Dad didn’t have to tell me it had been a rookie mistake. I already knew it.

  Standing up again—this time on shakier legs and with a healthy amount of fear and embarrassment—I focused on the final phase of our plan.

  Getting what we came here for.

  I held up the drill I’d brought, and gave the trigger a pull before leaning over the side of the barrel and finding a spot I liked at the bottom. Then, slowly I drilled into the cask.

  It cut through the wood easier than I’d expected it to and barely took any pressure on my part to get through. When I felt the familiar give, I stopped the drill, detached the hose from my belt, and positioned the end next to where the drill was plugging the hole I’d made.

  With both hands at the ready, I quickly withdrew the drill while simultaneously plugging the hole with the hose.

  There was no way to keep at least some of the amber liquid from spilling out. Luckily, it wasn’t too bad, just a few splashes onto the barrel below and some on my hands. I wiped them off on my pants and then made sure the hose was fully attached.

  “Ready,” I announced when I was satisfied that it was all in place.

  “Okay,” Dad called back. “Let’s turn her on then.”

  I pressed the tiny silver button near the opening of the hose and watched as the formerly limp line began to fill up.

  “It’s working,” I said quietly, before letting out a little laugh. Even though it was going as planned, it still left me in awe. “It’s working!”

  I knew through all the dry runs we’d done before tonight that when I’d pressed the button on the hose, it had triggered the pump back at the truck to syphon all the brandy out of the barrel.

  Within minutes it had drained nearly 160,000 milliliters of cognac.

  And just like that, we’d become millionaires.

  Find the mark. Devise the plan. Execute the plan. Disappear rich.

  It was a ridiculously simple business model that was difficult to pull off, yet somehow we’d just done it.

  “Congratulations, Frankie,” Dad said as I rejoined him on the other side of the room. “You just pulled off your first job. How does it feel?”

  “Great!” I said. My whole body hummed with excitement.

  The truth was, I felt invincible. I felt alive. I felt more like me than I ever had before.

  And that’s when it became clear: This was who I was.

  I was a thief.

  Entry Ten

  So, you can see why I was so freaking annoyed when Dad suggested I be something else.

  Someone else.

  Not once had I ever asked him to change who he was. Even when he went and got caught by the FBI and ended up in prison and I had to go live with a cop.

  Even then, I’d never suggested he give up the one thing that made him, him.

  And so, when he told me maybe I should just be a normal kid? It was like a kick in the stomach.

  That man in the prison visitor’s room, sitting there across from me…that wasn’t my dad. My dad, the infamous Tom Lorde, would never have asked me to leave our life behind. He’d never suggest I change. Heck, he would’ve helped me plan my next job.

  That guy in there had been an impostor. A doppelganger they’d replaced him with maybe. Either way, he was not the guy I grew up with.

  The one who’d taught me I was perfect just the way I was.

  And I certainly wasn’t going to change who I was for someone I didn’t even recognize anymore.

  That’s why I’d gotten so upset.

  That’s why I’d stormed out.

  And that’s why, in that moment, I decided I was definitely pulling my next job….

  Like, now.

  Nobody was reining me in anymore.

  Entry Eleven

  Reading back over my last entry, I’ll admit it was a bit melodramatic….

  But only a little bit.

  For the most part, I stand behind everything I said.

  And I’m still going to take down that exotic trade jerk. Whoever it is.

  If anyone deserves it, they do.

  But I’ll also rein in the drama.

  Mostly because it has dawned on me that it’s the behavior of a typical kid my age.

  And I refuse to turn into that.

  Entry Twelve

  Ollie stood there in my kitchen staring at me with his mouth wide open.

  He didn’t move.

  Just gaped as if in shock.

  And he might’ve been. Even I’d been a bit stunned when I’d looked in the mirror after the transformation.

  “I think you finally did it, Frankie,” Uncle Scotty said, watching everything unfold as he drank his morning coffee while leaning against the counter. “You’ve rendered Oliver speechless. I didn’t think it was possible, but, well…congrats.”

  “What?” I asked nonchalantly to Ollie as I poured cereal into my bowl.

  He finally slammed his mouth shut and swallowed the drool that had been pooling at the corners. Then he shook his head in disbelief.

  “What do you mean, what?” he asked me, his brain officially kicking into high gear. “What did you do, Frankie?!”

  I scowled at him. “Gee, thanks.”

  So, I’d done a little something different with my hair.

  Okay, a lot of something different to my hair.

  So, sue me.

  I held up my spoon and peered at my reflection. I had to admit, it was…bold.

  When I’d walked into the salon, I’d found the most edgy girl there and plopped down in her seat without asking if she was free.

  “I want something totally different,” I’d said, staring at my boring hairstyle in the mirror.

  “Cool,” was all the girl said back.

  Then she started cutting. When she discovered I was a natural blond—and not just blond, but icy blond—she just about died.

  And then she dyed my hair…

  …back to its original color.

  I’d walked out of the place a few hours later with a punky new ’do and an attitude to match.

  Ollie placed his hand on the back of a chair as if he needed the support.

