Kat studied the solemn faces that were looking back at her. “So that means the problem is…”
“The desk is an original Petrovich.” When Simon spoke, he began to subtly vibrate in excitement. “I mean, a real Petrovich. Did you know that Catherine the Great herself discovered him and—”
“Simon,” Gabrielle said. “Focus.”
“Sorry.” He pulled his thoughts back together. “It’s just, I’ve always wanted a Petrovich,” Simon said. “Those desks are like works of art.”
“And that, dear cousin, is the problem, because there is going to be an exhibition of Petrovich’s finest work at…” Gabrielle let the words drag out long enough for Kat to guess.
“The Henley.”
“Yep,” Hamish said. “Welcome to London.”
“Can’t we get in before the museum takes possession?” Kat asked.
Angus gave an exaggerated sigh. “The Henley picked up the desk three days ago.”
Gabrielle nodded, then hopped onto the counter and crossed her long legs. “And so that means…”
“We have to rob the Henley,” Simon said.
Kat sank onto a truly uncomfortable sofa. “Again.”
Chapter 11
Despite the fact that Alexander Petrovich was a member of the court of Catherine the Great, he was not a royal. Even though he apprenticed with Moscow’s finest carpenters, he was far more than a mere craftsman. No, what Petrovich really was was an artist. And like most of the great artists in history, his work eventually wound up at the Henley.
Oh, there was no denying that things at the Henley had changed in the past few months. From the moment a small business card bearing the name Visily Romani had appeared in a locked (and supposedly secured) wing of the museum, many said that the Henley’s luck had shifted.
First there were headlines. Later, there was fire and chaos. And when the smoke finally cleared, a group of frightened schoolchildren was found locked in a gallery, and Leonardo da Vinci’s Angel Returning to Heaven was gone. And soon the Henley’s reputation as the most exclusive (not to mention secure) museum in the world had vanished.
But months passed. The smell of smoke faded. And now the Angel and Romani and perhaps even the children themselves were gone for good, and things were finally returning to normal.
Or so the Henley thought.
It was a rare sunny day in London when Kat stood in the courtyard outside the museum’s main doors, staring up at the atrium made almost entirely of glass. Kat’s life had changed inside those walls. Walking in, she had been Uncle Eddie’s great-niece, Bobby Bishop’s daughter. But walking out, Kat had had a piece of Holocaust art under her arm and a new purpose to her step, and she never looked back.
So it should have felt nice walking through that massive atrium and back into the sight of her former glory. But it didn’t.
For starters, there was the wig that Gabrielle had purchased and Kat had been afraid not to wear. Then there were the heels her cousin had forced her into and the thick glasses that completed her disguise. But more than anything, there was the terrible sense of dread that filled her gut as she walked past the wall where Angel Returning to Heaven had once hung.
So, needless to say, Kat was glad for any excuse to walk in the other direction. Glass sculptures dangled from the tall ceilings, floating in a nonexistent breeze. But when Kat turned a corner, she had no choice but to stop dead in her tracks.
“Hey, Kat?” Gabrielle asked through the comms unit in her ear. “Are you at the Petrovich room yet?”
Kat said nothing.
“Kitty…” Hamish tried again. “Kitty, are you—”
“Guys, we have a problem,” Kat finally managed to mutter.
“What?” Gabrielle said.
“The Petrovich exhibit isn’t in a room.”
Kat looked down the long promenade, at the desks arranged in the center of the massive corridor, each surrounded by velvet ropes. Guards were stationed on either end of the long hall filled with school groups and tourists and art lovers just out for the afternoon. “It isn’t in a room!” she spat in frustration.
“Okay, Kat. Just calm down,” Gabrielle was saying, but Kat couldn’t answer—couldn’t even pull her eyes and mind away from the desk that was inches away. There was nothing but a soft velvet rope between Kat and the beautiful mahogany piece that bore the label FROM THE ESTATE OF HAZEL HALE.