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E NJOYING HIS CAPTIVE LISTENERS, K EVIN CONTINUES ON RAPTUROUSLY.

“I wish you could have seen it. At first when I arrived at the jail, I was like, Whoa, this is a really nice facility . Like, hotel-level, honestly. And everyone working was so kind. The whole vibe was downright pleasant. I figured it would be so easy, you know?”

I relax slightly. If Kevin wants to spin us an epic history of his triumph, I can endure it. As long as he did, indeed, triumph.

“But no one spoke English,” he continues, like he’s dropped the biggest narrative twist imaginable.

“They have an English guy, but he wasn’t coming back in until January second.

Obviously, that wasn’t going to work. Good thing your boy is fluent in French!

Okay, my summers in Provence didn’t exactly teach me the vocab for ‘legal representation’ and ‘extradition,’ but I was able to get my gist across.

” He gestures wildly, nearly spilling his champagne.

Tom grabs the glass from Kevin’s hand, scowling at the near miss with his tux.

“Sorry, dude,” Kevin goes on, unabashed. “The stuff my dad told me to say worked perfectly. Sort of makes me wonder if he’s ever gotten anyone out of European jail before.…”

“So Mitchum was just willing to help you? Did he buy it was a friend of yours in jail?” Tom asks.

It was the cover we came up with, not unrealistic for a privileged rich teen unchaperoned in a foreign country. Of course, we had backup plans.

Kevin shakes his head. “Nah. He’s always in a terrible mood these days, because I’m pretty sure my parents are separating.”

“I’m sorry, Kevin,” I say, momentarily diverted from the very important story he’s telling us. As frustrating as Kevin can be, he really is my friend. I had no idea what was going on at home. I know divorce, even when you don’t have the best relationship with your dad, isn’t fun.

“Thanks. It’s, well, whatever. We were all supposed to go to Paris together for winter break, but…

” For a brief moment, a little of the endless exuberance fades from Kevin’s eyes.

“No, he didn’t want to help,” he adds, refocusing.

“So I went to plan B and told him it was for Dash. Which, as expected, he didn’t believe.

But then I texted Dash the code you gave me, and he totally backed me up to my dad.

I mean, I wasn’t surprised, of course, because Dash and I have always been buds. ”

I don’t roll my eyes, despite desperately wanting to. It doesn’t take a degree in psychology to understand why Kevin wants to impress another imposing adult man in his life. If it makes him feel better about his own dad, I’m glad Kevin got to conspire with Dash.

It was Dash’s idea, after all, worked out over burgers last night.

As Mitchum Webber’s most important client, Dash knew he could throw his weight around if needed.

He just didn’t want to ask outright and formally tie himself to such a dubiously legal request. He was the one to tell us that Mitchum, a partner at one of the largest, most successful firms in New England, would have the resources and sway we needed.

Kevin, unsurprisingly, enthusiastically signed on to the important task, even though it involved pretending to be an intern at his father’s firm.

“I have to admit,” Kevin says suddenly, “Kevin Webber, future esquire, really does have a nice ring to it.”

Tom hands him back his champagne, and Kevin takes a gleeful sip.

His cheeks are flushed with pride. It’s ironic, I can’t help noticing.

Both Kevin and I don’t have what anyone would call healthy relationships with our fathers, and yet here we are, following in their footsteps. Kevin in law, me in crime. How sweet.

I pat him on the shoulder in congratulation. “Good work. So”—I look around—“where is he?”

Kevin downs his glass, and I have the dark premonition he’s stalling.

“Kevin,” I say slowly. “You did bring him, right?”

Champagne gone, Kevin frowns. “He’s coming, don’t worry.”

“You didn’t come with him?” Tom asks, his temper flaring.

“He’s coming, I promise. He just wanted to pick up some stuff first.” He sets his glass down and straightens his bow tie, his eyes straying to his reflection in the dark window.

I grab his elbow. “What. Sort. Of. Stuff?” I grind out.

“Relax,” Kevin says. “He just wanted to get his drill.”

Tom’s eyes fly wide. “He thinks he can have another go at the vault? After what happened to his partner? Isn’t that guy still in the hospital?”

I slash my gaze to him in warning. The room is loud and no one is close to us, but still, caution is warranted when using the word vault .

“No, this is good,” I say. “If he thinks he can make another play for the vault, he’ll be exactly where we need him. Get Grace ready to supervise him down there, though. She needs to pretend to help him but instead lead him astray. He can’t get inside. No one can.”

“This is dangerous,” Tom replies, his voice low.

“I know. This is the plan we made. It’s dangerous. But without it, we’re caught between people much more dangerous than a second-rate vault cracker.”

I sip my champagne, and for the first time all evening I can enjoy the bitter sweetness on my tongue.

Everything is in place. The plan is solid.

When Mia’s former crew member crashes this party, he’ll be either caught by Otto, thereby occupying the house manager while we go for the vault.

Or, if he’s able to slip past Otto and enter the party as a guest whose name has been added to the guest list by a certain sister hacker of mine, Grace will point him out to Sofia, who will recognize him.

Panic will spread among the guests. Our distraction will be in place.

Our path will be clear. All we have to do is—

Conversation suddenly fades to murmurs and gasps. Heads turn to the entrance.

I set my glass down, ready. Word is already circulating. It’s time.

Except when I face the front doors, I realize this isn’t the distraction we planned.

This is worse.

It’s Jackson.