The Grift of the Magi Page 4

  Or maybe Bobby was like all great grifters, and he saw the board—every play and every option—long before he ever picked up a piece.

  “So how is the lovely Elizabeth Evans? Mad, I guess,” Bobby said, and Kat feared she might have to actually hold Hale back.

  Even Kat had to temper her voice when she said, “She isn’t mad, Dad. She’s mortified.”

  For a moment, Kat actually thought that Bobby might actually be as sad as Hale was angry.

  “Poor thing,” he said, but Hale wasn’t buying it.

  “Poor thing?” he snapped. “If you were feeling so sympathetic, maybe you shouldn’t have stolen a Fabergé egg and ruined her career.”

  Finally, Bobby got angry. “Her career was on the road to ruin long before I got there.”

  Kat felt Hale step away. He was no longer a presence burning against her back and she turned in time to see him shake his head. It’s hard when your heroes fall, Kat knew. But, until that moment, she’d never known just how badly Hale had wanted to be Bobby Bishop when he grew up.

  “You’re a good thief, Bobby. But you’re a bad person.”

  For a moment, Kat watched the words wash over her father. But then he shook his head slowly. “That hurts.” He cut his eyes in Kat’s direction. “He’s a cruel, cruel boy, sweetheart. Are you sure you can’t do better? I personally think you could do better.”

  But Hale wasn’t in the mood to tease. Not to taunt or to joke or to even banter. Hale had traveled to the far side of the world for one reason and one reason only.

  “You’re going to give us the egg, Bobby. And then you’re going to get very lost for a very long time.”

  Bobby took a step away. Kat could feel him shifting, leaving.

  She looked back at Hale, wanting to say something. But there was no con she could run, no lie she could tell to make either of them forget this.

  “Or else?” Bobby asked.

  “You’re not the only bad person I know.”

  For a second, a look flashed across Bobby’s face. Something that wasn’t quite pride and not quite regret. It was like he couldn’t tell whether or not to be proud to call W. W. Hale V his protégé in that moment.

  “I think that was a threat,” he said to Kat who wanted to roll her eyes.

  “Will you two stop it?”

  “We’re at the Imperial Hotel,” Hale said. “You can bring the egg to suite—”

  “You’re in suite 792, yeah,” Bobby said, but Hale didn’t pause to be impressed or wonder about Bobby’s seemingly omniscient font of knowledge.

  “You’re going to bring the egg there tonight, and I’m not going to see you for a while,” Hale finished, and Kat heard a touch of sadness in his voice, but she knew better than to argue. The line was in the sand now, and neither of the two most important men in her life was the type to cross it. So she just stood there, one foot firmly planted on either side.

  Then Hale turned.

  He started to walk away.

  “Kat,” he called back to her, “are you coming?”

  But he didn’t wait to hear her response. It seemed too easy for Hale to turn his back on her and her father and slip on his dark glasses.

  The sun was bright overhead and Hale walked through the specks of light that filtered through the trees, a motley collage of color, like the boy himself. Neither sunny nor shady, but constantly in between.

  “It was a fake!” Bobby yelled at last and Hale’s steps finally faltered.

  For a moment, Kat feared he wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t turn. And when he finally did, there was no way to read the gaze that lived behind his dark glasses.

  “Stop trying to con—”

  But then an object went hurtling through the air. It took Kat a moment to notice the messenger bag that Bobby had slung across his body, and a moment more for her to register the movement of his arm as he flung something straight at Hale, who, instinctively, reached up to catch it.

  For a few seconds, everyone stood silent, staring. Kat’s heart began to pound and even Hale seemed at a loss for words as he looked down at the small, brightly colored item in his hands. It caught the bits of sunlight, but didn’t shine. Didn’t glow.

  Still, Kat couldn’t help but shout, “Dad, are you crazy?”

  Hale still held the egg as if afraid to grip it too tightly, afraid he might crush it in his too-strong hands.

  “You’re a lunatic,” Hale said. He looked at Kat like maybe it might be genetic.

  But Bobby threw up his hands.

