A/N: Danny's a pretty good detective, Andrew and Randy are world class thieves that have bested him at every turn. On their case for months, Danny nearly caught them in a museum before they got away, and this time he won't let it happen again.
Danny's least favorite part about the job. Undercover work. But one of his informants had tipped him off that his thieves had ties with Beaumont Incorporation, so he had to come to this stupid gala to try to find any truth of the matter. He still didn't have any names, but at least now he had faces. He knew what they looked like, and that was enough. He took a sip of his wine glass, sighing as he watched the dance floor. No one here with that same hair he'd seen. "Annabell!" Danny heard someone cry with enthusiasm. He glanced over before passing it off. Annabell Beaumont, the lady of the Beaumont family. Very wealthy, apparently, and very well known. Only two children, which was a little unusual for French aristocracy. One son, and one daughter. From the pictures Danny had seen, the son looked like he had a similar face to one of his thieves, but that also could have just been what most French people looked like.
"Hello," he heard someone say quietly, the voice sounding strained. Danny looked up, and he thought that perhaps he recognized the man, but… But no glasses, clean face, slicked down hair. "Who are you here with, then?"
Danny thought about his answer before nodding. "I'm a representative of Axion Laboratories."
"Vlad Masters, then," the man hummed, looking Danny over again. "A powerful name."
"To some, I suppose. Can I help you?"
He smiled at Danny. "I was actually going to ask you to dance."
Danny quickly held his glass tighter. He couldn't dance, not while on the lookout. "Oh, no, sorry, actually I'm not that great of a dancer."
"Oh, come now," he said, taking Danny's glass and sloshing it slightly. A small amount spilled on Danny's chest, Danny left standing there with wine quickly staining his pressed white shirt. There went that. "My goodness, you have my apologies." The man - who Danny still didn't know the name of - grabbed up a napkin, and helped pat Danny dry- Hang on. Did he just-? "I really am sorry about this, Detective. You're just too clever for your own good." Danny saw a gleam of gold from within the napkin-!
He'd lifted Danny's badge straight from his chest! "Hey!"
"Now now. Wouldn't want to start a scene, would we? Then your entire cover would be blown. How did you come to the conclusion we'd be here, then? A tip off? Hm. We'll have to keep our enemies closer, then," the man said with a smirk, looking Danny over. "And I so would love that…" He looked down at the badge in his hand. "Detective Fenton. I see now. That does explain a thing or two."
"I have an alert system on my person," Danny said. "You're going to hand me my badge, and I'm going to press it, and you'll have two minutes before this place is swarmed with officers and every exit is blocked."
The man chuckled. "No, that's not what's going to happen. I'm going to keep your badge, and you'll probably sound the alarms, anyway, and we'll make our grand escape, and you'll be left looking the fool. But don't worry. It's a cute look, on you."
"Hang on, you can't-"
"Have a nice evening, Detective."
Fuck.
