Perfect Scoundrels

“Hi, Natalie,” Kat said, prying herself away. “It’s nice to see you.”



The girl stumbled a little, listing like a boat on uneven waters, and Kat knew something was wrong.



“Natalie, are you okay?”



“Kat!” Natalie tried to whisper, but failed. “Can you keep a secret?”



“Yeah,” Kat said. “I think I can.”



“We got into the liquor cabinet.”



“Natalie…” Kat said, letting the word draw out. “Who is we?”



Natalie hiccuped, pulled a hand guiltily to her face, and smiled. “Who knew Scooter could pick a lock?”



Kat’s blood went cold. “I did.”



She wanted it to be part of the con, a trick. But it wasn’t, Kat was sure. She thought about the sad, lonely boy looking at his family’s photos, and she cursed herself for not predicting that something like this was bound to happen.



“Kat?” Natalie whispered again. “Kat, what’s wrong?”



But Kat was already shaking her head and pushing away, saying, “Sorry, Nat. I’ve got to…go.”



Kat wheeled, searching the crowd for Gabrielle. Then her gaze drifted to the boy who was already halfway down the sweeping stairs, in something between a walk and a jog, looking like he was a top hat away from giving Fred Astaire a run for his money.



“Oh, Kat!” Hale’s mother cried out. “Kat, darling, come over here. There are some people I’d love for you to—”



“I’m sorry. I’ve got to…” But Kat couldn’t finish. She was too busy pushing through the crowd, almost willing Hale to catch her eye, give a wink, a smile. She thought that surely he would find some way to see her—just her. But he didn’t.



“Where is he going?” Kat asked when she finally reached Gabrielle.



“I don’t know,” Gabrielle said. “Ooh. Shrimp.” She reached for the tray of a passing waiter, but Kat caught her arm.



“Gabrielle, Hale’s not right. We’ve got to stop him. I think he might be…”



But then Hale stumbled, climbing up onto the stage that held the prototype, and Gabrielle finished for her.



“Drunk.”



The lights went out. A spotlight shone on the stage and the boy the family knew as Scooter. A hush fell over the crowd as he took up the microphone and began to speak.



“I’d like to thank everyone for coming. It’s a very special night, and we’re all here to celebrate a very special woman. My grandmother.” Hale pointed to the oil portrait that had been moved from the upstairs corridor and placed at the corner of the stage. A polite smattering of applause went through the crowd.



Kat couldn’t move. A dozen different scenarios played out in her mind, but Hale was like a runaway train, and she had no idea how to find the brakes.



“My grandmother loved Genesis!” Hale threw up his hands as if expecting the well-heeled crowd to erupt into thunderous applause. “They wanted me to tell you all about Genesis. It’s the future of the company, they say. It. And me. Some future, huh?” Hale said, and the forced chuckles morphed into sighs of disbelief. “I’m glad she’s dead. I’m glad she’s not here to see this.”



“Kat,” Gabrielle whispered, “do we stop him? Kat, what do we do?”



But Kat didn’t know. She hadn’t planned for this scenario, and a part of her was too busy cursing herself for that to do anything else. “He wasn’t ready,” she mumbled. “He wasn’t—”



“Scooter.” Hale’s father stepped into the spotlight and reached for his son’s arm. “Scooter, that’s enough.”



“My name’s not Scooter!” Hale yelled, revolting and pulling away. “My name is…” But he trailed off, and Kat could have sworn she finally caught his gaze. “I guess it doesn’t matter what you call me. It’s never mattered. I’m a HALE.”



More than before, he slurred his words.



“I’m the Hale,” he went on. “Or so they tell me. The great hope—the heir apparent. The—”



“I’m sorry, young man, but I’m going to have to disagree with that.”



An older man was climbing onto the stage, stepping into the light. He didn’t look like Hale or his father. The overcoat was a little too out of date. He leaned too heavily on his cane, as if it weren’t a mere walking stick but a crutch with actual purpose. But when he spoke, there was no mistaking he was an important man, a formidable figure.



A member of the family.



“Hello, Junior,” he said to Hale’s father. “Don’t you have a hug for your favorite uncle?”



Chapter 31



The man on the stage had wild white hair and wore a secondhand suit. The cane was rough and wooden, and his tie hadn’t been in style for thirty years. He was a relic. A drifter. But there was something about him—a power so strong and ancient that it was almost like the man had been forged out of cast iron. He was an unmovable force, and it would take more than a scene to make him leave.



“Well, I was told this was where the party was!” he yelled at the crowd and continued across the stage—past Hale and his father, to the portrait of the woman of the hour.



Even knowing what she knew, Kat had a hard time seeing her uncle in the man at the front of the room. Everything was different. He leaned heavily on his cane and took slow, careful steps until he finally reached the portrait. Then he bent down and brushed a kiss across Hale’s grandmother’s painted cheek.