  “It’s a fake!” He sounded like maybe he was ashamed of both of them, like maybe he had failed as a father and a mentor after all.

  “Dad, you can’t—”

  “He’s right,” Hale said, cutting her off. He held the egg to the stray bits of sunlight and studied the gems that weren’t quite as brilliant as they should be.

  He looked up at Bobby, his anger suddenly gone.

  “Uncle Charlie?” he asked, and Bobby laughed once, then grew deadly serious.

  “I’m going to do you a favor and never tell Charlie you confused that with any forgery he’d make.”

  Kat was being drawn toward the egg like a magnet. Like a mystery.

  It was a decent fake, but by no means a masterpiece. Someone like Elizabeth Evans would have never been the wiser, but anyone from their world should have known it in a heartbeat.

  “Did the earl think he had a real Fabergé?” she had to ask.

  “I don’t know what the earl thought,” Bobby said in the manner of someone who’d had some time to consider it. “Or the earl’s people. All I know is that last week I got a call from an old friend saying that one of the Eggs of the Magi would be easy pickings. There was a picture.”

  Hale grew bitter again. “And you just couldn’t resist.”

  “No,” Bobby bit back. “I could resist. But what I couldn’t do was figure out why someone was begging me to steal that. Even in the picture it was an obvious forgery. Then I found out it was one of your charities that was putting it up for auction, and I knew I couldn’t let them try to pass that thing off as the real egg.”

  “So you stole it,” Hale said.

  “Yes. I stole it.”

  “You couldn’t give me a call. I could have told Ms. Evans…”

  “Listen, kid.” Bobby took a step forward. “Your family’s charity is auctioning this thing and I get the call? I don’t trust that. And neither would you if you’d been around as long as I have. So, yes, I stole it.” He looked guilty as he glanced at Kat, then shrugged and admitted, “Besides, if all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”

  Of course he stole it, Kat had to think. He was Bobby Bishop. Stealing and conning and cheating was what he did. Even if he did it for a good reason.

  Like father, like daughter.

  “It could be a mistake,” she tried. “A big, colossal—”

  “Incredibly embarrassing,” Bobby filled in.

  “—mistake.”

  The three of them stood for a moment in the dappled light, waiting for some sort of answer to dawn.

  Hale was the one who finally said what everyone else was thinking.

  “And what if it’s not?”

  Six Days Before the Auction

  London, England

  They couldn’t go to Interpol, that much was obvious, and no one even started to suggest that they stroll through the front doors and ask to speak to Amelia Bennett.

  So Kat was somewhat relieved when Marcus drove them through the center of London and opened the back door of Hale’s Bentley to reveal a small café, three blocks from the Magi Miracle Network’s office.

  Inside, it was dim, and the air smelled like hot chocolate. Her fingers were cold and she wanted nothing more than to wraps her hands around a steaming cup, but all thought of chocolatey goodness went away as soon as she stepped foot in the small room near the back of the café.

  “Did you find him?” Elizabeth Evans asked.

  Her hair was pulled int
o a sleek red ponytail, but not the kind that a woman might have spent hours getting just right. No, it was the hairdo of last resort, and judging by the dark circles under her brown eyes, the rough fingernails on her right hand, Kat knew that things hadn’t improved in the forty-eight hours since they’d last met.

  “Did you find the man?” Elizabeth asked again, and Kat couldn’t bring herself to lie.

  “Yes. We found him.”

  Something like relief crossed the woman’s face.

  “Did he still have it? Were you able to get it?”

  Hope is a fragile thing—a dangerous thing. It can heal and it can wound and Kat wasn’t sure exactly which fate she was getting ready to bestow on the director of the Magi Miracle Network.

  “I’m afraid the answer is yes. And no.”

  “I don’t understand.” Elizabeth shook her head. She sounded angry. “Either you got the Egg of the Magi or you didn’t.”

  “We got the egg that was taken from you,” Kat told her. “Unfortunately, it is not an Egg of the Magi.”

  She looked back and forth, from Kat to Hale to Amelia, who sat beside her, a chocolate croissant and cup of tea in front of her, untouched.

