But his partner was focused on their target, affixed to the wall above a mid-eighteenth-century cabinet halfway across the room. Not a painting—nothing as intense as the boat in the storm that had first caught Bobby’s eye, or even as pretty, if staid, as the parlor scene Richie had grabbed from the Dutch Room. An object, something old, but nowhere near as ancient as the Chinese or Arabic vase. And it wasn’t in a frame, but even so, it was going to be difficult to remove. No box cutter, this time—Richie already had a screwdriver out of his jacket pocket and was judging the cabinet below the object with his eyes, trying to decide if it would really support his weight.

Then he paused, looking back at Bobby.

“They want the flag, too?”

Bobby shook his head. They didn’t want the flag.

They didn’t want the paintings.

They had hired Bobby—paid him a ridiculous amount of money—to get one thing from this museum, and one thing only. A ridiculous amount of money, to follow a plan that didn’t make much sense, to steal an object hardly worth anything at all.

Bobby glanced around the room, at the drawers filled with portraits and drawings—and then he grinned.

Impulse control.

As Richie took his screwdriver to the object attached to the wall, Bobby headed toward the drawers. He wasn’t Irish, but tonight he was going to celebrate like he’d been born in Southie, not Revere.

Paint by numbers was always the smart play; kept you safe, smooth, and under the radar.

But it was the Impressionist masterpiece that got you into the history books.

Chapter One

Chapter One

It was a little after 2:00 a.m. on a Wednesday, and Hailey Gordon was on the run of her life.

She gripped the cushioned edge of the blackjack table with both hands as she tossed a purposefully nonchalant glance at the cards spread out across the green felt. Christ, it was hard to keep her emotions in check, push down the excitement coursing through her veins. She wanted to leap from her chair, bear-hug the nice old man sitting two seats down from her, lift him up in the air, and swing him right out of his orthopedic clogs. Instead, Hailey painted her face with a bored look, then waved a manicured hand over the table, letting the dealer know she didn’t want any more cards.