"I had to prove we could pull off something like this. I need your head in the game. People like this don't f.u.c.k around. We slip up and we're in serious trouble. We make it through this, and we're done, we're out. No more jobs, no more running from place to place, just roots."

I sit down at the table, opposite him.

"I didn't know you wanted to settle down."

"I don't, but your mother did. I left you with her because it was her wish. She wanted a stable life for you, not this."

I blink a few times. Dad never talks about Mom, not so casually. There is bad blood between us about this and it has never been aired.

I'll be blunt. My mother needed money when she was dying. It was lung cancer, and it was bad. She never smoked, but it got her anyway. She was only thirty-four when she died in a hospital bed. I don't know what kind of treatments she could have gotten with Dad's money, and I'll never find out. He didn't show himself until after she was gone.

Sometimes I think he just didn't care to see her, sometimes I think he couldn't bear to. There have been other chances in his life, as many as I have, most of the time, and I mentioned the Czech escort he was shacked up with for a while, but she was helping him with some kind of a job. I mean, I don't like to think about what my Dad does to satisfy his urges, that's a little weird, but he doesn't seem to take any joy out of the company of women the way I do.

I mean I do, don't I?

Suddenly I feel bad about... Brenda. Yeah her name was Brenda. I'm not going to romanticize it, paint it as anything more than infatuation on her part, but she was looking at me like I was something more than I was going to be for her. I feel a pang of shame, just taking pleasure from her and leaving. At least I gave as good as I got, right?

There's a photo of Diana on the table. I tap my finger on it and slip it over, turn it around so I can study it. Dad looks up.

"What do you think?"

"About what?"

"Her."

"I told you my first impression."

"She's pretty," he says, in an oddly paternal way.

"Yeah, she is."

"Not much younger than you."

"Yeah."

He shrugs. "You ever think about another life? Living some other way? Staying in one place?"

"Going to school? Going to college? Getting a job and a house in the suburbs? Please."

I quit school when we started globe-trotting. My real education was five years of training in thieving and social engineering and hacking and fighting, delivered by a master of all these things. I am an apprentice as much as a son, and I'm ready to take over the family business.

"Sometimes you ask yourself where it ends," he says, and knocks me out of my thoughts.

I just listen. It's odd for him to open up like this.

"You know, I don't know if I want this for you. Where does it end? When do I stop stealing from people? When I get caught? When I steal from the wrong person and end up at the bottom of a river? There's not going to be a retirement for me."

"Oh come on," I break in. "You said it yourself. We're done after this. The Argentina thing sounds great. Maybe we can both pick up some Argentinian girl with a great a.s.s and just quit. You've got all that cash in the accounts, right?"

"Right," he says, a touch of sadness in his voice. "Anyway. Basics. First principles. The painting is going to be moved to an exhibition wing in three weeks, but at night it will be moved back to the vault. We're not cracking this thing open short of some pretty serious explosives, and that's not an option."

"So, we need the combination."

"Right, but there's three levels of security on the vault door. One is a set of physical keys."

"Okay, steal it."

"The other is a set of codes. There's a pa.s.scode, which stays the same, and an encryption key that rotates. We need those codes?"

"Who has them?"

"Four people. Two board members, head of security, and the curator."

"Diana's mother."

He nods. "Carol Matthews."

"So what do we do?"

"We go on a date. Or rather, I go on a date. I need to get into Carol's bed."

I snort. I've read the dossier we have on this woman. "Good luck with that."

He looks up. "Son, where do you think you came from? I can handle this. I have an in." He checks his watch. "I have to get moving. There's a dinner at the museum tonight for donors. Our backers have secured a sizable donation."

"Think Diana will be there?"

"Maybe, maybe not. In any case, I'm working alone on this. I'll be in touch."

He pats my shoulder as he pa.s.ses by, and jogs down the steps. By the time I get down to the first floor he's already fully dressed. It must be a black tie affair. He nods to me as he leaves and that's the last of it. There's car out front to pick him up.

Everything swirls in my mind at once. I head out to the back porch to get some air. It's cooled off considerably since the afternoon, and there's bugs flitting about, buzzing.

Backers?

We've never worked like this before. There's something he's not telling me. I get the feeling we've been completely set up here- he wouldn't rent a house like this in his own name, and who was driving that car?

I do wonder if Diana will be there. If it's an evening wear type event, she might be wearing something slinky and s.e.xy that shows off those curves. For some reason picturing her in a black c.o.c.ktail dress is more exciting than thinking about peeling that imaginary bathing suit off her.

She looked younger in person. Innocent, somehow. I'm not used to that.

Music wafts over, from the neighbor's yard. They're all outside, lit by the glow of those stinky candles that keep bugs away and paper lanterns and oil torches. A cookout, by the looks of it. A plump father, a homely mother in a long dress, two kids, a boy and a girl, and some extended family. I try not to stare but I write stories for all of them in my head. The other adults are aunts and uncles, grown cousins. There's laughter and happy words I can't hear.