  “The egg you were given—the one that was stolen—it was a fake. A counterfeit. A forgery. And not a very good one, I’m afraid,” Kat said, but the woman was still shaking her head in disbelief.

  “How do you know?” she challenged. “You’re just a girl.”

  “True. But she’s my girl,” said a voice behind Kat, and Kat watched Elizabeth’s face fill with shock, then confusion, then a very special brand of anger called Woman Scorned.

  “You!” she shouted and lunged, but for once Hale moved between Bobby and danger and Elizabeth Evans had to claw at the air around him.

  Bobby, being Bobby, merely smiled.

  “Hi, Red. It’s good to see you,” he said.

  The redhead clawed harder.

  “Elizabeth, wait,” Amelia said and the woman seemed to remember her friend, the Deputy Director of UK Operations for Interpol.

  “Amelia, it’s him!” she shouted, spinning.

  “Of course it is.” Agent Bennett scanned Bobby from head to toe, as if to make sure he was still the same man he’d been when their paths had last crossed.

  “So…Arrest him!” Elizabeth snapped, but Amelia merely crossed one long leg over the other and eyed Bobby skeptically.

  “Elizabeth, meet Bobby Bishop. He is one of the world’s premier art thieves, con artists, and grifters. He’s also her father.”

  Amelia pointed at Kat, and Elizabeth shrank back. From Bobby. From Hale. From the whole room and maybe the whole world, no longer sure that anyone could be trusted.

  “What are you people playing at?” she said, looking around the room. She glared at her friend. “Why don’t you look surprised?”

  “I didn’t know Bobby Bishop was behind it. But I’m not surprised. He never really surprises me anymore.”

  “Oh, Agent Bennett. That hurts me. Right here.” Bobby put a hand over his heart, but Kat didn’t wait for Agent Bennett’s snappy comeback.

  “I think what we’re all trying to say is that it’s complicated.”

  “But—”

  “Ms. Evans. Elizabeth…” Hale took her arms in his big hands, turned her slightly and looked into her eyes.

  “Who are you?” she snapped, pulling away.

  “I’m W. W. Hale the Fifth. I’m Hazel Hale’s grandson.”

  She seemed somewhat mollified but still leery, especially when Hale went on. “I’m also her boyfriend—” he pointed at Kat. “And his…protégé. I guess,” Hale grudgingly admitted with a nod at Bobby. “And we are here to help.”

  A war was waging within Elizabeth Evans, as anyone could see. On one hand she wanted to run from the small, empty café, call the cops, shout from the rooftops that one of the best thieves in the world and his teenage accomplices were running free throughout London. She wanted the world to know that Interpol was in on it.

  But Hale was Hale. Blue eyes. Big smile. And that very special kind of charisma that could make a person want to believe anything and everything he said.

  “Please, Elizabeth,” Amelia’s voice seemed to break the tie inside of her friend. “I think we should hear them out.”

  The director pulled away from Hale, shaking slightly, but she stayed in the room.

  “The egg that you were given—the one my father stole—it was a fake. And someone wanted it stolen,” Kat said, but Elizabeth just looked doubtful.

  “How obliging of you,” she told Bobby, who shrugged, and Elizabeth grew colder.

  “How do we know he didn’t steal the real egg and exchange it for a fake?” she asked Amelia, who raised an eyebrow as if to say it was a very good question.

  “Oh, Red. Don’t you trust me?” Bobby asked.

  “No!” she shouted. “I don’t.” As if from instinct, she glanced at Hale.

  “I don’t trust him either,” Hale said and Bobby eased into one of the chairs, pulled off a piece of Agent Bennett’s croissant and popped it into his mouth.

  “He has reason not to trust me,” Bobby admitted.

  The director’s face was almost as red as her hair. “Then I have reason to kill you.”

  “It was a fake,” Kat moved to cut the woman off. “I’ve seen the pictures you were given. As soon as a real appraiser came in it would have been obvious. Someone wanted that egg stolen. And they wanted the job done before you knew what you had. Or, more specifically, what you didn’t have. That’s why someone called my father and told him where to find it. That’s why someone called one of the best thieves in the world.”

