A Beautiful Heist (25 page)

Panicky questions crowded into his head: Where was Wesley? Was he alive? Did he have the Egg?

He had to stick to the plan. Wesley had his own getaway route and they had agreed that it would be every man for himself if something went wrong.

He reached the main foyer where a butler stood, startled and frozen in the path of the locomotive. Jack shoved him aside and lunged for the front door, keeping low. Another bullet zinged by his head, then one smashed into a vase standing beside the door. The vase exploded in ceramic fireworks. A jagged fragment flew up and caught Jack just above the eye.

Jack flung open the front door and hurled himself out into the morning light, thrilled to be still gulping air. The sun was bursting over the horizon now. A flock of birds flew up from a nearby tree in alarm at the sudden sounds emerging from the house.

Jack lunged desperately for his car—why the hell hadn’t he parked closer?—and ripped open the closest door, the passenger’s side, when he reached it. He dove straight in. At least he had the sense to leave the keys in the ignition for a fast getaway. He threw the car into gear. A bullet smashed the rear window into a glass spiderweb. Jack peeled away, the tires squealing on the driveway. His rear end fishtailed and the side of the car scraped along the iron gate as he burst through it, and onto the road.

Jack sat on the cold edge of his bathtub, wiping blood from the laceration above his eye and holding a pack of ice to his lower lip. He was back at home. He turned on the fan to clear the rubbing alcohol smell. His cuts stung and he felt the dull ache of bruised muscles.

A minute ago he’d received a message from Wesley: he was fine, he’d escaped, but he hadn’t been able to get the Egg.

Well, at least this way Jack knew the Caliga wouldn’t come hunting him down. If they still had the Fabergé they would be concentrating their efforts on getting out of the country. They wouldn’t bother coming after him now. Or so he hoped, anyway.

Jack had placed a call: the airports would be on the lookout for Caliga members, using the descriptions he’d faxed. But Jack knew that wouldn’t prevent their escape. The Caliga would use private jets and private airports. If there was more time or if this were an official criminal case, he could do something about those, too. But there was nothing official about this. And Jack couldn’t make a case of it without having to explain things he was not willing to explain.

Jack opened the medicine cabinet to look for some aspirin and a Band-Aid. He turned the aspirin bottle upside down in his hand. Empty. He shoved aside a crusted bottle of Pepto-Bismol to get the Band-Aids behind. He grabbed it and stared at the box. The Band-Aids were cotton-candy pink. Cartooned with miniature martini glasses.

Jack stood there holding the package. They were Cat’s Band-Aids. He looked up at his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. His face was bruised and cut. He’d removed his shirt; an ugly purple swelling was developing on his right shoulder.

All of this, every wound and abrasion, had been sustained to protect Cat. To keep her out of the fray. Wesley’s words echoed in his mind:
quite an act of chivalry, Jack.

Was it just chivalry? Was he simply doing the decent thing? Or was it something more? Jack had protected a crook. How had things become so twisted? He was FBI. His job was not about protecting crooks.

He studied his reflection. The truth was, he no longer saw things in black and white anymore. The world was not divided between crooks and noncrooks. The world was in various shades of gray for him now. When had that happened?

The man he was looking at in the mirror was no longer the same man who’d disowned his father. Jack felt a knife-twist of guilt. His father had died alone, with a broken heart. Was that why Jack had been compelled to join the Fabergé hunt? So he could forgive—not his father, for being a crook, but himself, for breaking his father’s heart?

He sat back down on the bathtub’s edge, still holding the small box of pink Band-Aids. He stared at the hand clutching the box. The bruises and scrapes there, the aching in his shoulders—all of it was evidence of his feelings for Cat.

Images of Cat flashed in his mind: the concentration on her face as she cracked the safe on the train, her ridiculous performance at the golf tournament. Jack smiled at that one. Cat was spirited, brave, and resourceful. She was a firecracker; she was a tempest at sea.

