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apparently
also worked with master criminal Devin Moran. Or Philippe
Aubertaine. And probably another half-dozen aliases. We only
learned of this nefarious data in the last couple of weeks, and I
was still trying to process the traitorous Simon with the ex-lover
Simon. Not that I wanted him back—at least not as a lover. I wanted
him in the kind of handcuffs that never made a man
smile.
    On a search Jack and I
undertook for a historic jeweled sword, Simon disappeared with a
bundle large enough to transport such an object, or any other art
treasures we didn't yet know about, and the thief hadn't been a
blip on the radar since. Everyone was looking for him. Me, because
our last conversation was far from finished and because he killed a
woman who looked eerily like me. And because I wanted to hit him
very, very hard where it hurt the most—his freedom and his
wallet.
    Moran was trickier. He had
the ability and means to be practically anywhere and everywhere at
the same time. He also possessed the added genius of making me
later see, and be aghast at, all the things I'd missed during
particularly important times in the mission. I truly hated
admitting such weakness.
    The craziest part was what
Jack questioned me about on the plane. The facts were clear that
Simon would have probably at least attempted to kill me at our last
encounter, yet he wasn't allowed to, and none of us knew why. Not
that we gave him much room to change plans anyway. If he had
dallied much longer, he risked Jack and me throwing a wrench into
his getaway plan.
    As we neared the car rental company, I
ducked into the ladies', and by the time I came out, slightly more
refreshed, Jack stood at the counter flirting with the cute car
rental brunette. Too much to handle on an empty stomach.
    "Jack," I called. When he looked up, I
pointed to my phone and then to a corner about twenty feet away. He
nodded, understanding I needed to check in with Cassie.
    "What's up, boss?" Cassie grinned at me on
the small screen. She knew I hated when she called me boss. I'd
known her since college, and she and I were learning the ropes in
running the London office of Beacham Ltd. together. Not all the
kinks were worked out yet, but she was turning into a phenomenal
analyst and researcher in the field of missing art.
    I frowned out of habit and said, "I think
Jack's working on a dinner date, but he has to make sure I get fed
first."
    "Really?"
    "No. He's working on getting us a rental
car, and the counter help is a young Jessica Biel wannabe. You know
what that means. Jack has to flirt, and every woman thinks a
British accent sounds sexy."
    "How do you feel about that?"
    "Huh?" What kind of question was that? "I
feel annoyed, of course. We have work to do, and he's wasting time
flirting. Last time he finagled an Aston Martin. All we need is a
plain sedan—"
    "Never mind. I was just making
conversation." Cassie laughed then turned professional. "I got news
from Max today you're not going to like. All expenses you incur
have to come through me."
    "What?"
    "He got the bill for his AMEX Black."
    I sighed.
    "You knew this day was coming."
    I nodded. I have a problem with budgeting—as
in, I have no real clue how it's done. Fortunately, my
man-of-all-talents, Nico, is a master at getting into any computer.
So when my funds ran short at a critical time when I really needed
to globe trot, Nico hacked into our boss's credit card history and
tacked all necessary expenses onto Max's account. But if Max
realized the charges were for my benefit and mandated this fiscal
timeout, what did he do to my favorite secret weapon?
    "Cassie, did Nico—"
    "Don't worry. Max tried to chew him out, but
Nico pretty much ignored all of it. He was here in the office to
Skype with the New York office anyway, and Max took the opportunity
to vent his spleen. I think Nico thought it was humorous rather
than humiliating."
    "Which means Max now feels humiliated
instead of vindicated."
    "What can I say? It's