle asked, and Amelia Bennett nodded.

“Oh, by all means, continue. I’m learning so much.”

Gabrielle flashed her best smile at the Interpol agent, then turned to her friend.

“The insurance policy on the egg is solid,” Gabrielle said. “Old. The earl took it out almost forty years ago, right after he acquired the egg for Countess Number One—there have been four, by the way. Countesses. Not eggs. The policy is pretty typical. It covers the cost of the egg if it should be stolen or destroyed by an act of God—fire, accident, building collapse…I don’t know. The usuals. But here’s where it gets interesting. Back in the day, the earl used to loan the egg out a lot to museums, universities, that kind of stuff. And somehow he got someone to give him a policy that paid double if the egg were ever stolen or destroyed on someone else’s watch.”

Kat’s voice was cold. “Of course he did.”

Amelia looked at her friend. “Did the earl sign the egg over to the charity before you picked it up?”

“No.” Elizabeth seemed numb as she slowly shook her head. “There were complicated tax laws, but for some reason the earl’s man of business insisted that the egg stay in the earl’s name until the auction.”

Kat could feel Hale beside her, his anger beating and pounding like a pulse. But his voice was like ice when he said, “So if it’s stolen, the earl gets paid twice what the egg is worth and the Magi Miracle Network gets a bad rep and not a single dime.”

Gabrielle nodded slowly. “So long, bankrupt estate. Hello, big fat insurance check.”

But Elizabeth still seemed a little lost. “How big and fat?” she asked.

This time, Agent Bennett answered the question. “My sources say it will be something north of twenty-five million.”

“Pounds?” Elizabeth exclaimed. Her friend nodded.

“The good news, Ms. Evans, is I think we now know who wanted the egg to be stolen,” Kat said. “And we know why.”

But the woman was shaking her head. Kat knew that look, that reaction. It was like someone had just told her that magic was real, that vampires were everywhere, that a whole other world lived beneath the streets of London; Elizabeth Evans had just gone through the portal and the looking glass and she was never going to be the same again.

“I just can’t believe it. Amelia?”

But Amelia Bennett’s job was on those other streets, in that other world. She had a foot on each side of the line and Kat could tell she hated to ruin what was left of her friend’s very sweet illusions. “It’s true, Lizzie. I’m sorry. I came to the same conclusions myself.”

“But…” Elizabeth was shaking her head. “The earl is an old man.”

Kat couldn’t help herself. She thought about Uncle Eddie…about Elizabeth Evans’s first reaction when Kat and Hale had come through her door, and she had to laugh. “Never underestimate old men and teenage girls, Ms. Evans. That was your first mistake.”

“But…” She started, then trailed off, so confused and out of her depths she might as well have been adrift on the Thames, floating out to sea. “Why give us a fake egg if he just wanted…him”—she glared at Bobby—“to turn around and steal it?”

“The Bird in the Hand,” they all told her in unison.

The response was in stereo and it stunned her. “The what?”

“Sorry,” Kat said, leaning closer. “It’s one of the oldest cons in the world. I forgot you were a good person and wouldn’t know what it is. You see, this way the earl can claim the insurance and sell the real egg on the black market—as soon as word of the robbery gets out, of course, and people know the real egg is up for grabs. That way, with a double indemnity policy, he’d get close to three times the egg’s actual value.”

“It’s…genius.” Gabrielle didn’t try to disguise the reverence in her voice. “Evil. But genius.”

The words, the reality, seemed to sink in. Outside, people shopped for presents and Santas sat in department stores. People were ice skating on the rink around the Tower of London, but in that tiny café, it was a million years from Christmas. It probably felt to Elizabeth Evans like Christmas might never come again.

“So you think the earl still has the real egg?” she asked.

“There’s one way to find out,” Kat told her.

“What’s that?” Elizabeth asked, not letting herself hope.

Kat grinned. The ice was gone from beneath her feet; it felt like she was finally back on solid ground. “We steal it.”