It would be easier to be in love with Nicole and be happy. But life wasn’t about choosing the easy path. And, more than that—falling in love wasn’t a voluntary, logical decision. At that moment, he realized leaving Cat had been a huge mistake. Because he knew, now, that his heart belonged to her.

A single question remained: was he too late?

When I arrived home after meeting with Ethan there was an urgent message from Lucas on my encrypted voice mail. I called the lab and was put through on a secure line. On hold, I opened the fridge and scanned for something edible. I was starving.

Lucas picked up just as I found a package of processed cheese, in which only two slices remained, and a three-quarters empty jar of marmalade. “Okay, we processed those samples you sent us, Cat.”

Ah,
the samples from the Egg. Excellent. I began unwrapping the cheese while Lucas continued.

“I gotta tell you, we received some very intriguing results,” he said.

“Oh?” I opened the freezer and frost spilled out. I peered through the clouds and came up with a crumpled box of Eggos with exactly one freezer-burned waffle inside.

There was a pause on the line. “Where did you find this stuff you sent us, exactly?” he asked.

“You know I can’t tell you that.” I cradled the receiver between my shoulder and ear and popped the waffle in the toaster. I wrestled with the marmalade lid. I didn’t know where I was going with this little buffet but I needed to eat and that was all that mattered.

He sighed. “I know. Just thought I’d check. Also, I’m wondering: was there anything gold, perchance, that accompanied these two substances?”

I paused, frowning. “In fact there was,” I said slowly. The pelican sculpture was gold. “How did you know there would be?”

“Just bear with me a sec. I’ll get to that.” His speech was speeding up and I recognized the excitement in his voice.

The marmalade lid was firmly crusted shut. I twisted on the hot water tap and held it under.

“The yellowish stuff was an aromatic resin,” Lucas said. “Otherwise known as frankincense.”

“Oh. Weird.” The water pouring over my hand was growing hotter.

“Yeah, well, it gets weirder,” he said. “The reddish-brown stuff turned out to be, if you can believe it,
myrrh.
”

Scalding heat seared onto my hand and I realized that I was still holding the jar under the tap. I pulled my hand out and clunked the dripping jar onto the counter. “Wait a second, Lucas.
Gold, frankincense,
and
myrrh.
Are you joking?”

“Nope,” he said gleefully “Wanna hear the most interesting part? We tested the samples for age, and they’re both roughly two thousand years old.”

At this I froze, holding on to the kitchen counter with a sopping wet hand. My eyes were wide as my brain spun it through. “Are you saying . . .” I said slowly, in disbelief, dropping down into a chair at my kitchen table. “Are you telling me what I
think
you’re trying to tell me?”

“I think so.”

At that moment the smoke detector pealed and I could see out of my peripheral vision puffs of gray and white pouring out of the toaster; I was dimly aware of the smell of burning waffle. I didn’t move.

 

My tires squealed as I took a tight turn. I was on my way to meet Ethan at the Governor Hotel lobby, and I was late. My stomach fluttered. Would he believe me? More importantly: would he help me?

My brain felt like it was going to explode. After hanging up with Lucas I had immediately called Gladys. I needed her help; I needed information. I told her what the lab suspected. Gladys immediately set to work. There was nobody as good when it came to ferreting out the truth. After talking to Gladys I’d called Ethan, then raced out the door once he agreed to meet me.

Speeding down State Avenue, my phone rang. It was Gladys calling me back. I flicked on my hands-free.

“The Gifts of the Magi,” Gladys said firmly, her voice coming through on my earpiece. “Your lab fellow is right, my dear. That’s what’s inside the Aurora Egg.”

I slammed on the brakes for a red light. “This is for real? It’s not a coincidence?”

“It most definitely is for real.” I processed that a moment, chewing the inside of my cheek.

“Are you religious, my dear?” Gladys asked.

“Not a bit.”

“Well, fortunately that’s not necessary. Because none of these affairs are in the Bible.”

