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 into 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.