“I told you I’d come home, Hazel,” he told the painting. “I’m just a little late.”



He reached up as if to trace a finger against the face on the portrait, but Hale’s father caught his hand.



“Don’t touch that,” Senior spat.



“Well, it doesn’t compare to the original, but it will do.”



“You knew her?” Hale’s father asked.



Eddie smiled. “Of course I knew her. She was married to my brother.”



“He’s gonna blow it,” Kat said.



“He’s fine,” Gabrielle assured her.



“He’s not ready,” Kat said.



“He was born ready,” Gabrielle retorted.



“He’s not—”



On the stage, Hale’s father said, “But that would make you…”



“Junior,” Eddie said with a scowl, “you got old.”



“It’s Senior now,” Hale’s father spat. “Now I demand to know the meaning of this! My uncle Reginald is dead, and you’re nothing but an imposter. Get out of my building.”



“Actually, I’m not an imposter.” A thought seemed to occur to Uncle Eddie. “Which, I believe, makes this my building.” He gave a hearty laugh.



“I don’t believe it,” Senior said. “It can’t be. You cannot be—”



“Reginald?” Marianne’s voice was shaking. “Reginald, is that you?”



She looked beautiful, Kat couldn’t help but think. She wore a long black gown, and her gray hair was piled elegantly onto the top of her head. But it wasn’t just her clothing that had changed. There was a confidence, a grace about her as she said, “Reginald, it is you.”



The words were breathless, hopeful. She didn’t look like someone who had a seen a ghost. She sounded like someone lost in a dream.



“Hello, Marianne.” Eddie lingered on the word, then kissed her cheek. “You’re looking well, my dear.”



He gave her a sly wink, and when he pinched the maid’s bottom, Kat heard Hale’s aunt tell her husband, “Well, he certainly acts like Reginald.”



Then Eddie turned his attention to Hale. “So, I assume that you’re the young man who inherited Hazel’s half of the company.”



Only Garrett was able to speak. “Her…half?”



But Eddie didn’t bother to respond. He just kept studying Hale.



“Looks like you need to learn to hold your liquor.” Then he gave Hale a hard slap on the back and let out a loud, raucous laugh. “Who better to help you with that than me?”



“I don’t believe it.” Hale’s father was shaking his head. “I don’t believe you. Where have you been for fifty years? If you’re Reginald Hale, where did you go?”



Uncle Eddie smiled. There was a sparkle in his eyes, a glimmer. “Oh, that’s easy, Junior. I went crazy.”



For a groundbreaking piece of technology, Genesis was easily forgotten. Reporters yelled their questions for the old man, the new toy still covered with its cloth, shrouded in secrecy until another day. The catastrophe was averted and the spotlight had shifted, and Kat tried to savor the moment.



But then her cousin bumped her shoulder.



“Congratulations, Kat,” Gabrielle said. “He’s in. Of course, you know what this means.…”



“We’re going to need a Big Store,” Kat guessed.



Gabrielle nodded slowly. “We’re going to need a Big Store.”



Who had used the phrase Big Store first, Kat had to wonder as she walked toward Hale Industries’ back doors, looking forward to the short cab ride home. It didn’t really matter. In her head, lists were forming, phone numbers were swirling, and above it all, a clock was ticking down, second by second, toward Genesis’s imminent sale.



Two weeks. But maybe less. Maybe the Hong Kong buyer would back out now that the Hale demo had been upstaged. Maybe Garrett would give Ms. Montenegro a call and shift the time frame altogether. But Kat wasn’t a girl who was used to banking on maybes. There was a date on the calendar and it was circled in red, and Kat knew that eventually she was going to have to retrieve the prototype from the bank across the street.



When she reached the back doors she’d first used with Silas, Kat stopped and stared through the narrow windows at the bank, just fifteen feet away. Even without looking, she would have known what was there.



Steel and iron and the best cameras and guards that money could buy. A vault five stories beneath one of the most crowded streets on earth, in a place where nothing ever went unnoticed.



But Kat was going to get that prototype. Either she was going to steal it or Silas was going to remake it. She didn’t know how, but she knew she would get her hands on it eventually. She had to.



“Did you have fun tonight, Miss Bishop?”



Kat turned at the sound of the voice. Garrett was walking toward her. He kept his hands in his pockets, and his gaze locked on hers.



“It was lovely,” Kat said.



“That was quite a surprise, wasn’t it?” He ambled closer. Kat felt the cool glass of the window against her back. “Your boyfriend’s long-lost great-uncle showing up like that…”



“Yes.” Kat forced a little laugh. “I figured they probably needed some family time, so I was just going to—”



“But you know all about great-uncles, don’t you, Katarina?”



“I—”



“No lies, Kat.” Garrett’s chest rose and fell too quickly. Kat thought for a moment he might collapse, that maybe his heart was giving out. “Show me at least a little respect.”