wall outside the gate. A year ago, Dorothy wouldn’t have known that it was an intercom, but, now, she leaned in close, pressing down the button with her thumb.
Static, and then a man’s voice. “Can I help you?”
“We’re with the Boston police,” Roman said. “We’re here to check on a disturbance in the courtyard.”
He flashed a small, gold badge at the camera that Dorothy had told him would be hanging above the fence. The security guard on the other side would see exactly what she wanted him to see: two Boston cops, dressed in stiff blue uniforms.
The buzzer emitted an angry growl that told her the security fence had been unlocked.
A familiar, tingly feeling of déjà vu worked its way through Dorothy’s shoulders. She had a composite sketch of the thieves taped to her mirror back at the Fairmont. It was rough, but she was convinced that the smaller of the two thieves was her, dressed as a man. She’d read every news article that existed about this heist, and each one had said the same thing: the thieves were never caught.
Which made sense. If the thieves were time travelers, they never could be caught.
Silently, they moved down the sidewalk and toward the museum’s entrance. Dorothy glanced at the twin stone panthers that guarded the front doors and felt a thrill of excitement. She’d seen them in photographs before, but now they were here, in front of her. She’d never get over that rush, when the things she’d seen in newspaper articles suddenly became real.
They pushed open the front door without knocking and walked inside, footsteps echoing against the marble. An older, African American security guard stood behind his desk. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a beard shot through with white. His eyes narrowed at them, suspicious.
This would be Aaron Roberts, then.
“I’m, um, I’m really not supposed to let people in here,” Roberts said, blinking. “But you said you’re with the police?”
Roman nodded. “You did the right thing, son. We had reports of a disturbance in your courtyard, and we need to check it out. Could you . . .”
Roman hesitated, tilting his head. “Well, now that’s strange.”
The security guard twitched and then glanced over his shoulder, like he was expecting someone to appear out of the shadows behind him. “I’m sorry. What’s strange?”
“You look an awful lot like a man we’ve been searching for.” Now Roman was rubbing his chin. He jerked his head toward the guard, eyes on Dorothy. “Doesn’t he look like Dean Morris?”
The name was made up. No one had mentioned it in any of the reports or books or articles, so they’d plucked it out of thin air. The security guard blinked.
“Morris?” he murmured.
“Would you mind stepping out from behind that desk and showing me some ID?” Roman said.
This was pivotal. There was a button beneath the desk that sounded the security alarm. It was the only one in the building. Once they got the guard away from that button, they were safe.
Aaron Roberts stepped out from behind his desk.
“I’m not this Dean guy,” he said, pulling out his wallet. He tugged his driver’s license loose and flashed it at Roman. “See?”
Roman barely glanced at it. “Sure you’re not.” He unclipped a pair of heavy-duty handcuffs from his belt, nodding at the wall. “To be safe, why don’t you go ahead and face the wall for me, Mr. Roberts. Just until we get this all cleared up.”
The security guard turned automatically. “But I didn’t do anything.”
“Don’t worry, son. As long as you cooperate you won’t be in any trouble at all.” Roman clipped the handcuffs over Roberts’s wrists.
Dorothy smothered a smile. It amused her to hear Roman call a man older than him “son.”
“What the hell?” murmured a voice behind them.
Security guard number two, Dorothy thought. It was happening just like she’d read it would, just like she’d planned. It felt a bit like playing God.
She wanted to smile, but she bit the inside of her cheek, stopping herself. Moving her lip seemed to dislodge the mustache, and she couldn’t risk blowing her cover, not when they were this close.
Nothing she’d read had mentioned the second security guard’s name or anything about him, so she hadn’t known what to expect until this moment. She turned—
And breathed a sigh of relief. He was barely older than they were, with long, gangly limbs and a spattering of acne on his forehead. Not a threat.
He looked at Roberts. “Aaron—?”
“There’s been some kinda disturbance,” Roberts muttered. Then,