Hale shrugged. “Fair enough.” He stretched his arms over the back of the couch. “I sprung you because I’ve got a message for you.”
“Doesn’t your family own a cell phone company?”
“Only a little one.” He held his fingers an inch apart to illustrate his point. “Besides, it’s more of a face-to-face kind of message.”
“I thought my dad wasn’t speaking to . . .” She trailed off. Hale shook his head. And suddenly Kat understood everything a little better. She dropped onto the couch opposite him and asked, “So how is Uncle Eddie?”
“He’s good.” Hale nodded. “He sends his love. He says the Colgan School will rob you of your soul.” She started to protest, but Hale stopped her. “But that’s not the message.”
“Hale,” Kat exhaled, growing weary.
“Kat,” Hale mimicked. “Do you want to hear Uncle Eddie’s message or not?”
“Yes.”
“He says he’s got to give them back.”
“What?” Kat was sure she hadn’t heard correctly. “Uncle Eddie’s got to give what—”
“No. That is the message. And I quote. ‘He’s got to give them back.’”
Kat shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“There was a job, Kat. A week ago. In Italy.”
“I haven’t heard about any jobs,” Kat insisted before remembering that she’d been out of the world. The loop. The life. She knew what the Colgan cafeteria was serving every day this month, but this . . .
“Private collection,” Hale continued. “Very high-end paintings. Very high security. Very high risk. Two—maybe three—crews in the world could have done it, and—”
“My dad’s at the top of the list?”
Hale shook his head. “There is no list. There’s just—”
“Dad.” Kat sat for a moment, thinking, then sighed. “So?” she asked. Suddenly it all seemed preposterous. “So what? This is what he does, Hale. This is what we all do. What makes this time any different?”
She stood and started for the door, but in a flash, Hale was standing; his hand was around her wrist.
“It’s different because it’s different, Kat. This guy—this guy with the paintings—he’s a bad guy.”
“I’m Bobby Bishop’s daughter, Hale. I know a lot of bad guys.”
She tried to pull away, but Hale’s chest was pressed against hers. His hands were warm against her skin. There was a new urgency in his voice as he whispered, “Listen to me, Kat. He’s not a bad guy like your dad and Uncle Eddie are bad guys.” He took a deep breath. “Like I’m a bad guy. This guy? His name’s Arturo Taccone, and he’s a whole different kind of bad.”
In the two years since she’d met him, Kat had seen Hale wear a lot of expressions: playful, intrigued, bored. But she had never seen him scared before, and that, more than anything, made her shiver.
“He wants his paintings back.” Hale’s voice was softer now. The hard edge had left him, and something else had settled in its place. “If he doesn’t have them in two weeks, then . . .” Hale obviously didn’t want to say what came next, which was just as well. Kat didn’t want to hear it.
As she dropped back onto the sofa, Kat couldn’t remember the last time she’d been speechless. Then again, she also couldn’t remember the last time she’d been framed for a crime she didn’t commit, kicked out of a boarding school that it had taken her three whole months to con her way into, and then, technically, kidnapped by a guy who could buy a Monet and yet couldn’t resist stealing a Vermeer. Speechless seemed okay under the circumstances.
“My dad used to be more careful than this,” she said softly.
“Your dad used to have you.”
Kat ate her corned beef sandwich. She drank some lemonade.
She was aware, faintly, of Hale watching her, but that was only because he was Hale, and the part of Kat that made her a girl wouldn’t let her forget that he was in the room. Otherwise, she was as quiet as a church mouse. She would have made her family proud.
An hour later Marcus was leading Kat up the sweeping staircase, and Kat was staring, trying to guess whether the silver-haired man was closer in age to fifty or eighty. She was listening, trying to determine whether his accent was more Scottish than Welsh. But most of all, Kat was wondering why Marcus was the only servant she had ever seen orbiting around Planet Hale.