  “I just have so many questions,” he said slowly. “One, why? Two, why didn’t you let me do it? You know I live for a good makeover. Three, did you break up with someone and not tell me about it? Four, was this a crazy Britney Spears sort of situation? Okay, your turn.”

  I raised my eyebrow at him as I continued to crunch on my breakfast instead of answering his questions.

  “Good luck with that one,” Uncle Scotty muttered as he put his mug into the sink. “I’ve been trying to get her to talk since Friday, but she’s like Fort Knox.”

  Ollie’s eyes widened as he put two and two together.

  My uncle started off across the room and leaned toward Ollie as he passed. “Let me know if you find anything out,” he muttered

  “Will do,” Ollie responded absently, his mind already elsewhere.

  Once I heard the familiar click of the front door and Uncle Scotty starting up his car, I finally dared to look over at my friend.

  “Well?” he asked. “What drama are we looking at, here?”

  “No drama,” I answered easily.

  “No drama? Yeah right,” he answered. “Extreme makeovers of this level happen for a reason. What’s yours?

  “I just wanted to get back to my roots,” I said with a shrug.

  “Literally?” Ollie said, sitting down across from me.

  “Yeah,” I said, sticking my chin out. “You don’t like it?”

  He reached out and touched my hair. Well, what was left of it. My former bob haircut and bangs had been replaced with a buzz cut around most of my head with the exception of a longer, faux-hawk style in the front.

  It might’ve been a bit flashy, but I sort of loved it. And it was the most I’d felt like myself since I’d arrived in this town.

  No one was going to try to control this version of me, that was for sure.

  “It’s a little pixie,” Ollie mused, walking around me as he examined my new look. “It’s a little punk. It’s hard to pin down. Which I’d say describes you to a T.”

  “Why, thank you,” I said, pleased that somebody seemed to understand me.

  “With that said…,” he continued.

  Uh-oh.

  “There’s gotta be a story behind it. I need to hear that story,” he concluded.

  I paused, the spoon halfway to my mouth.

  “No, you don’t,” I said.

  “Yes,” he argued. “I do.”

  “Nah.”

  “But I insist,” he said, giving me what I think was supposed to be his I’m serious look. It really just made him appear constipated.

  I placed both my hands on the tabletop and pushed myself up.

  “Fine!” I grumbled and let out a big breath. “But only because you’ll just annoy me until I do anyway. And I need something from you, too.”

  “Goody!” Ollie said, clapping his hands together giddily because he was getting his way.

  The truth was, I was always going to tell him. It was just a matter of when.

  “Come on,” I said, motioning for him to follow me.

  On the way upstairs, I gave Ollie the Cliffs Notes version of my visit with Dad. When I was finished, I plopped down on my bed and buried my head, not wanting to see his face when he took his beloved Tom Lorde’s side of the argument.

  After a few seconds of silence, he just said, “That’s crappy. What was your dad thinking?”

  My head shot up from its place in my comforter.

  “Wait—you agree with me?”

  As soon as it was out of my mouth, I regretted it. The words sounded so…needy. And I hated needy. But until now, I hadn’t realized how much I’d been hoping for his support.

  Ollie looked at me like I was crazy.

  “Of course,” he said. “How could your dad—the guy who taught you everything you know—ask you to be someone else? It’s beyond hypocritical.”

  My heart, which had been frozen like an icicle since seeing Dad, thawed a little then.

  Ollie must’ve seen the change in my demeanor, because he took a step toward me.

  “You do realize that I’ll always have your back, right?” he asked, making it clear he meant what he was saying. “I may be obsessed with Tom Lorde, but you’re my ride or die. The one I’d follow into fire.”

  I turned away from him so he couldn’t see the emotions building in my face.

  “There’s no need to be so dramatic,” I said, trying to force the tightness in my throat to disappear. Then I looked down at my hands. “But I appreciate you saying it.”

  We were getting dangerously close to having a moment there, and luckily Ollie sensed my reluctance. He cleared his throat and began to walk around the room, touching things as he went.

  “You said you had a favor to ask before?” he said, changing the subject.

  “Right,” I answered, taking a few cleansing breaths before turning around to face him again. “So, the one good thing that came out of my visit with Dad is that I’m definitely going after that tiger guy. I mean, we are, if you’re up for it.”

  Ollie’s face lit up like Christmas morning.

  “Oh, I’m up for it,” he said, hardly able to hold in his excitement. “When do we start?”

  “Now,” I answered.

  Entry Thirteen

  I pushed open the double doors to the Greenwich Police Department but hesitated before crossing the threshold.

  Once I did so, I knew that there was no going back.

  For me or for Ollie.

  “Everything okay?” Ollie asked in my ear.

  I turned my head slightly to see that he was standing right behind me.

  “No problem,” I said, trying to act cool.

  You’re not turning yourself in, so stop acting so guilty, I berated myself.

  “Okay, so, you know what your job is, right?” I asked him under my breath for about the fifth time since we’d left my house.

