Walking down the street that day, Lyon didn’t seem like the second largest city in France. Farmers lined produce into stalls in the market. Shopkeepers swept their stoops, and two policemen walked quietly past four of the top thieves in the world, not even a little bit the wiser.
Gabrielle must not have shared Kat’s newfound insomnia, because she yawned and stretched in the manner of someone who could get used to traveling in the style of W. W. Hale the Fifth.
Simon, on the other hand, didn’t look like he would ever be comfortable again. “What time is your contact meeting us?”
“Oh, well, it’s not really a meeting, strictly speaking,” Kat told him.
Hale crossed his arms and leaned against the low stone wall that ran along the Rhône. “Strictly speaking, what is it?”
“It’s more of a drop-by,” Kat said.
“This contact doesn’t know we’re coming, does he?” Hale asked, but Kat turned away from his stare.
She was trying to decide how to answer when Gabrielle threw her hands into the air. “Great,” she said. “He knows Uncle Eddie, doesn’t he? He’s going to talk to Uncle Eddie. You know, my mom expects me in Paraguay any day. And when I don’t show—”
“No one’s talking to Uncle Eddie, Gabs. Trust me.”
“Just tell me this, Kat,” Hale said, inching closer. “Is this mystery guy gonna know who our fake Constance was, or did we fly all the way to France for nothing?”
Kat could feel his impatience and his worry. The bored billionaire was gone, she knew. So was the hurt and worried boy who’d warned her about going too far. Constance—whoever she was—had taken more than just the Cleopatra when she’d told her lies and gone away.
“Look, guys,” Kat said, taking the three of them in. “As far as I know, the world’s best criminal database is inside of Uncle Eddie’s head. Barring that, the second-best thing is here.”
“Is this thing close?” Hale asked.
“Oh”—Kat took a deep breath—“you could say that.”
There was a building on the other side of the river. Kat felt herself point, watched her friends turn and stare into the distance at the sun that reflected off the steel and the glass and the large sign that read Interpol.
“That’s funny, Kat,” Simon said, then realized that no one else was laughing. “No,” he gasped, and Hale reached for Kat’s arm.
“Let’s chat.”
Hale was taller, broader, stronger, but Kat could have stopped him if she’d wanted. Or at least that’s what she told herself as he pulled her ten feet away from Simon and Gabrielle and spoke beneath his breath. “When you said you knew a source, I was thinking maybe…your dad,” Hale confided.
“Constance, or whoever she is, is old school, Hale. If Dad knew someone like that, trust me, I would have heard about her.”
“Or if not your dad…then Charlie.”
“I thought you didn’t like Charlie.”
“Charlie was weird. But weird is okay.”
“I thought you were never driving up that mountain again if your life depended on it.”
“There are helicopters. I’m good with helicopters.”
“I thought you liked France.”
Hale pointed across the river to the home of the world’s police. “Some parts I like better than others!”
He pulled Kat gently toward him. “Someone else has got the information we need.…There’s got to be some other way.”
“The other way is Uncle Eddie,” Kat countered. “So, you tell me: which one is scarier?”
And with that, the four of them turned in perfect unison and stared at the gleaming building on the other side of the riverbank.
Gabrielle was the one who said what everyone else was thinking. “So when do we start?”