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In advance, I would like to apologize for the late update (haven't I told you before that I hate making promises because something always seems to get in the way?)! My holiday weekend started with a trip to the ER with my baby, who had contracted RSV that was quickly turning into pneumonia. Oh, but wait… there's more… I also had two emergencies pop up with other members of my family. Luckily, all of that concluded by Christmas and I was able to celebrate at home with my family. How did you all enjoy your holidays?

Well, welcome back to another chapter! I appreciate you all sticking with me so far. As always, an extra big thank you to those of you that have favorited, followed, reviewed, and private messaged me. You truly keep me going when I'm not sure that I can continue. That's why I'm rewarding your loyalty. From now until the end (barring any sudden emergencies and with a reasonable amount of time to be expected), I'll be posting the next chapter of the story as soon as the latest one reaches eight reviews. (And as an apology for my late update, I guarantee that there will be three updates this week – and I've already edited all of them, so they won't be put off.)

The New Year is coming up, and I'm super excited. Who doesn't love a good party to celebrate life, right? What are you all going to be doing to celebrate? I love to hear how everyone else enjoys the holidays, so please feel free to share via review or private message!

I also have something exciting coming up for a vote soon (as in, probably the next chapter), so make sure that you're not skipping these messages at the beginning of the chapter!

Happy Reading!

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Chapter Twenty-Two: Showtime

Allie

Hands still on my shoulders, steadying me, the French cosmetologist spoke with a heavy accent, breath tickling my ear. "You may open your eyes now."

Nervous, I inhaled once and then let my eyes flutter open.

What I saw left me breathless.

The gown that I was wearing was Adrianna Papell – a gold, sequined gown with a scooped back that showed off my slender shoulders. The fabric was non-stretch and body-skimming through my hips, but it hid my pregnancy very well; I couldn't even tell that I was expecting a baby. The semi-sheer short sleeves and pooled train gave it an added sense of elegance, as did the strappy gold heels that I'd paired with it.

But the gown wasn't really the impressive part.

My dark hair had been curled and then loosely pulled back into an elegant updo, with a few loose, curled tendrils framing my face. As for my face… my makeup was flawless. Even though I knew for a fact that my skin had been blotchy (thank you, pregnancy), it now appeared perfectly smooth and without blemish. She'd kept my eyeshadow light, paired with a thin line of black eyeliner and false lashes that really seemed to make my blue eyes pop. My lips sported a pinky nude that really seemed to pull it all together.

"Well?" she asked me, and I realized that I'd been silent for a very long time, just staring.

I smiled at her reflection in the mirror as I continued to take myself in. "It's perfect. You're amazing."

Smiling at my praise, she stepped away and began to gather up her bags. "I left a list of all of the products that I used, just in case you want to buy them for yourself. It's on the coffee table in the living room."

As I came to my senses, I said, "Oh, wait. I need to tip you."

She waved the comment away. "Mr. Medici has already done that. He was quite generous; paid the same amount for the tip as the session cost." Winking at me, she added, "You got a good one."

The thought of being connected to Medici like that made me want to vomit, but I composed myself and forced a smile. "Well, I'm glad that it's all been taken care of. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. You look positively radiant." With one last smile, she disappeared through my bedroom door. Moments later, I heard her leaving through the front door, and I was alone again. For… I glanced at the clock… ten more minutes.

I so badly wanted a glass of wine to calm my nerves just a bit, but I settled for some ginger ale. It had helped (in tandem with the Diclegis) my morning sickness incredibly, but it turned out to not be quite so effective with nerves. In the end, I settled with listening to "Here Comes the Sun" a couple of times. It had worked back in my bomb squad days, and it worked then, too.

All too soon, Medici himself was at my door, smiling and excited. Of course he was excited; he would get his box and he wouldn't have to risk life in prison to do it. I couldn't wait to wipe that smug smile right off of his face.

Soon. Patience.