Gladys told me, then, how she’d hacked on to the encrypted files of the Catholic Church. There were very old papers that had been scanned into their systems for preservation and then locked away, virtually, under heavy firewalls and online security. Nothing that a little ingenuity couldn’t bypass, however.

She told me a story about two thieves who had lived long ago. They’d been the ones to first steal the Gifts of the Magi.

My eyes widened as she told the whole tale of betrayal, remorse, crucifixion, and finally the loss of the Gifts. It would become the legacy of thieves. It would also give rise to the Caliga.

I flew down Laurel Street toward the Governor Hotel. Gladys told me what the Caliga believed about the gifts: that they contained a mystical power endowed by the Zoroastrian priests and astrologers who were the Magi.

To unlock the powers they needed to perform bizarre rituals that would end up destroying the Fabergé, and the Gifts, in the process.

I couldn’t let that happen. If it did, I’d never be able to reverse the damage I’d done.

Did I believe all that stuff about magical powers? No. But that didn’t matter. What I did know was
they
believed it. I had to stop them. But I was going to need some help.

Mostly because those bad guys were really bad. And dangerous. But worse, they knew all about me.

I knew they had taken the Fabergé to London. Guaranteed, they’d have it under rock-solid security. It was going to be virtually impossible for one person to do this job. I was going to need another thief. I needed someone good, with lots of experience. More than ever, I needed Ethan to agree to help me. I hoped I could convince him.

I squealed up to the Governor Hotel and dashed through the first few drops of rain—practically flinging my keys at the valet and racing inside—hoping Ethan hadn’t been waiting long.

“There’s one more thing you need to know,” Gladys said in my ear as I strode into the lobby among the leather club chairs, gleaming marble, and piano jazz. “And this is where things get ugly”

“Okay,” I said reluctantly, scanning the lounge for Ethan.

“There’s an elaborate ritual involved in unlocking the powers of the Gifts. And the ritual involves the use of a prism.”

Prism
—they’d used that word. Sandor was talking about it just after murdering the monks.

“So what’s a prism?”

“A prism, in this situation, is a person.” Gladys’s voice was grim. “And that person is to be killed in the ritual.”

I choked. “A human sacrifice?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I had to stop this. Because now, if someone died, it would definitely and directly be my fault.

Jack was running now, barely feeling the rain drizzling on his uncovered head. He spotted the hotel on the next block: the Governor Hotel. Silvery waterfalls dripped over the edge of the black awnings. The hotel was a grand dame, all brass doors, lanterns on cut-stone walls, potted topiaries flanking the entrance. A red-uniformed doorman peered out from underneath the awning, examining the sky, feet planted on a thick outdoor carpet.

Jack had been scouring the city for Cat for the past two hours. Thanks to his network of FBI agents, he had finally located her. His heart was beating fast and it wasn’t from the sprint over here. He was filled with apprehension, and the desperate hope that she would listen, that she didn’t hate him. His insides writhed and squirmed. He hoped he hadn’t waited too long.

The doorman gave a small cough, and Jack realized he was standing immobile before an open door. “Can I help you with anything, sir?” the doorman asked, his tone bemused.

Now that he was here, Jack hesitated. He flexed his jaw. He took a few steps away and peered through a window beside the front shelter. Maybe if he just caught a glimpse of her first.

And he did. She was seated in an armchair in the hotel lounge, sipping a drink from a highball glass. She jiggled her ankle impatiently and wore a look of anxiety. Jack wondered what she was waiting for. He took a step closer to the window. Rain dripped on his head but he wasn’t concerned. Cat’s caramel hair traced a path over one eyebrow. A black trench coat covered her petite frame. Her eyes, which were so often smiling, looked troubled now, and Jack wanted to sweep that away.

Then someone else arrived at the front of the hotel. Jack flicked his gaze briefly, seeing a man’s suit beneath a black-and-white houndstooth umbrella. The doorman admitted him and he walked in.
See how easy that was?
Jack chided himself. Enough. It was time to go in.

