As Hailey took a hard right into a crosswalk, playing toreador with the sparse traffic, Nick’s discomfort multiplied. The immense limestone building rising up from the sidewalk across the street seemed both intimidating and a little arrogant, from its colonnade of ionic columns to the massive windows climbing up the walls. Of course, there was a dome on top—and the building behind it had even more columns and an even larger dome, modeled after the Greek Pantheon. Boston and its surrounding neighborhoods liked domes; Nick had always suspected it was because domes made people like him feel particularly small.

When they reached the other side of the crosswalk intact, Nick cast another glance toward Hailey. She was about to take the first stone step that led to the entrance of the imposing building, but had paused, and was now looking up and down the curb behind them, searching for something.

Nick had to admit, watching her, that she was growing on him, even as he wondered why she was still willing to be part of his dangerous game. Then his attention shifted to the object under her right arm—the object from Gail’s trunk, wrapped in a checkered towel.

The towel had been in the trunk as well; God only knew how long that thing had been bundled up that way. Years, maybe decades. As Hailey continued to search the curb, a section of the towel moved as well, revealing a glimmering hint of what was beneath. In the morning sun, it shined like gold.

Except it wasn’t gold, it was bronze, gilded and shaped over two hundred years ago.

“The eagle,” Nick had exclaimed, when Gail had first opened that trunk. “The finial, from the top of one of Napoleon’s flags. This is it? Donati was only supposed to steal the gold eagle?”

“It’s not gold,” Gail had responded. “And yes, he’d been paid—an insane amount of money, actually—to steal that damn eagle.”

Hailey had lifted the object out of the trunk. It was about ten inches tall, maybe three times as long wing tip to wing tip. Weighed a couple of pounds. Bronze, not gold, so it couldn’t be worth much beyond the historical value. Not the kind of money you risked your life or freedom for. Or killed for.

It was then, while Hailey had been running her fingers over the wavelike curves of the eagle’s wings, that Nick had noticed the other object in Gail’s trunk, wrapped in a smaller, similarly checkered towel. Gail had shrugged at him.

“And that’s the second thing Donati was paid to steal.”

“I thought Donati never took the second job. I thought he ended up in the trunk of his car.”

Gail nodded again.