She turned slowly around, her gaze sweeping over the room—tuxedos and ball gowns and the place where the emerald would soon be holding court at the center of the party. It was almost as if the world turned to black-and-white and it was 1967 all over again. Kat didn’t dare think what it would feel like to chase that stone for fifty more years.
“Here,” Kat said beneath the din of the crowd. “We do it here.”
“Um, Kat, not to be a spoilsport, but you did see the guards, didn’t you?” Hale asked.
“Yes,” she said, and for some reason, she couldn’t hold back a laugh.
“And that number is going to go up by…say…twenty percent once they get the stone in here?”
“More like thirty,” she corrected. “If we’re lucky. But it has to be here, Hale.” She thought of her uncles: handsome, young, identical. A genetic sleight of hand. “We can do it here if we can get help—if we can get someone inside.”
“Okay. I can—”
“Not you.”
Hale hung his head, but eventually admitted, “Fine, then Nick…”
But he trailed off when Kat turned to him and smiled as if she’d temporarily forgotten what it felt like to be the mark.
“We’re not the only ones who are going to have to trust him,” she said with a shake of her head. “Which means we’re going to need the inside man.”
Hale took a tentative step back and studied her. “So…”
“So how do you feel about helicopters?”
CHAPTER 29
“Hello, Uncle Charlie.”
Kat and Hale stood with their hands in their pockets, shivering inside too-thin coats while the snow swirled around them. A storm was coming. The wind was colder than she’d remembered. Or maybe, Kat thought, it was just the look in her great-uncle’s eyes as he said, “You have a lot of nerve, bringing your trouble to my mountain.”
He pushed away from the door and moved through the dim house, sidestepping urns and canvases and furniture, calling behind him, “Go to your uncle, Katarina.”
“I am with my uncle.”
“Edward would—”
“Eddie’s on the other side of the world, Uncle Charlie. Eddie doesn’t care—”
Charlie stopped and spun. “He’d care about this.”
“Why?” she asked, easing closer to the place where he stood, a poker in his hand, staring down at the fire. “Why does the Cleopatra Emerald matter so much, Uncle Charlie? What happened in 1967?”
“We do not talk about that, Katarina.”
“Fine. Then let’s talk about her.”
Kat had torn a picture from a newspaper, and she pulled it from her pocket, the headline screaming out in French.
“She’s calling herself Maggie now. A few weeks ago she said her name was Constance Miller and that Visily Romani wanted me to steal the Cleopatra Emerald. She’s a con artist, Uncle Charlie. A great one.” She studied her uncle’s face, watched his breath stay even and slow, with not a single telltale sign of recognition. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Charlie shook his head and gestured toward the tiny cluttered room. “I’m afraid my circle of friends is not as big as it used to be. I’m sorry I can’t help.” The words sounded right, but it was like watching an athlete who’s been away from the game. He was rusty and slow, but the talent was still there, oozing underneath.
“Nice try, Charlie.” Kat smiled. “The timing was right, but your eyes”—she pointed to her own dark lashes—“they’re a little out of practice.”
“Kat—”
“She conned me, Uncle Charlie. She is so good, and I was…cocky.” Kat laughed even though she knew it wasn’t funny—not funny at all. “She told me exactly what I wanted to hear.” She risked a glance at Hale, waited for him to nod before she went on. “So we did what no crew has ever done before. We stole the Cleopatra Emerald.”