"You look incredible, passerotta. Shall we?" He offered me his arm.

I wanted to slap it away, but my manners kicked in and suddenly, he was escorting me down the hallway.

"I won't be coming with you, sadly," he told me once we were inside the elevator. He gestured to the man that had accompanied him. "Hans will be your chauffer and drop you off at the museum. Everyone else is in place to do as you asked. I've made certain that they know the plan forwards and backwards."

"Excellent." Plus, I would have my people for backup. The only part I was really worried about was my own.

"It'll all be over soon," Medici said and we stepped off of the elevator, heading for the doors. "I know that your family will be excited to see you."

"I'm sure they will." I gave him a pointed look. "And I'm excited to see Trent."

Catching my drift, he nodded. "That's all been arranged. We will meet at the location, exchange Trent for the box, and we'll both go our separate ways."

None too soon. I thanked him when he pulled open my limo door and helped me inside.

"Good luck," he grinned.

I forced a smile back at him.

The drive to the museum was both far too quick and incredibly long. We had to wait in line for Hans to drop me off at the steps, and I spent that time staring out the window, taking it all in. There was a large banner welcoming the generous patrons, clouds of balloons, lights so bright that they hurt to look at for too long… The Kingsley Museum had really gone all out for this fundraising thing.

"We're next," Hans said as we paused so that the car in front of us could unload. "Are you all set to go?"

In my stomach, the butterflies began anew and my baby boy kicked, almost as if to say, I'm here, too, Mom. We can do this. I felt courage despite the fear. "I'm ready."

In a matter of moments, we were pulling up and then Hans stopped. My door opened, and a hand reached inside to help me out of the limo. Blinded by the lights and the flashing of cameras, I took it and stepped out, plastering a charming smile and expression. No one knew who I was – and I intended to keep that mystery alive – but that didn't mean that I couldn't be charming and still win a few hearts.

Reporters were shouting questions at me in a combination of French and English and, though I spoke both languages fluently, I did not respond. Instead, I kept up the air of mystery that would aid me in my heist. Once inside, I was away from the reporters, and I took the opportunity to catch my breath.

Satisfied that I was calm again, I took the opportunity to look around. The help desk was gone and, in its place was a large table decorated with the finest china. Men in tuxedos and women in ball gowns milled about, chatting and laughing. Most of them probably knew each other; people with money tended to run in the same circles.

Off to the side, the double doors to the ballroom that was normally closed off were open and music was drifting from inside. It sounded like a quartet, and of course, they were phenomenal. Undoubtedly, there would be plenty of dancing. That would be an excellent chance to slip away unnoticed, of which I made a mental note.

"I don't think I've seen you around before," said a lilting tenor voice in flowing French. "And I'm certain I would remember a face like yours."

Pasting that same charming smile on my face, I turned to face him. He was about as tall as Steve, but not nearly as muscular. His hair was black and slightly curly, definitely in need of a trim sometime soon. His face was nothing spectacular – neither incredibly handsome nor ugly. The tuxedo that he wore probably cost about as much as a year's worth of my salary with the Five-O task force; it looked to be specially tailored for him, as it fit him extraordinarily well.

"I'm not from France," I replied in fluent French.

His dark eyes widened in surprise. "For someone that claims to not be from France, your French is surprisingly good. Where did you learn it?"

The last thing that I wanted to be doing was talking to this guy, but I needed to blend in. Best to not make a scene by standing alone, and he was as good an excuse as any. "My father is French." Best to stick as close to the truth as possible, so as to keep the lies straight.

"Ah, that would explain your exceptional facial features." He smiled charmingly at me.

At least… it would have been charming for anyone but me. Also, my facial features looked exactly like my mother, who was British. "Thank you. I don't believe you told me your name."

"Gregor Herre. I'm an investment banker here in Paris." He named the bank with pride in his voice.

I made my eyes widen as if I were incredibly impressed. I really wasn't a big fan of bankers, but he could possibly be a good alibi later. "Wow. You must be very intelligent to work in such a prestigious position at such a young age."

