Ally Carter - Uncommon Criminals

S omewhere between the airport and the brownstone, the others must have fallen asleep. Kat watched Gabrielle curl into a tiny ball like a kitten while Hale splayed across the limos backseat, long legs and arms, and a head that, on occasion, would drift onto Kats shoulder in a way she couldnt bring herself to mind.

Kat knew that she should be resting, but her eyes stayed open, watching the darkness fade. Thinking. Planning. Worrying about all the ways it could end badly. The switch could get blown or the gear could jam. The roof access might be compromised and the blueprints could be out of date. There were always a million ways a job could go wrong, but only one way for it to go right.

There were always too many chances.

When the car stopped, the street was quiet in that space that wasnt quite night and wasnt quite morning, and the girl who wasnt quite a thief thought for a minute about staying there, telling Marcus to cut the engine and let everyone just sleep. But then Hale shifted beside her.

We home? Kat felt his breath against her neck, warm and soft. It was as if, half awake, hed forgotten to be angry about Moscow and Rio and all the others. She missed the boy who was curled against her. Did you sleep?

Sure.

Liar, Gabrielle said, straightening and stretching. Youre thinking about the roof, arent you?

Among other things, Kat had to admit.

The switch? Hale asked.

The cameras? Gabrielle guessed, but Kat sat perfectly still, unsure whether she was hearing the spinning of the wheels in her head or the idling car. It seemed to take all the strength she could summon to reach for the door and step out into the dusky light.

The timing. She felt the green stone in her pocket, smooth and fragile. The timingis everything.

Turning from the car, Kat expected to see the empty street and the vacant brownstone, to find peace and quiet and anything but the sound of a gruff voice saying, I couldnt have said it better myself.

Kat would never know how many faces and names her uncle had worn in his long life. Eddie himself probably had no idea. There was only one Eddie that mattered, though, and that was the man who turned and left the stoop, walking through the dim house. That was the man the three teens followed into the heat of the kitchen.

Youll sit, he told Kat. Youll eat.

It was the first time in a long time that Kat could remember a decision being made for her, and she couldnt help herselfshe did exactly as she was told. And she liked it.

He struck a match and lit the flame on the old stove, then pulled a dozen eggs from the refrigerator. It was part habit, part ritual, and the hands that had run a thousand cons moved with steady, even purpose.

You have been to Europe.

It wasnt a question, and Kat knew better than to deny it. Hale and Gabrielle shared a worried glance behind her uncles back, but Kat just sat, feeling the weight of Charlies stone in her pocket, pressing against her hip.

And how is your Mr. Stein?

The first thought that came to Kats mind was relief: He doesnt know. The second, she had to admit, was irritation. Hes not my Mr. Stein.

I see headlines about statues in Brazil. Uncle Eddie talked on as if she hadnt spoken at all. I hear whispers that a Czanne has gone missing in Moscow.

Hale held up two fingers. Just a little one.