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Hepburn. But those things didn’t really matter to Kat. Kat was far more concerned about the one case that was empty.
    “What goes in here?” she asked the salesman.
    “Oh, I’m afraid that space is reserved for a very special—Don’t do that,” the man said when Kat propped one hand on the case (and fingered the hydraulic base and titanium stand with the other).
    “But what is it?” Kat chomped her gum. “I might want to buy it, you know. I’ve got a birthday coming up, and my dad said I could pick out anything I want. Maybe I want what goes in here.”
    She tapped the glass (and surmised that it was drill-proof and at least an inch thick).
    “I’m afraid it isn’t for sale.”
    Kat rolled her eyes (and noted the positions of the surveillance cameras on the north wall). “Then what’s it doing in a store if it’s not for sale?”
    “We are an auction house, young lady, and this is an exhibition piece that will be displayed until—Please don’t do that,” the man said, grabbing Kat’s hand just as she reached beneath the case’s edge, fingering the pressure-sensitive lip of the pedestal.
    “Excuse me,” Kat said when she bumped into a man who was browsing among the cases (and felt the telltale shoulder holster of a plainclothes guard).
    “Miss,” the salesman went on, “perhaps you would be more interested in our collection of—”
    “So you’re just going to show it off?” Kat scanned the gleaming showroom floor (and noticed the state-of-the-art motion sensors at the pedestal’s base).
    “Yes, we are—”
    “That doesn’t seem very fair,” Kat huffed. She took one last look around the room, at the guards and the cameras, the exits and the case, and then turned to leave.
    “Miss,” the salesman called, “I am sure there are many other things that will work with your price range.” He swept his arm around the showroom floor.
    “That’s okay.” In the corner of the room, an antique clock began to chime. “I think I’ve got everything I need.”
    “You’re late.”
    Kat felt her cousin fall into step beside her, but didn’t turn to look. She was probably the only person on the street that day not staring at the slender girl in the short trench coat and tall black boots, but that didn’t really matter.
    Gabrielle pointed to the Kelly catalog in Kat’s hands. “So can we do it?”
    Kat took a deep breath and shoved the thin book into her pocket. “Right now, I’m more worried about whether or not we should do it.” She eyed her cousin. “You got the key?”
    Gabrielle rolled her eyes and flashed a small magnetic card from a hotel near Times Square. “Of course I got the key.”
    They could have picked the lock, rappelled down from the roof—maybe swiped a couple of maid uniforms and a housekeeping cart for good measure—but Kat and Gabrielle were smart enough to know that the shortest distance between two points was always a straight line. Or a picked pocket, as the case may be.
    So they made their way into the hotel lobby and elevator without any fanfare or unnecessary risk. They were just two girls on their own in the big city—all the way to the small, modest room on the alley side of the seventh floor.
    “So how was your day, Gabrielle?” Kat asked.
    “Do you have any idea how hard it is to tail an eightyyear-old woman? It’s hard. Really hard. Really… slow .” Then Gabrielle raised a fist and knocked. “Housekeeping?” she called while Kat stood just out of view. “Housekeeping!” she tried again. After a long quiet beat, she used the key, and together the cousins stepped inside.
    For all the hotel rooms that Kat had seen in her short life, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in one like that. It consisted of nothing more than two full beds, a clean small bath, a bureau, and one closet with hangers permanently attached to the rod.
    “Well, they travel like they’re almost out of money,” Gabrielle said, moving through the room so quickly