“So,” he asked again, “tell me what?”
“It’s good to see you too, Edward,” Gabrielle said in her uncle’s native tongue. Then she pulled a noodle out of one of the pots, plopped it into her mouth, and took her seat at the table.
“So, Katarina, what is wrong?” Uncle Eddie sprinkled some oregano into a pot and stirred, but didn’t look back. “Was it the access? High-rises can be tricky.”
“Access was fine, Uncle Eddie,” Kat said.
“The exit, then,” he said.
“The exit wasn’t a problem.” Kat ran her fingers along the rough pine of the crate, and didn’t bother asking how her uncle had known the details of the job in Buenos Aires. Uncle Eddie knew everything.
He eyed the crate on the table. Kat could see him calculating the value of the painting that lay inside when he asked, “And so you bring me a box I cannot have, and a problem I cannot solve, is that it?”
“The job was fine, Uncle Eddie,” Kat said. “It’s just that—”
“Hale ran off in the middle of it.”
“Gabrielle,” Kat snapped.
“What?” Gabrielle said. “It’s the truth. I’m sure Uncle Eddie won’t kill him. He’ll probably just maim him a little.”
“No,” Eddie said. “I won’t.”
“Okay,” Gabrielle said. “So he’ll maim him a lot. But Hale can take it. I’m sure between Eddie and your dad, Hale’s just looking at a few broken—”
“No, Gabrielle.” Eddie’s voice was stern. “I will do nothing of the kind.”
“But…” Gabrielle gave her uncle a confused glance.
“I value a young man who values family.”
“We are Hale’s family,” Gabrielle said.
“No.” Eddie picked up the newspaper that lay beside the stove and tossed it onto the kitchen table. “We’re not.”
Kat didn’t reach for it. She didn’t have to. The headline was big and bold and looming in black and white: WORLD’S SIXTH WEALTHIEST WOMAN COMATOSE IN MANHATTAN HOME.
“Is this…?” Kat couldn’t pull her eyes away from the photo that accompanied the words. The woman wore her white hair in an elegant updo, a diamond broach at the base of her neck, as she sat beneath a Monet that, if Kat were to guess, was most definitely the real one.
“That, my dear, is Hazel Hale,” Uncle Eddie said. “She is your young man’s grandmother.”
“She’s in a coma?” Gabrielle asked, turning the paper to get a better view.
“She was,” Eddie said. “At six o’clock this morning she died.”
Kat craned her neck and looked straight up at the building, utterly uncertain what to do. The height would not be a problem, of course, but there was something about the penthouse apartment that loomed over the east side of Central Park that left Kat feeling exposed and fragile. So she shivered, staring up, completely unsure how to find her way inside.
Oh, it would have been easy enough to purchase a bouquet of flowers, throw on an apron, and disappear into the parade of florists and caterers that had been filing in and out of the service elevators all morning. A window washer had left his rig on the third floor, easily within Kat’s reach. There were at least a half dozen ways for Kat to access the penthouse, but even Katarina Bishop knew there were some rooms she shouldn’t con or break her way into.
Besides, it was the only Hale family residence into which Kat had never been invited. Like a vampire, she felt that it would be almost impossible to enter. So she stayed on the corner, watching, staring at her phone.
“Hey, Hale,” she told the recording that answered when she tried his number, “it’s me. Again. Like I said in my last message, I’m back in the city and I heard about your grandmother. Hale, I’m so sorry.” Kat ended the call without another word.
Maybe he was busy.
Maybe he was sad.
Maybe he was grounded.
Maybe he was still in Argentina, lying in a roadside ditch and calling out her name.
Or maybe he was…
“Hale?” Kat said when she saw a pack of men emerge through the building’s glistening doors. They all wore dark suits and darker expressions, and they were so uniform in appearance that Kat almost missed the boy among their midst. She stared for a moment, uncertain at first that it was him. She’d seen him in so many situations—playing so many different roles—but Kat couldn’t help but realize that the boy who stood before her was someone she had never seen before.
The men were almost at the limo that sat idling at the curb, so she spoke louder. “Hale!”
Every man in the group stopped and stared.
“Sorry,” she said. “I meant that one.” She pointed to the youngest Hale on the sidewalk.
He stepped cautiously away from the others and asked, “Kat?” almost as if he didn’t recognize her.
“Hey,” she told him.
“Hey,” he said back. “How’s the Raphael?”
“Fine. Halfway to Mr. Stein and its rightful owner.”
“Any trouble?”
“There were dogs,” Kat found herself confiding. “We hadn’t been expecting dogs, but they took one look at Gabrielle and fell in love, so…we made it.”
“Dogs and boys, right?” Hale laughed a little.
“Right,” Kat said and mimicked his smile. “We missed you.”
“Son?” one of the men said. He was tall, like Hale. Flecks of gray mixed among his black hair. He stood at the limo doors, speaking in Hale’s direction.
“Just a minute.” Hale called over his shoulder and kept his hands deep in his pockets.
“That’s your dad?” Kat asked, but Hale acted like he hadn’t heard.
“Kat,” he said, voice low, “what are you doing here?”
He looked and sounded a world away from the boy who had left her in Argentina.
She swallowed and told him, “I heard about your grandmother. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“I tried calling, but…I was worried, Hale. You just disappeared.”
“Son?” Hale’s father called again.
The first black car pulled away from the curb, and another appeared almost as if by magic.