“She used the name Romani. Did you know that?” Kat would have given anything for her voice not to crack, her eyes not to water. But it was too late. There was no turning back the con.
She looked into her uncle’s eyes, watched him watching Maggie. And Kat saw it all in that look. Hurt. Pride. Love. Once upon a time, Uncle Eddie had been in love. Once upon a time, Uncle Eddie had been human. Of all the jobs he’d done and things he’d stolen, Maggie was the one that got away.
“Of course you knew,” Kat whispered. She couldn’t look at her uncle when she finished, “You know everything.”
She reached for the button, started to summon the elevator and simply walk away, but Maggie moved to block her path. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, gee, thanks for the hospitality, Mags, but I have places to be.” Kat looked at Uncle Eddie. “People to check on.”
“Your crew is fine,” Maggie said. “Pierre never even missed his keys. Foolish man. So do not fear, my dear, you will be perfectly safe here tonight.”
Kat laughed. “I’m not staying.” She looked at the windows, the locked doors, and found her small hands balling into fists. “Move.”
But Maggie simply laughed. It was a terrible, taunting, Isn’t she adorable sound.
“You’re right about her,” Maggie said with a glance at Uncle Eddie. “She is a strong one.” And then her gaze was back on Kat. “But I can’t allow you to leave.” She walked to the window, pulled back the curtains, and stared at the lights of the palace that shone on the distant hill.
“Tomorrow morning my emerald will be publicly authenticated and then sold to the highest bidder.” Maggie turned slowly. “Until then, Kat, my dear, please consider yourself my guest.”
* * *
Maybe they thought it was more appropriate—or kind—that Uncle Eddie was the one who walked her to the tiny bedroom and locked the door. Kat didn’t mention Charlie. She didn’t talk about betrayal. Neither of them said they were sorry. It was just the kind of thing that wouldn’t do any good to say, so instead, Eddie stopped in the doorway and looked at her.
“So you’re finished?” There was a knowing look in Uncle Eddie’s eye, a finality to the words, but also a question. A challenge. A dare.
Kat felt the blood rush to her pale cheeks as she said, “It’s done.”
CHAPTER 39
As the sun rose over the small city-state of Monaco that Friday morning, it seemed to bring the gaze of the whole world with it. The streets and beaches were strewn with news trucks and foreign correspondents, reporters looking for a story. The headlines spoke of the ballroom and emeralds, of curses being broken and a beautiful young woman holding on to a cable for dear life.
But for all the stories being beamed around the world on that clear morning, not one mentioned a helicopter hovering near the windows of the presidential suite at Monaco’s ritziest hotel. There was no talk of teens rappelling down the side of the building. No holes had been blasted through its side or rescue missions mounted involving stolen maid uniforms, room service carts, and acetylene torches.
No, no one had tried to steal Kat Bishop. And when the sun came up, there was nothing more than a room service tray and clean change of clothes to show that anyone had remembered she was there at all.
It was just as well, Kat realized; she’d never considered herself the kind of girl who wanted to be rescued.
Or so she thought until the door to her small room opened and Maggie said, “Let’s go.”
For all the hours that Kat had spent trying to find a way inside the Prince’s Palace, there was one she’d never considered: be a hostage. She made a mental note not to rule that out in the future as she sat beside Maggie in the backseat of a Bentley, waiting for the guards to wave them through the gates that, three days before, the Bagshaws had been debating about the best way to blow up.
It had never occurred to her what else she might have to destroy to find a way inside.
“Where’s Uncle Eddie?”
“His work here is finished, Katarina. He has other obligations.”
Kat nodded and turned back to the window. “Paraguay,” she said with a sigh.
“I thought it was Uruguay,” Maggie said, then nodded as if it didn’t matter, because, in fact, it didn’t. “Before he left, your uncle gave me his word that this matter is over.”
“It is.” There was no lie in Kat’s voice when she said it. No angle. No con. “So how’s it feel to be so close to pulling it off? You’ve been chasing this for almost fifty years, Maggie. You’ve broken a lot of codes to get this far.” Kat looked at her squarely. “And hearts.”
“Oh, to be so young. So naive. If you haven’t noticed, darling, your uncle himself chose to help me. It was his idea to bring the Cleopatra, in fact—double the security, the notoriety. The risk.”
“Yeah. That was smart,” Kat agreed. “I think that’s exactly what I would have done.”
Maggie smiled. “Of course you would have, Katarina. You’re very good.”
“I am good,” Kat let herself agree. “But I’m not heartless.”
“Of course you are. Or you will be. Don’t worry about Charles and Edward, my dear. Your uncles and I know the truth”—she pulled on her gloves and stared through the window—“that love is the biggest con of all.”
Kat studied her across the backseat, sun streaming through the windows. Her skin was effervescent, glowing.
“I’m not you.”
Had Kat thought the words or had she said them? She wasn’t really sure, and didn’t really care. She would have been just as happy to shout it from the rooftops. “I won’t ever be like you.”
“Oh, really?” Maggie said.
“Yeah,” Kat said slowly, then turned to look out at the people who surrounded the walls. Some tourists. Some protestors carrying signs about artifacts and raiders and returning to Egypt the emeralds it had borne.