Reminds me of trips to New York. I always seem to find some time to walk the nicer parts of the city. You can't go too far without ending up outside a big picture window looking into a fancy restaurant, and there's always couples inside on dates. I stand there and watch them acting goofy in public and feeding each other and doing couple things, and wonder what that's like.

I feel the same way now. I feel not like I'm on the outside looking in, but like I'm on the inside, and the whole world is moving on around me. When your life revolves around a trade built on secrecy and stealth, at the end of the day, no one knows who you are.

Chapter 4: Diana.

When I wake up there's no note, no messages on my phone, no nothing. The Honda is in the garage and the house is empty, except for me.

It takes me a long while to reach my conclusion.

Last night, there was a small party hosted for donors to the museum foundation. Mom insisted on calling it a gathering. I don't think she acknowledges the existence of parties. If I was maybe two or three years younger I'd have been dragged along with her, forced into a demure dress and made to hang around all night like I had anything to talk about with a bunch of people twice my age.

I usually ended up spending most of these things avoiding a couple of the donors that seemed way, way too interested in little ol' jailbait me. They could really skeeve me out. I never bothered telling Mom. She'd just get offended on their behalf. I just hid.

Usually they were over by ten o'clock and we were back at the house by eleven. Usually.

As I wander through the empty house, finding her bedroom as she left it before she walked over to the museum to meet and greet, I come to the inexorable, unavoidable, and completely absurd conclusion that my mother did not come home last night.

Okay, I think I'm panicking.

She doesn't answer her phone. I know, because I call her five times. It just rings through to her voice mail. On the sixth call I hear it buzzing away in her office, though I can't get the desk drawer open. She keeps it locked. That's when I give up and call Bob.

He answers on the third ring.

"Diana?"

"Yeah, it's me," I pace through the house. "My mother didn't come home last night. Do you know where she is?"

"No idea. She was leaving with one of the guests, last I saw her."

"Who was she? The guest."

"She? It was a man."

"Wait, what? Are you telling me my mother left the party with a man and didn't come home all night?"

"Technically, you're telling me."

"Bob, this is serious. Where the h.e.l.l is she?"

"Call her."

"I tried, you big lummox. That's why I'm calling you."

He laughs at me.

"She'll be fine. Trust me. Your mom knows what she's about. Listen, call me if you don't hear anything in an hour or so."

I glance at the clock above her desk. It's almost one o'clock. I was up all night goofing around on the Internet. I a.s.sumed she'd just come home without bothering to inform me. She didn't say anything before leaving.

That's when I hear a crunch of tires on the sidewalk outside and rush to the front window, overlooking the door. A black Lincoln is sitting out front of my house, and there's a man stepping out from the back. He strides around and opens the door.

He looks familiar.

My mother steps out, taking his hand as she rises. She's wearing the skirt she probably had on last night, but her other things are over her arm and I swear she's wearing a man's dress shirt, the tails hanging loose over her skirt. She grins and rises up on her tip-toes to kiss him. On the lips.

Oh my G.o.d they had s.e.x.

I almost fall right on my b.u.t.t from shock. I may be, uh, innocent myself, but I have enough friends at school to recognize the, ah, glow. My Mom did the deed with this guy last night. He's dropping her off after what I presume is a night of post museum donor party s.e.x. Like, the guy's p.e.n.i.s was in her v.a.g.i.n.a.

Oh my G.o.d.

He turns around, looks around, and it hits me again, he looks really familiar. Dark hair, lean build, and he's got those little Reed Richards gray hair things at his temples. He's not dressed to the nines but he looks like he should be. He walks Mom up to the front door, and I rush down the stairs to the foyer.

I hear him saying, "Keep the shirt," and she breaks out laughing.

She waves to him, then turns around and notices me, and her look sours.

"What?"

"I..." I don't know what to say. "You didn't come home last night and you didn't answer your phone."

"My phone? Oh. I must have left it here."

"Yeah, in the desk. Who is that guy?"

"Steven Temple. He's a newer member of the donor list, but quite generous. We hit it off."

I fold my arms over my chest. "You hit it off."

She does the same gesture, just as defensively. My G.o.d, her hair is all floofed. She has bed hair.

"We hit it off. I haven't been on a date in years. I like him," she shrugs. "We'll be seeing each other again tonight. Which reminds me, I need to freshen up."

She almost brushes past me and I just stare at her in shock, swiveling around to watch her go up the stairs. She's not wearing shoes, she's carrying her freaking pumps in her hand. She's even doing that b.u.t.t sway thing.

My mom got laid. I have to tell Charity.

Of course, she's not online. I end up sitting there drumming my fingers for twenty minutes before the little blip next to her name turns green and she gets on the chat with me.

My Mom didn't come home last night.

OMG is she safe?

She just got here. She was with a guy!!!

Doing what?

What do you think?