Kat heard all this, of course, but the utilization of five hundred doves to pinpoint the cracks (literally and otherwise) in a casino’s defenses is not something that can be redone, so Kat kept her eyes on the room, unwavering. Unyielding. It was her focus that made her lethal—like a laser, Uncle Felix had often teased. It was that focus that made her stupid, Uncle Eddie had one time warned.
And, as with most things, Kat would eventually come to realize, Uncle Eddie was exactly right.
She heard Hale shout, “Who?”
“I don’t know,” Nick told him. “I’ve never seen him before. Well dressed. Walking stick. Kinda regal and…old.”
“Ha!” Despite the chaos, Kat heard Hamish laugh. “If I didn’t know any better, Nicky my boy, I’d swear you were describing—”
“Uncle Eddie,” Kat whispered. She stood stock-still at the top of the stairs, looking down at the small group of people that stood at the bottom, the only quiet in the chaos, looking up at her. “He’s here.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Pierre LaFont shouted at a casino employee, then turned to Maggie. “Madame, I give you my most sincere word that this will not impose upon the Antony Ball in any way.”
“Oh,” Maggie said slowly, still staring at the girl at the top of the stairs. “I hope not.”
Kat knew even without looking that Simon was shrouded in the shadows of a massive potted plant. Hale was somewhere deep inside the room. Gabrielle was gone. The Bagshaws were with her. And Nick had no reason to darken the casino’s doors, but none of that really mattered.
Maggie looked from the birds and the destruction and then back to Kat, and Kat knew that they were made—there was no place left to run. She started down the stairs, stepping over droppings and feathers. She didn’t look at her uncle, but instead kept her eyes trained on the woman by his side.
“Hello, Maggie.”
There was really nothing else for Maggie to do but turn to the man beside her and say, “Monsieur LaFont, surely you remember my niece?”
The art dealer nodded. “Of course.” He reached out to kiss her hand. “Mademoiselle, I am so sorry for this terrible…fiasco.”
“Freak accident, I guess,” Kat told him.
Maggie smiled. “Indeed.”
“And, darling…” Maggie turned to Kat as if there were another introduction to be made, but before she could say another word, Kat’s uncle placed his arm around Kat’s shoulders.
“Hello again, Katarina.” He squeezed tightly and turned her from the group. “We have so much to catch up on. Allow me to escort you home.”
* * *
Kat didn’t know how good the fresh air would feel until she breathed it. Outside, a cool wind was blowing off the Mediterranean. Doves perched in trees and left messes on the windshields of quarter-million-dollar cars, but none of that really mattered to Kat Bishop. She was too focused on the hand that gripped her waist, the stern voice that spoke low and in Russian, cussing timing and curses and fate.
“Eddie!”
When she heard the scream, she stopped and turned to see Simon and the Bagshaws bursting through the doors.
“It’s not her fault!” Angus cried.
“If you’re gonna blame her, blame us,” Hamish added.
But Kat…Kat kept looking at the man in front of her, seeing past his dark overcoat and trimmed goatee to his eyes and mouth and hands.
“You have to—”
“Boys,” Kat said, cutting Simon off. “I think it’s time you met our uncle Charlie.”
CHAPTER 32
That afternoon as the W. W. Hale floated somewhere off the coast of Monaco, there was a feeling on the deck, something that mingled with the sun and the sea air. Kat breathed deeply and looked out across the water. She scarcely dared to call it hope.
“And that’s the plan,” she heard Hale tell the man who sat across from her, silent and still. “So what do you think, Charlie? Does that sound like something you can do?”
That was the question, really, and the whole crew sat waiting while the older man turned and stared into the distance. He looked like he was wondering what was out there and how much of a head start he might have.