“Yet another thing we have in common.”
This time the girl blushed. It seemed like a compliment, and the way he looked up at the painting told her that the forgery was more precious to him than any old master could possibly be. The girl, however, didn’t share that opinion.
Hurriedly, she put her tools away and turned, heading for her window and the path through the woods. But the boy rushed after her.
“Where are you going?”
“Oh”—the girl laughed—“it’s probably best if I don’t tell you that.”
The boy raced ahead and blocked her way onto the landing. “Tell me anyway.”
“Why?”
“So I can go with you.”
The girl pushed past and started back the way she’d come. “No thanks.”
“I could help.”
“I’m sure you’d try.” She reached for the window, but his hand landed on top of her own, and right then the glass beneath her palm felt too cold. His skin was too warm. And the girl felt her face flush even against the chill.
He raised an eyebrow. “Of course, I could yell.”
She tried to sense whether or not he was bluffing. He had tousled hair and sleepy eyes, and even though he couldn’t have been more than fourteen, there was a weariness about him. He seemed thin and pale, and she wondered for a moment if he were seriously ill, like in an old movie where the rich boy is kept locked away from the world at large for his own good.
“No dice.” The girl started to open the window. “A Monet I’m willing to steal, sure. But the heir apparent to the Hale empire? No thank you.”
“They won’t miss me.”
“Oh.” She laughed again. “I bet they would.”
“You don’t want to make that bet.”
“Why?” the girl asked.
In the moonlight, a shadow seemed to cross his face as he whispered, “You’d lose.” Then he moved the hand that had been on top of hers, held it toward her. “I’m W. W. Hale the Fifth, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”
He looked serious. He sounded serious. But the girl just eyed the outstretched hand as if it might come with a hidden switch or sensor, and making contact would trigger some silent alarm.
“What do the W’s stand for?” she asked.
“Take me with you and maybe you’ll find out.” He stared down into her eyes and whispered, “I go or I scream. You look like a smart girl. It’s your call.”
She was a smart girl, or so everyone always said. Her whole life she had been taught to be cautious, wise, and most of all, decisive. And yet she stood there in the cold air of the drafty window, completely uncertain what to do. After all, she’d stolen a lot of things in her short life, but she’d never, ever stolen someone.
But then again, the girl thought, there is a first time for everything.
So she pushed open the window and climbed out onto the trellis. A moment later, the boy followed; and in the morning, all that the security footage showed was two shadows disappearing into the deep black of the night.
Chapter 2
There are few things quite as lovely as autumn in Argentina, Bobby Bishop had often said. And Bobby Bishop was in the business of beautiful things. That was why he had taught his daughter, Kat, how to spot a forgery and scale a fence. It was his voice that was in her ear every time she had to find the blind spots of a surveillance camera or squeeze into a dumbwaiter while reminding herself that claustrophobia is for sissies.
So it was almost impossible for Kat not to see the world through her father’s eyes. Where would he go? What would he do? And, as the case may be, where would he eat?
“Are you sure your dad’s not here?” Hale asked as they stepped into the elevator and he pushed the button for the eighty-seventh floor.
“I’m sure,” Kat said.