Maybe it was the location: high-security buildings are hard. High-security high-rises are suicide. Perhaps it was because the Kelly Corporation’s cameras were state-of-the-art, and their security consultants used to cash paychecks from places like the CIA.
It was not because of curses. It was not because of Hale. It was certainly not because Visily Romani—no matter how noble his motives—was developing an annoying habit of pulling Kat into jobs that far older and experienced (and some might even say sane) thieves would never dare attempt.
No—Kat shook her head against the thought, blinked away the snow that landed on her dark lashes—that wasn’t it.
“If I didn’t know any better,” a strong voice said from behind her, “I’d say you were casing that joint.”
Hale was there. Kat turned to see Gabrielle punch his arm and say, “Told you we’d find her here.”
But there was nothing playful in the way Hale was looking at her as he said, “I should probably warn you that Oliver Kelly isn’t messing around.”
And that was when Kat knew there was no single part of this job that worried her—it was everything together. From the building, to the target, to the way Hale crossed his arms and studied her through the falling snow. But most of all, there was…
“Romani.” Kat looked up at the gray sky. “They had Romani’s card.” She stood waiting for an answer of some kind, but got nothing. “So it’s legit. So I think I’ve got to do this.” She studied Hale through the falling snow. “So…say something.”
“That place is a fortress, Kat.”
“Romani wouldn’t have sent Constance Miller to me if he didn’t think I could—”
“We,” Hale snapped.
“Of course. If he didn’t think we could do it.”
“I don’t like it, Kat,” Hale said, and just that quickly, Kat knew he was right.
“I don’t like it either, but I think…I think I’ve got to try. You don’t have to come with me if you—”
“No.” Hale shook his head. “No way. If you’re in, I’m in.”
Together, the two of them turned to Gabrielle, who plopped onto a park bench and crossed her legs. “So what do we know?” She stared at the building in the distance as if trying to move it through the sheer power of her mind. It might have worked, too, if Hale hadn’t stepped in front of her.
“The stone arrives Thursday from Switzerland via private charter. It will go immediately to the tenth floor, where it will be polished, verified, and appraised.”
“How long?” Kat asked.
Hale shrugged. “If they’re not distracted, I’d say three hours. Maybe less.”
Gabrielle looked at Kat. “Didn’t the Wobbley Brothers do Humpty Dumpty once in three hours?”
“Maybe less,” Hale said again, even louder.
“And it’s cursed,” Gabrielle chimed in. “What?” she asked when Kat gave her a look. “I’m just saying we should never underestimate curses.”
“What about transit?” Kat asked, ignoring her.
Hale shook his head. “They’ve got three different armored car companies with three different routes, and that morning they’ll flip a coin to see which one gets the job. Plus, once it’s in transit, there’s…you know…an armored truck. And guards. With guns.”
“The Bagshaws blew up an armored truck once,” Gabrielle offered.
“And guards.” Hale’s voice rose even more. “What’s the first floor like?” he asked, but Kat was already shaking her head.
“It’s as good as you’d think it would be—maybe better. Four guards. Two uniforms at the front door, one at the staff entrance, and a plainclothes that probably rotates, depending on the day.”
“Cameras?” Hale asked.
“Lots.”
“Blind spots?” Gabrielle said.