Double Crossed(10)

Inching along, she glanced down through the grates into the room below. It was gorgeous and luxurious with a silk-covered fainting couch and a balcony overlooking the park. But even for the Athenia, it was too nice to be a regular room.

“It’s an apartment,” Hale said. “Did you know the Athenia had residences?”

Macey nodded. “They do for a few select clients.” But then something caught her attention. “Is that…” Macey started. She was staring at a painting on the wall.

“A Klimt?” Hale filled in, then sighed. “Oh yeah. But don’t get your hopes up. It’s a copy.”

“And you know this because…” Macey drew out the last word and looked at Hale even more skeptically than before.

“I saw the original at the Louvre last summer,” he said with a shrug.

“Oh,” she said, deflated.

The masked men were right below them, unloading gear and going to work on the opposite side of the opulent room, so Macey and Hale spoke in hushed whispers, pressed together in the tiny space. But Macey didn’t feel a charge, a spark. Handsome though he was, there was no doubt that W. W. Hale was otherwise engaged.

When the man in the Reagan mask pulled the Klimt from the wall, she felt Hale go cold and rigid as he studied the space behind where the print had been.

“Oh boy,” Hale whispered almost to himself.

“What?” Macey asked.

“The safe,” Hale said.

Macey looked back at the room, at the big metal box around which the masked men were gathered. “What about it?”

“It’s…good,” Hale admitted.

“Surely it’s not too much for a world-class art thief such as yourself?” Macey tried to tease, but Hale was already backing slowly away.

“No, Macey. It’s too good.” He shook his head. “Come on. We’ve got to find whoever lives here and figure out what these guys are after.”

“Don’t bother,” Macey said.

“Why…”

She looked at an oil painting that hung over the fireplace, a woman in a canary diamond necklace that was even more famous than she was. “Because she’s in the ballroom right now.”

Macey spoke slowly. “So if you were right and the necklace Mrs. Calloway wore to the ball was a fake…”

Hale nodded. “One guess where she’s keeping the real one.”

Macey peered through the vent at the place where the men were working. They were methodical as they unloaded their equipment, laying it all out on the coffee table like a surgical team preparing their tools.

There were a half dozen devices Macey hadn’t seen before but one small packet that was far too familiar.

“C4,” she whispered, and froze, staring down at the tiny but powerful explosive. “What will they do if they can’t crack the safe?”

“You don’t get it, Macey. They can’t crack that safe.”

“And what will they do?”

“Try to pry it open,” he said.

“And will that work?” she asked.

He shook his head and said, “No.”

“Can you blast into that safe, Hale?”

“What? Why are you asking?”

“Because I think we have bigger problems.”

“What kind of problems?” Hale asked, but Macey just pointed to the fireplace under the painting.

The gas-powered fireplace.

“The kind that go boom.”



Katarina Bishop had been many things in her young life. The daughter of a con man, the niece of a thief. (And once, during a particularly delicate operation in Hungary, the heir to an American ketchup dynasty.) But on that evening, she was something she had never, ever been before: helpless.

Needless to say, she didn’t like it.

“Kat,” Abby called, strolling in her direction. “Tell me about your boyfriend.”

“Well…I don’t know that he’s my boyfriend. I mean…he’s a boy. And he’s my friend. And there’s recently been the addition of kissing. But does that make us friends with benefits or—”

“Kat,” Abby snapped.

“Sorry,” Kat said. “What were you asking?”

“What is his training?”

“Oh…” And then, for an excellent liar, Kat had absolutely no idea what to say.

Abby seemed to read her face, because she inched closer and lowered her voice. “Look, I’m not a cop. And I’m not Interpol. I’m just someone who took an oath a long time ago to keep Macey McHenry safe, so whatever you can tell me…”

“He’s a con man. An inside man. He’s pretty good at short cons and street work. Picking pockets, sleight of hand—stuff like that—but what he does best is…lie.”