“Kat is—” Maggie started.
“A member of the family,” Kat finished.
Maggie smiled. “Indeed.”
“Pierre LaFont,” LaFont said. Kat placed her hand gently in his palm, and he kissed the top of it. “A pleasure, my dear.”
“Did you hear that, Aunt Maggie? I’m a pleasure,” Kat said.
“Yes, dear,” Maggie said as the elevator reached the penthouse. “I’ve known that for some—”
But then the elevator jerked to a stop. Maggie faltered. Kat stumbled. And Pierre LaFont never felt the small hand that slipped his cell phone back into the side pocket of his impeccably tailored suit coat.
The man smiled down at Kat, oblivious, and gestured toward the open doors. “After you.”
Kat was not unfamiliar with hotel suites. She’d spent too much of her youth with her father. She’d spent too much time lately with Hale. So she should have felt at home among the lovely linens and priceless views, but that time, of course, she didn’t.
“Pierre, you’re gonna have to give us a minute, darling.” Maggie put her arm around Kat’s shoulders and gripped her tightly. “I’m gonna have to go figure out a way to put some meat on these little bones.”
She squeezed tighter. Kat grinned wider. And then Maggie was pushing Kat into a small study and pulling shut the sliding doors. An old-fashioned key was in the lock, and Maggie turned it. In the silence of the rich paneled room, it made an ominous sound.
“Well, if it isn’t Katarina Bishop.…”
The change was so quick, so effortless, it was like flipping a switch. The brass Texas twang was gone, replaced by an accent that was British, but it wasn’t the voice that Kat had heard in the diner, either. Kat was standing across from the woman for the fourth time, but now Maggie appeared younger than she’d looked in New York; she seemed more regal than she’d been in the hotel lobby. Leaning against the big double doors, there wasn’t a doubt in Kat’s mind that she was finally face-to-face with the woman behind the con.
“Hello, Maggie,” Kat said. “Or should I call you Constance?”
The woman smiled. “Call me Maggie.”
Maggie walked to the sideboard and poured a drink. She offered the glass to Kat, then pulled it back. “Oops,” she said with a condescending smile. “I forgot. You’re a child.”
“Is that why you did it?”
“Don’t you mean, is that why you were such an easy mark?”
Kat wished there was something she could say to prove that the woman was wrong, but there was no use.
“Age does not make the mark, Katarina. Surely dear Edward has taught you that?”
At the mention of Uncle Eddie, Kat felt her pulse race, her stomach turn; and Maggie must have seen it, because she smiled. “So tell me, where is Edward these days?”
“Paraguay.” Kat had to think. “Or Uruguay…”
Maggie chuckled and took a drink. “I get them confused.”
“Me too,” Kat confided. She looked around. “Speaking of family, where’s your ‘grandson’ ?”
“Who?” Maggie asked, then she seemed to remember the woman she’d been a few days before. “Oh, him…He was the help, dear. Someone who is useful on occasion, but not really at our level.” She held her glass toward Kat—a toast. “You are a very gifted girl, Katarina. Has anyone told you that?”
Kat was sure her father or Uncle Eddie must have said the words at some point, but she couldn’t remember where or when.
Maggie eyed her. “How old were you when you went on your first job?”
“Three,” Kat said.
“I was nine.” Maggie leaned against the rounded arm of a leather chair. “It was the jewelry counter at Harrods department store on the day before Christmas.” She touched the diamond studs in her ears. “I still wear them, see?”
“They’re beautiful,” Kat said.