But just as he was about to turn for the door, he saw somebody approach Cat’s chair. The man with the houndstooth umbrella. With the umbrella now closed, he recognized the man immediately. Ethan Jones.

Jack froze. Cat stood and embraced Ethan. She was smiling at him; she appeared to be genuinely happy to see him. They stood close together and Cat began eagerly talking to him. Her hands were animated. She was telling him something that was clearly important to her.

Then they turned and walked together toward the elevators for guest rooms. Ethan’s hand was on Cat’s lower back, guiding her.

Jack’s chest caved in with a sudden agonizing emptiness. Then anger flared, briefly, and he felt a great impulse to rush in and drag Cat away.

Rage soon subsided into numbness. Icy raindrops slid down the back of his neck, under his collar. And then, Jack saw the truth.

It didn’t matter how he felt. Cat deserved to be happy. And she could be happy with a man like Ethan. Someone from her world. Someone she didn’t have to keep secrets from. Someone who was not going to judge her.

Just then the doorman coughed again. “Sir? Are you certain there isn’t something I can do for you? Can I call you a cab, perhaps?”

Jack stared at him a moment. Tires hissed on the wet roads in front of the hotel and streetlights flicked on, pushing their golden halos against the gray drizzle.

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” He turned and walked away along the rain-slick sidewalk.

 

“Gold, frankincense, and myrrh,” I said in a low voice to Ethan in the elevator. “The real deal. Can you believe it?” Ethan looked surprised but said nothing, standing very close to me in the elevator. We were alone in there. I could smell his aftershave. He had arranged for a room before he met me here at the hotel. It had been a good idea since this conversation really needed to be private. Of course, that hadn’t stopped me from telling him most of the story before we even got to the room, however.

Ethan had listened carefully as I explained how I discovered what the Fabergé Egg had really contained. Now, as I told him that Sandor had spirited the Egg away to London with plans involving a human sacrifice, Ethan frowned with concern. But instead of speaking, he moved closer and slid an arm around my waist. His other hand played with a strand of hair beside my face.

Ignoring him, I continued my story. I told him I meant to follow Sandor to London and get the Egg back.

The insipid elevator music was only serving to increase my agitation. I needed Ethan to agree to help me. I didn’t want to come off as desperate, but that’s exactly what I was.

“Well, what do you think?” I asked, wringing my hands.

Ethan’s warm body was very close to mine now, and he brushed his thumb across my lips.

“Ethan, stop. I need you to listen to me. Did you hear what I’ve been saying?”

“Yes, I heard. But do we have to talk shop right now? Let’s just leave it for a moment....” He nudged my hair aside and bent his face to my neck.

I stopped him, pushing back gently but firmly. “No. I need to know now. Will you help me?”

He paused. He looked up into my eyes, then straightened, face serious for once, with a hint of regret. “No,” he said. The elevator doors opened. We both exited.

“What—what do you mean,
no
? Just no? That’s it?” I stared at him with bewilderment.

“Yep. That’s it.” He checked the number on the key card and walked down the hall noting room numbers.

“Maybe you didn’t hear what I was telling you,” I said, following behind him. I needed to make him understand. I leaned against the wall beside the door Ethan was opening. “These guys are really bad. You know that—this is Caliga we’re talking about. And this is really important. Somebody’s life is at stake.”

“Listen, Montgomery, I told you before, I think you should leave this one alone. There’s nothing to be gained by it. Why would you risk your neck for a bunch of Bible relics?” The room key card clicked and he opened the door.

“Ethan, that’s not the point.” I looked down, shaking my head, following him into the room. It smelled of starched sheets and shower gel and the air was cold—the heat hadn’t been turned on yet. “What matters is that it’s wrong. And, more importantly, someone’s life is at stake. And all of that is my fault. I need to make it right—”

“Stop.” He smiled and took my chin and gently turned my face up to his. “Listen to what I’m telling you, Montgomery. Not only do
I
not want to do it, I don’t think
you
should do it, either.”

