“I just can’t believe it. Amelia?”
But Amelia Bennett’s job was on those other streets, in that other world. She had a foot on each side of the line and Kat could tell she hated to ruin what was left of her friend’s very sweet illusions. “It’s true, Lizzie. I’m sorry. I came to the same conclusions myself.”
“But…” Elizabeth was shaking her head. “The earl is an old man.”
Kat couldn’t help herself. She thought about Uncle Eddie…about Elizabeth Evans’s first reaction when Kat and Hale had come through her door, and she had to laugh. “Never underestimate old men and teenage girls, Ms. Evans. That was your first mistake.”
“But…” She started, then trailed off, so confused and out of her depths she might as well have been adrift on the Thames, floating out to sea. “Why give us a fake egg if he just wanted…him”—she glared at Bobby—“to turn around and steal it?”
“The Bird in the Hand,” they all told her in unison.
The response was in stereo and it stunned her. “The what?”
“Sorry,” Kat said, leaning closer. “It’s one of the oldest cons in the world. I forgot you were a good person and wouldn’t know what it is. You see, this way the earl can claim the insurance and sell the real egg on the black market—as soon as word of the robbery gets out, of course, and people know the real egg is up for grabs. That way, with a double indemnity policy, he’d get close to three times the egg’s actual value.”
“It’s…genius.” Gabrielle didn’t try to disguise the reverence in her voice. “Evil. But genius.”
The words, the reality, seemed to sink in. Outside, people shopped for presents and Santas sat in department stores. People were ice skating on the rink around the Tower of London, but in that tiny café, it was a million years from Christmas. It probably felt to Elizabeth Evans like Christmas might never come again.
“So you think the earl still has the real egg?” she asked.
“There’s one way to find out,” Kat told her.
“What’s that?” Elizabeth asked, not letting herself hope.
Kat grinned. The ice was gone from beneath her feet; it felt like she was finally back on solid ground. “We steal it.”
Four Days Before the Auction
Near the Scottish Border
If Katarina Bishop’s home was Uncle Eddie’s kitchen table, then her home-away-from-home probably had to be the back seat of Hale’s Bentley. Whichever Bentley Marcus happened to be driving at the time.
Outside, the sky was a cool, steel gray and the wind was cold and strong as they drove over the steep hills that marked the border between England and Scotland. Once upon a time, it was a land of bloody raids and massive fortresses, of violent men and uncertain futures, and Kat had to marvel at the realization that, in a way, some things never change.
And yet, Kat couldn’t help but think, there are some things that probably should.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked the boy beside her.
Even with the Bentley’s tinted windows and the cold gray day outside, Hale’s eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. It was like he didn’t want her to see whatever thoughts might be visible in his eyes.
“I’m sure.”
“Because we don’t have to do it this way,” she said. “We could always Avon Lady or Three Blind Mice our way in. I mean, it is Christmas. The Away in a Manger always works at Christmas.”
Hale laughed. “Do you honestly think we could get Angus into that fake maternity belly after what happened in Belize?”
“No,” Kat conceded. “But I think Hamish would do it.”
“Oh, Hamish would totally do it, but it’s not the best play and you know it.”
“I know. But Hale, we don’t have to—”
He cut her off with a kiss. “We do.”
Kat forced herself to pull away. “Greymore Castle is six hundred years old, Hale. It used to have a moat.”
“We’ve dealt with moats before. As memory serves, moats can be incredibly convenient.”
“The place is lousy with secret passages, and the blueprints are on file with the Society for Historical Preservation. Plus, they filmed that BBC series here last year, so we know what the inside looks like. We could get in, is what I’m saying, Hale. Easy.”
The road curved and Kat couldn’t help herself; she swayed, leaning into his broad shoulders and his strength.
“We are getting in,” he told her.
“Yeah, but there are a dozen back doors we could use.”
Hale looked at her. “Why should we do that when we can go through the front door?” he asked and even Katarina Bishop couldn’t argue as the car crested a ridge and she saw it—sitting in the valley below: a gray stone castle with massive towers and ornate grounds, sprawling wings that had no doubt been added over the centuries.
Greymore Castle wasn’t just a house, Kat realized. It was more than a fortress. It was over five centuries of history and power and privilege. It was also a ghost of another time, and it was crumbling.
“No wonder the earl is running out of money,” Hale said, reading Kat’s mind as they drove toward the doors that stood open, two lines of uniformed servants standing at attention on either side.
When the car stopped, she looked at him. “Hale—”
“Kiss me, Kat,” he said. “For luck.”