“I . . . I needed a job.”
“No,” Kat said simply. She shook her head and, without wasting another second, clutched the blazer to her chest with her left hand and grabbed the wire’s end with her right. And suddenly she was flying, rising through the air toward the vent.
Once she was securely inside, she looked back at Nick, standing on the ground beneath her.
“Throw me the cable, Kat,” he said, staring up at her with an unwavering gaze, and Kat realized she hadn’t seen eyes like that since Paris—since the day Amelia Bennett had come to take Bobby Bishop to jail.
“You look like her, you know?” she said, staring down at him.
“Kat,” he said again, harsher now. “Throw down the cable.”
“I should have seen it sooner. I’m pretty sure Hale saw it right away.” She laughed, despite the sirens and the pressure and the blood rushing to her head as she peered down. “I guess I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“Kat, throw down the—”
“Taccone likes to threaten people, did you know that? Typical stuff, really. Innuendos . . . threatening pictures . . . And when I looked at the ones of my dad, I saw you in them— in the background. Were you following him, Nick? Is that why you followed me?” Kat asked. She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I bet you’d been planning to help your mom catch my dad by getting close to me for a long time.”
“Kat!” Gabrielle’s voice echoed in the distance. She could hear her cousin struggling with the four priceless paintings as they banged against the thin tin walls of the shaft. But still she didn’t move.
“How long has your mom been leading the investigation of my dad, Nick?”
He looked down at the ground and admitted, “A while.”
“And so she drags you with her all over the world, and somewhere along the way you got sucked into the family business?” She looked at the boy who might have helped her, or might have betrayed her, but had certainly lied to her. And yet she couldn’t help saying, “I knew there was a reason I liked you.” She scooted farther into the shaft. “Maybe you should try boarding school!”
As she inched deeper into the ductwork, Nick called out, “I thought you were retired!”
And something in his voice, or maybe just the moment, made Kat smile. She turned and leaned out of the vent one final time. “Why are you doing this, Nick?”
“Because . . .” He paused, searching for words. “Because I like you,” he said, but Kat didn’t believe him.
At that moment a new siren began to wail—a different, deafening sound.
“Kat,” Nick said again, stepping forward, reaching up for help, but in that instant, red laser lights flashed over the grate’s opening. The cool blue light of the Romani Room was replaced by a bright red glow. Nick glanced toward the doors as if he could hear the guards coming.
But Kat stared down at him and said, “Wrong answer.”
Kat tried to ignore the sirens that grew louder and louder with each inch. She squinted and crawled through the blackness. Focusing on a small square of light in the distance, Kat crawled closer and closer. Louder and louder the sirens wailed. And as badly as Kat wanted to stop and think about what had just happened, there was no room for thought at that point—no time.
When she finally reached the end, she could see Gabrielle beneath her, ripping off the skirt of her docent’s uniform, turning it inside out to reveal a burgundy plaid that matched Kat’s own. Simon was helping Hamish with his tie, the brothers’ blue jumpsuits now shoved deep into a wastebasket somewhere inside the Henley. And then she glanced down at the blazer in her hand. Nick wouldn’t be needing it. Not now. So she left it tucked inside the shaft and lowered herself to the floor through the glow of a whirling red light.
Laser grids were flashing angrily. In the chaotic wash of lights, she could barely make out the paintings on the walls— Renoir. Degas. Monet. She felt dizzy with the thought of being that close to so many masters. But then again, maybe it was just the thick gas being pumped into the room.
She thought of the oxygen mask that she’d left behind, but of course it was too late.
Through blurry eyes she saw the doors swing open, armed guards rushed inside.
“Henley security!” Kat heard the cry over and over, reverberating up and down the halls.
Kat’s head felt thick. She had already started to fall.
Chapter 34
From the backseat of Arturo Taccone’s Bentley, the entire world seemed to be falling apart. A small television showed live coverage of a correspondent who stood a mere twenty feet away. Taccone looked between the scene on the screen and the one unfolding in real life, and he wasn’t quite certain which showed the real picture.
“Things have taken a dramatic turn here at the Henley today,” the correspondent was saying.
“What do you want me to do, boss?” the driver turned and asked.
Arturo Taccone took a last look at the scene, then placed his sunglasses over his eyes. “Drive.” His voice was cool and free of emotion; as if another round of his favorite game were finally over. A bystander wouldn’t have known if he had won or lost. Arturo Taccone was simply happy to be able to play again another day.
He leaned farther back into the plush seat. “Just drive.”
The first men through the gallery doors that day were seasoned professionals. They had trained with the American FBI and the UK’s Scotland Yard. Most were former military. Their equipment was state of the art. The Henley staff took it as a personal insult whenever a great museum got robbed. Some might have said that their extreme security measures were overkill, a waste, but at this particular moment on this particular day, they seemed like a very good idea.