“It is,” Pierre said.
“Nothing takes a curve quite like it,” the young man said.
“You know the ’58 Speedster?” Pierre asked in the manner of a man who appreciates people who appreciate things.
“I do.” The young man placed one arm around LaFont’s shoulders, and with the other, patted the man twice on the chest. “But I’d keep this one away from fountains if I were you. Water does terrible things to the upholstery.”
“Pardon?” Pierre asked, but the young man just waved the words away and reached for the hotel door.
“Never mind, Mr. LaFont. Never mind.”
The Long Con is a misnomer, Kat had always thought. Nothing in her world was ever truly long term, least of all the jobs themselves. Even the longest con was never more than an assortment of moments that were, in themselves, very, very short; or so she had to think as she stood watching Hale and Pierre LaFont in the foyer of the grand hotel below.
It had taken Hale no more than a second to pick the older man’s pocket. It was the blink of an eye before Hale passed LaFont’s phone to Gabrielle. Less than a minute later, Simon had swapped out the phone’s SIM card and done something very tricky with a laptop and a long wire and then given the device back to Gabrielle.
So, no, Kat was convinced, cons were never long. They were measured in the beats of a heart, and if in those moments, the mark looked the wrong way or the guard glanced up at the wrong time, then everything could go terribly, terribly wrong.
Kat knew these things, of course, but never had they been quite as evident as when she looked back to the revolving door and saw two tall, lanky, and very familiar figures appear.
“Oh, no,” she muttered to no one but herself, but it was already too late.
Hale was with Pierre LaFont, trying to rope him in. Gabrielle was halfway across the lobby, LaFont’s phone in her outstretched hand. So Kat was the one who bolted from the railing and ran down the stairs, knowing in her heart that it was too late long before she heard the loud voice call out, “Gabs!”
The Scottish accent was thicker than Kat remembered, but it was a voice that she didn’t think she’d ever forget (even though she wasn’t exactly sure which of the ruddy-faced figures had yelled).
They were walking away from her and moving quickly. It seemed to Kat as if they’d each grown a foot in the two months since she’d last seen them settled on opposite sides of Uncle Eddie’s kitchen table. Angus was still taller, but not by much. Hamish’s shoulders were even wider than his brother’s. And it was a laugh of pure joy that came from both of them as they saw Gabrielle walking silently and purposefully across the floor. She was shifting LaFont’s phone to her left hand. She was eyeing the inner pocket of the man’s well-cut suit. Gabrielle’s thoughts and gaze and step were locked on one purpose, and Kat knew there was no way she would see the danger that was ten feet away and closing in fast.
“Gabrielle!” Kat said, rushing across the floor. But any hope that tragedy might be avoided went away with the booming voice that drowned out her own, crying, “Gabby!”
No one would ever know how much blame should be placed on the curse, and what, if any, should lie firmly on the shoulders of the Bagshaws. All Kat knew for certain was that Angus had broken into a run and was throwing his arms around Gabrielle, lifting her off her feet and squeezing her tightly.
Through the comms unit in her ear, Kat heard LaFont saying, “Thank you very much, young man, but I’m afraid I have a pressing appointment with Maggie now.”
She watched Hale’s eyes go wide as he finally saw the way Gabrielle’s long legs dangled inches from the floor as first Angus and then Hamish took turns spinning her around.
Kat listened to the crash as the cell phone fell from Gabrielle’s hand and onto the polished floor, sliding, skidding across the marble.
She held her breath as it zoomed underneath a bellman’s rolling cart, barely missing the wheels. Kat could have sworn her heart stopped beating as a businessman stepped over it, completely unaware that it was there. It seemed to take forever for the phone to come to rest beneath the cloth that covered a long table not ten feet from where LaFont and Hale stood.
“Why, is that Hale I see over—” Hamish started to yell in Hale’s direction, but Gabrielle’s foot jabbed into his shin, cutting him off midsentence.
A hotel employee stood right beside the table where the phone had disappeared, and Kat ran to him. “Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed. “Are those two boys attacking that pretty girl?” she cried, pointing to where Hamish was rubbing his shin and Angus was still hugging Gabrielle, sweeping her long legs back and forth across the floor.
“You there!” the employee cried without a second glance at the young woman who had already dropped to her knees and reached under the cloth.
“Where is it?” Kat said to no one but herself. The floor was hard on her knees. It was cool against her hands. And still Kat crawled, looking, searching. Praying.
“Where is it?” she said again as she crawled, shrouded in the shadows, closer to the phone, but also to LaFont and Hale.…
And the big brassy voice that yelled, “LaFont, you rascal!”
Kat picked up the hem of the cloth and peered outside just in time to see Hale disappear out the front door and Pierre turn and say, “Bonjour, Madame Maggie.”
Kat didn’t let herself panic. The dread she was feeling was too great, the worry too strong, and it was entirely too useless a thing to do. She did allow herself to think What else can go wrong?—which, of course, was exactly when the elevator doors opened and an attendant ushered LaFont and Maggie inside.…
And the phone began to ring.
Kat lunged for it, tried to muffle the sound, but the harm was done, and LaFont was already stopping, patting his pockets. Searching.
“You wouldn’t keep a lady waiting, would you, Pierre?” Maggie asked in her thick Texas drawl.
“My apologies, Madame. I just can’t seem to find my phone.”
With the words, a faint crack appeared in Maggie’s smooth façade. “Your phone is missing?”
“Well…not missing. I hear the thing, you see.”