Very proud that I had put those pieces together, he began to boast about how his father – also an investment banker – had put him through college at Oxford. I listened only enough to keep up with the general conversation; my eyes were scanning the area and the people, on high alert just in case.

"But enough about me," he finally said once there'd been far too much about him. "What is it that you do?"

"I'm… an art collector, of sorts. I collect it for my clients, really, but I'm also building up my own collection."

"How nice," he said, but his expression didn't match his words. Clearly, he was ready to hear more about himself. I was proven correct only moments later, when he launched into a tale of the time that his family had flown to Switzerland to collect a priceless painting. He was so proud of it that I didn't have the heart to tell him that it likely wasn't real, as my uncle had stolen that exact painting twenty years ago.

I was saved when the museum curator called everyone to the table for dinner. My place was nowhere near Gregor's, so I said a polite farewell and took my seat next to a woman with fiery spiral hair. She was with a man that had to be twice her age, but when he introduced himself, I recognized him as a notable surgeon. Made of money.

Right before the dinner started, the man that I'd been waiting for slipped into the empty chair on my other side. He was dressed in a tux that fit him so well, you would have thought that it had been made just for him. His dark hair had been subtly styled, and his beard had been neatly trimmed. He looked more like a handsome millionaire bachelor than an agent working for Mossad.

"Nice to see you," I murmured and tried to keep my smile mild. "I wasn't sure you would show up."

With a smile that was so similar to Ari's that it made my heart ache, he whispered, "I'll always show up."

"Well, put your game face on, because from what I've experienced of the guests so far, it's going to be a dull night."

"Up here, anyway." He winked at me and then gave his attention to the curator, who was sitting at the head of the table and calling everyone to attention.

He spoke about the museum for a minute, and then thanked everyone for their donation and talked about how it would be used. I was constantly tuning out, wondering instead about the menu. Medici had made the reservation and donation, obviously, so I had no idea what food would be served. I just hoped that it wasn't seafood, as I hadn't tolerated that at all during this pregnancy.

Luckily, it was not seafood. First, we were served a delicious salad with some kind of lemon dressing. Health food had never really been my thing, but I'd been trying to eat healthier since becoming pregnant, so I ate it happily. Next came the main course, and it was absolutely delicious. Grilled chicken in some kind of fancy sauce, along with vegetables that had been perfectly roasted.

Imran and I did not talk much during the meal. We had agreed beforehand that we would make it seem as though we'd only just met. Less suspicious that way. So, I amused myself with eating and people watching. I'd always been amused by the way that the upper class lived. The conversations were about money and country clubs and old wine. The looks were ridiculous and coveted. The personalities could be varied, but they were generally pretty similar – petty and ridiculous.

I found myself enjoying it immensely by the time that desert – a delightful chocolate mousse – was served. Unfortunately, I was starting to get very full and a full stomach was not a heist's friend.

"Oh, come on," Imran whispered as I started to push the mousse away. "You're eating for two, remember?"

As if on cue, my son kicked and began to move around. I smiled as I discreetly put a hand over my stomach. "That's no excuse to gain a hundred pounds."

Imran scoffed and reached over to push the bowl of mousse back in front of me. "You haven't even gained one. No one could tell that you're in your second trimester of pregnancy. Eat."

I narrowed my eyes at him, but did as he'd asked. "Have you been talking to Steve? That's just the kind of overprotective thing he would say."

"No. You said that you wanted to keep me as a wild card, remember?" He winked at me and then dug into his own desert. "Dinner is almost over. You ready for this?"

Adrenaline began to race through my veins and I took a deep breath to steady myself. "Mostly. But I still wish that I didn't have to do this."

He gave me a sad smile. "You and me both."