  Something about that made the woman recoil and turn away. When she turned back, her face was ghostly white as if some terrible fact was sinking in.

  “Someone has to notify the earl,” she said. “When we lost it—when I lost it—I told myself that the end result wouldn’t impact him: he gave the egg away. But now… If we never had the real egg, then… Someone has to notify the earl and figure out where the real egg is.” She turned to Amelia. “Do you think it was stolen in transit? Or maybe… What? What is it?”

  Elizabeth Evans was a good person. An honest person. And Kat kind of envied her. She also kind of pitied her. Because she was the only one of them who still had any innocence left. Which meant she still had some left to lose.

  “What?” Elizabeth said. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “You’re assuming the earl doesn’t already know exactly what you were given,” Hale said.

  A shocked expression crossed her face. “No. You don’t think the Earl of Greymore, one of the peers of the realm, actually wanted to give a fake egg to charity?”

  She looked from at the three hardened criminals, then at the woman who may or may not have been her friend.

  “Amelia, do you think the earl intended to donate a forgery?”

  Amelia had to shrug. “Right now, I’m afraid there is more that we don’t know than there is that we do. Perhaps the earl is simply mad or confused, as the rumors suggest. Perhaps he has been the victim of foul play himself; as you said, the egg could have been swapped in transit or at any time while in the earl’s custody. I highly doubt he would have had it authenticated after so many years in his possession. Or maybe it is all a colossal misunderstanding. But the fact remains: that is not a genuine Egg of the Magi.”

  She gestured toward the egg that Hale had placed upon the table.

  Elizabeth moved away, like it might be a viper, coiling and preparing to strike.

  “So where is the real egg?” she asked after a moment.

  Kat smiled.

  “That’s exactly what we intend to find out.”

  Surely Elizabeth Evans had come to expect the unexpected, but she still seemed mildly surprised when a curtain was pulled back and a very tall, very gorgeous teenage girl appeared in the back of the coffee shop, a laptop under one arm.

  “Ms. Evans, please allow me
to introduce my cousin, Gabrielle. She’s been doing some…research on this matter for us,” Kat said.

  “What kind of research?” Elizabeth asked.

  “The kind that says the earl is in debt.”

  It seemed to take a moment for the words to sink in, but even then they didn’t make sense. Elizabeth shook her head. “That can’t be. The Earldom of Greymore is one of the oldest titles in the realm. It dates back to Henry the Eighth. It’s rumored the first earl was one of Henry’s illegitimate sons. The estate is massive. It’s… That can’t be.”

  “Oh, the title is old,” Gabrielle told her. “And at one time it was prosperous, but the past three earls have had very good pedigrees and very bad sense. That’s led to a series of extremely bad investments and just outright mismanagement. Like a lot of men who had an empire handed to them, the current earl proved to be a financial moron,” Gabrielle said, then slid her gaze onto Hale. “No offense.”

  Hale smirked. “None taken.”

  “So, in short,” Gabrielle went on. “The estate is all-but-broke which is actually fine with the old earl because he’s dying anyway.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Kat asked.

  When Gabrielle opened the laptop and turned it to the group they saw a picture of an old man with a cane across his lap, sitting in a wheelchair. A heavy plaid rested around his shoulders, and his face was gaunt, his color pallid.

  “I haven’t been able to find out what he has exactly, but whatever it is, it’s acting fast.”

  She touched the laptop and the picture changed to one of a much heavier, much healthier man. Kat would have assumed the photo was at least ten years old, but Gabrielle said, “This was taken last year.”

  “Wow,” Hale said.

  “Yeah.” Gabrielle leaned back in her chair and crossed one long leg over the other. “I can’t find anyone who knows what’s wrong. Or no one who will talk, at any rate. I was hoping to get into his medical records, but Simon’s busy.”

  “He is?” Kat asked. “I was hoping we could get him. I think we’re going to need him.”

  “We could try,” Gabrielle said, but he’s doing a—”