I frowned, searching his face. This was not going the direction I needed it to. I flopped my handbag down on the mahogany desk. “I don’t understand. You helped me when I needed you to break into York Security. Why did you do that?”

He shrugged. “Because it was fun. And because I knew it could be done. It wasn’t about being a hero, it was just about getting a job done. Plus, let’s face it, Montgomery, I was interested in spending time with you.” He flashed a raffish smile. “I don’t do things without a good reason.”

“And helping people isn’t a good reason?”

He shrugged, saying nothing.

I sat down on the end of the bed. “Ethan, this is really important. If you’re a good person, you’ll help me with this.”

There was a very long pause. Ethan looked slightly confused. “Whoever said I was a good person, Montgomery?”

I blinked, staring at him.
Oh. Right.
Suddenly, everything was clear to me about Ethan.

He sat on the bed next to me and began kissing my neck again. “Now,” he said in a low voice, “let’s see if we can get you to forget about all that stuff.” His warm, rough hand slid under my shirt, up the small of my back. “Or maybe, you can try to convince me a little more. . . .”

I stood then, peeling his hands away. “No, Ethan. I don’t think so.” I reached for my handbag.

“Montgomery, come on,” he said, an edge of impatience in his voice.

“See you around, Ethan.” I swung my handbag over my shoulder, walked out to the hallway and pushed the elevator button. It bonged and illuminated. I frowned with confusion as I waited for the elevator car. Had I been mistaken about Ethan? Despite his smoldering eyes and swagger and criminal tendencies, was he all wrong for me? I felt a surprising pinch of disappointment in my chest at that thought.

Not that it mattered now. I was still in a pickle.

And I still needed help. However, now there was only one other person I knew with the skills to pull this off. I swallowed and felt a wave of nausea. This was not going to be good.

 

An hour later I climbed out of a cab and stood on the sidewalk, beneath my umbrella, peering into the coffee shop. There she was, right on time.
Well, this was going to be agonizing.
But I had no other options, so I took a deep breath and walked in.

“Hi, Brooke,” I said grimly, walking over and standing next to her table.

Brooke looked up from her latte and
Vanity Fair
magazine. “Hello, Cat,” she said. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and her face was full of curiosity. “Have a seat.”

The coffee shop was small and smelled of newspapers and freshly roasted coffee beans. I wished, now, I’d selected a venue that was licensed. This conversation would be much better with something stiffer than a cappuccino. I took a seat and decided to dive right in. “Listen, Brooke, I called you because I’ve got a problem.”

“Just the one?”

“Ha. Funny. Anyway, listen. I know your mission in life these days is to screw me. But I’m hoping you can put that aside for a moment, in the name of a much more important pursuit.” She rolled her eyes and deliberately flicked a page in her magazine. I wasn’t deterred. “There’s a job in London. It’s a really big job. And—well, I can’t do it alone. You’re the only person with the skills to pull it off.”

She blinked. And then her face spread into a Cheshire cat grin. “Wait. Wait. You want
my
help?”

My skin crawled at the smug look on her face. “Okay, forget it. You’re right. It was a stupid idea. This was a total mistake.” Honestly, what had I been thinking? I rose abruptly to leave.

She watched me gather my things and then said, “Wait.” She grasped my wrist and motioned me to sit again. She looked thoughtful. “Why don’t you tell me a little more.”

I screwed my eyes tight and war waged in my head. But I had no real choice here. I sat back down. Looking Brooke directly in the eye, I told her about the Aurora Egg and the Caliga Rapio. I kept things vague, reluctant to tell her too much.

And then I paused, cringing inside, waiting for her response. Here, I expected Brooke to laugh and be on her way.

Instead, she licked her bottom lip, nodded, and said this: “All right, Cat. I’ll help you.” And she wasn’t joking.