We purposefully ignored each other throughout the rest of the meal, and went our separate ways as the curator called for us all to join him in the ballroom for some dancing to "get rid of some of those calories". The quartet was playing a beautiful waltz, and there were some couples that immediately raced to the dance floor to show off their gowns and their dancing skills (which had likely been paid for in the form of lessons from expensive instructors).

Gregor asked me to dance and I, seeing no alternative, agreed. He was actually a very good dancer, but I grew incredibly bored when he began to talk about how he had already advanced so far in his company, even at such a young age. Truly, the man did not know how to talk about anything but himself.

We went through two dances and, just as I was about to pass out from boredom, Imran stepped in with a charming smile. "Excuse me. We were sitting beside each other at dinner and she was so kind as to offer me a dance. I thought I'd come to collect."

Gregor opened his mouth, and I could tell that he was going to object. Before he could, I rushed in with a smile, taking Imran's offered hand. "That sounds lovely. Let's go."

Out on the dance floor, Imran pulled me into position and smiled teasingly at me. "He seemed like a real charmer."

I kept the smile on my face but gave a subtle roll of my eyes. "He could be, if he knew how to talk about anything other than himself. Guy's a narcissist to the extreme."

"Well, one can't have it all, I suppose." The song began and Imran easily began to move me through the steps. Mossad (much like the CIA) trained its operatives to blend in anywhere – which meant dancing lessons that had clearly paid off.

"Ari once told me that dancing lessons were his least favorite part of training," I said, surprising myself. "And the etiquette classes."

"That doesn't surprise me." Imran's expression was full of reminiscence. "He liked to go, go, go. He signed up for martial arts at a young age and was at the gym as often as they would let him be. Anything active, he was involved in. Guy didn't know how to sit still."

"No, he didn't." I smiled, remembering. "Getting him to sit down and watch a movie all the way through was impossible. He was always getting up to get snacks, getting a refill of his drink, going to the bathroom… was he really never diagnosed with ADHD?"

Imran laughed as he twirled me out and then back in. "Surprisingly, no. Never staying still for long was just one of those quirky things about him."

We twirled by a clock and when I saw the time, my adrenaline spiked again. "It's almost time to go."

Imran glanced at the clock and then gave me an encouraging smile. "Dance is almost over and then you can slip away. Did you get the card yet?"

"Not yet," I sighed, "but I have my eye on one of the guards. Four o clock. By the door."

After getting eyes on him, Imran nodded. "He seems less experienced than the others."

"He's relatively new." The song ended and Imran and I both clapped politely for the quartet.

"Thank you for the dance," Imran said and leaned in to kiss my cheek. As he did so, he slipped a small cell phone into my hand. I knew that an earpiece would be attached to the back of it. "And good luck," he whispered into my ear as he pulled away and gave me a nod. "I'll keep an eye on things here."

Feeling bolstered knowing that he had my back, I nodded. "See you soon, I hope."

He melted back into the crowd and I turned, heading straight for the guard that I'd pointed out to him earlier. Adopting a slightly tipsy walk, I stumbled into the guard and laughed as he had to steady me.

"So sorry!" I told him, careful to keep my voice down so as not to draw unnecessary attention. "I'm just looking for the bathroom. I think that I had a little too much wine. Splashing some water on my face usually helps."

He kept his composure rather well. "Straight down that hall there and to the left. You can't miss it. Do you need some help?"

I smiled at him. "No, thanks. I've been going to the bathroom by myself since I was four. Thank you, though!" And then I sauntered off to the bathroom… but not the one that he had pointed out. Instead, I went to the one further down the winding hall.

Once inside, I verified that I was alone and took out the earpiece from the phone that Imran had given me. I put it into my ear, turned it on, and then made the call.

"Allie?" Steve asked when he answered on the first ring.

"Steve." I smiled, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Is everyone ready?" A glance at the clock on the wall told me that it was minutes away from being time.

"Roger is already locked into their system. We're here and ready to go."

I caught my reflection in the mirror and gave myself a grim, determined smile. "Then let's do this."