I love being a pavement artist; seriously, I do. It's like when guys who would normally hate being freakishly tall discover basketball, or when girls with abnormally long fingers sit down at a piano. Blending in, going unseen, being a shadow in the sun is what I'm good at. Seeing the shadows, it turns out, is not my natural gift.

Oh you’re heist-drunk Kitty Kat. And you have been since the Henley.

Now, now, hear me out," Hamish went on. "We don't have to kidnap Garrett. Not if we kidnap the buyer." "Or distract him," Angus added. "Like the Bulgari job," Hamish said. "You mean the job that landed half the DiMarco family in a South African prison?" Kat said. Angus shrugged. "Nobody said it was perfect.

Is Joe your father, Zach?' I don't know where the question came from, but it was out, and I couldn't take it back even if I'd wanted to. 'No.' Zach shook his head. 'I never knew my dad. I don't know anything about him.

'Tell Suzie she's a lucky cat.' Have sexier words ever been spoken?

Yes, of course. But ... how?" Kat felt her crew around her: Hamish's arm hung around Simon's shoulders; Gabrielle's delicate hands draped through the arms of Angus and Nick. Kat's own hand found Hale's, then, fingers interlacing, palms pressing together so tightly that Kat knew nothing could come between them. Nothing. She looked at him. No one. "It's easy," Kat said, "when you don't have to do it alone.

Even the longest con was never more than an assortment of moments that were in themselves very very short.