  “Yes,” Ollie said, sounding bored by the question. “Do you?”

  I snorted at him before walking up to the front desk and waiting for someone to notice us.

  “Next.” A good-looking man with skin the color of cocoa motioned for us to step forward. “And how can I help you two?”

  “We’re here to see Detective Lorde,” I said.

  He turned back to the computer and typed on the keys.

  “And what is this in reference to?” he asked.

  “Um, it’s in reference to me being his niece?” I said, not sure what else he was looking for.

  His eyes left the computer and really looked at me now. He took in the shockingly white hair and raised an eyebrow.

  “I know,” I said, almost apologetically. “We’re practically twins, right?”

  He didn’t laugh, but he did pick up the phone and punch in a few numbers.

  “What’s your name?” he asked as he waited for the call to connect.

  “Frankie,” I said. “He’ll know who I am.”

  When the man still didn’t laugh at my obvious wit, I turned to Ollie and rolled my eyes.

  “Hey,” the officer said into the phone, finally, still eyeing us suspiciously. “Yeah, so I’ve got a kid named Frankie here for you. She says she’s your niece?”

  There was a brief pause.

  “Uh-huh,” he said before hanging up the phone.

  “Wait over there and Detective Lorde will be out in a minute,” the officer said, pointing over to an empty bench near the door. Then he turned his attention away from us. “Next!”

  We’d barely sat down when Uncle Scotty appeared through a side door, a worried look on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked coming up to us.

  I blinked.

  “Nothing,” I said, standing up. “Ollie just kept asking to see the inside of a real, live police station. We had nothing else to do. So here we are.”

  “Oh,” Uncle Scotty said and let out the breath he’d been holding. “Okay. Don’t freak me out like that.”

  “What? You only want me to visit when there’s a crisis?” I asked him with a smirk.

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he eyed my hair.

  “It’s just a haircut, people!” I exclaimed. Everyone in the waiting area turned their attention to us. “Geez, don’t get it twisted.”

  Uncle Scotty noticed the staring, and waved for Ollie and I to follow him through the door he’d just appeared from.

  “You guys can come in, but you have to be invisible, okay?” he said.

  “Kinda hard to do when you’re her or me,” Ollie said pointing to both of us.

  “Try,” Uncle Scotty just said.

  We might’ve raised a few eyebrows outside, but nobody inside the station even looked twice as we were led through the bullpen—the big, open room full of desks and officers. The officers there had seen it all.

  Uncle Scotty eventually stopped at a desk and sat down, gesturing for us to do the same at the one across from his. I surveyed Uncle Scotty’s workspace. It was tidy—all the odds and ends had a designated space and his papers were lined up perfectly in his inbox. There were a few action figures in the corner: Wolverine, Cyclops, Rogue, Mystique, and Gambit. Either he was an X-Men fan, or he simply liked to play with toys. My bet was on the former.

  My gaze fell on a frame he had on his desktop. It was plain black wood that appeared distressed, though I doubted it was homemade. And it was dusty. It had been there awhile. I was surprised to see the picture that was in it, and leaned forward to take a closer look.

  It was of me and Uncle Scotty, sitting together in the back of his truck. I was younger than I am now. By several years. My hair was long. All the way down my back, and the same bright white it was currently. I didn’t have bangs. I was wearing a crooked smile on my face and was leaning against my uncle sheepishly.

  I could remember the day clearly.

  It was the last time we’d visited Uncle Scotty. Before the whole FBI hunt and everything.

  Dad had taken the photo.

  It had been a great day.

  Uncle Scotty saw me staring at it and cleared his throat.

  “We should take another one,” he suggested. “Now that you’ve got your new haircut and all.”

  I let out a little smile at the gentle teasing. With adults, you had to dole out the victories sporadically so they didn’t get big heads about things. But Uncle Scotty had been oddly cool about not prying about my visit with Dad. He hadn’t even freaked out when I’d chopped all my hair off.

  At least, he hadn’t freaked out on me.

  “Speaking of,” Ollie chimed in, and caught my uncle’s eye as subtly as he could muster. This was the hardest part for Ollie, because subtlety was not his strong suit. He leaned over toward Uncle Scotty conspiratorially. “I might have the info you’ve been looking for.”

  Then he darted his eyes toward me wildly.

  Oh, Ollie.

  “Okay,” Uncle Scotty said, not totally sure what was going on.

  “Detective?” Ollie then asked loudly. I was pretty sure the whole room could hear him. “Take me to my holding cell.”

  “Just call me Scotty, Oliver,” he reminded him with a sigh.

  “Only if you call me Ollie,” my friend responded seriously. “My mom’s the only one who calls me Oliver and that’s mostly when I’m in trouble. Now about those jail cells…”

  “Uh, sure,” Uncle Scotty said. Then he looked over at me. “You wanna see the cells, too, Frankie?”

  “Huh?” I said, acting like I was only just tuning in.

  “Your uncle’s gonna lock me up,” Ollie said enthusiastically. “Wanna come?”

  “Not even a little bit,” I said dismissively.

 

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