“You want a bag that was dragged through filthy tunnels by a rat?” Vivian asked.
“It’s a fifty thousand dollar clutch.” Katrinka tossed her hair behind her shoulder. “I’ll get it cleaned.”
The camera dropped a bit as if Tesla, too, thought this an unfathomable amount of money to spend on a bag. Vivian’s sister could go to college for the price of a scrap of leather that had dangled from a rich girl’s wrist.
“Tell me more about the serial numbers,” Tesla said.
Katrinka tapped the image on the phone. “Prada puts them in their most expensive bags. And that one looks like a custom bag. Did you see the diamonds along the top?”
Vivian ran her finger across the image of a row of dirt-covered stones. “Those are diamonds?”
“Diamonds and white gold,” Katrinka said. “It’s a specialty bag. They probably didn’t make many of them.”
“I’ll be by to pick it up as soon as I’m done here, sir,” Vivian said.
“Thank you,” Tesla answered. “Before I go, when are you going to stop by Lucid to get scanned?”
Vivian stifled a groan. Tesla had been nagging her to get some kind of weird brain scan at his new company. He wanted to use her reactions to provide a control group for soldiers with PTSD. It was a worthy cause, and she’d agreed, but she kept putting it off. “Soon, sir.”
“We have an opening on Friday afternoon at four.”
“I’ll see if I can fit that in.” She ended the call.
“Scanned for what?” Katrinka asked.
“Brain scan to see how I react to certain situations. It’s a virtual reality simulation thing.”
“Is it fun? Can I get scanned, too?”
“Maybe. First, tell me about this bag and why you think it has a serial number.”
Katrinka launched into an enthusiastic explanation of how the designer printed its bags with special serial numbers because theft and counterfeiting were common. “If you know what you’re looking for, you can break into the right apartment and come out with a hundred grand in bags that’ll fit in a backpack.”
“And you know this how?” Vivian asked.
“It’s happened to my friend’s mom,” she said. “That’s why I’m so careful with my stuff. A bag like that is an investment.”
“How do I find out who bought this particular bag?”
“If it was reported stolen, the police probably have the numbers in the police report. Or the owner might have written the numbers down for her insurance company.”
“People insure purses?”
“Wouldn’t you? Look how much they’re worth. Anyway, even if you can’t find it like that, Prada has a record. That’s a special bag, not one you could buy off the shelf. I bet that cute cop friend of yours can call up Prada and get an answer for you. What’s his name?”
“Mr. Norbye?” Dirk worked for Mr. Kazakov in his off hours. A former Army buddy, he’d gotten Vivian this job. Some days she didn’t want to thank him for it.
Katrinka laughed. “Dirk Norbye! That’s right. The blond god.”
Vivian had to smile. “Don’t tell him that. He’s already got too fine an opinion of himself.”
“Are you two together?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
No point in lying. “I was engaged to his brother, Nils.”
“Was?” Katrinka arched her eyebrows. “That’s not the same as is, so that doesn’t make this particular blond god off limits.”
“His brother died.” In her arms. Screaming.
Katrinka must have read something in her face because she looked away and went quiet.
A figure appeared in the doorway, and Vivian instinctively stepped in front of the girl.
“It is only I.” Mr. Kazakov came into the room and took the seat next to his daughter. “Katrinka. Go.”
The teen stood quickly, kissed her father on both cheeks, and headed toward the door. She brushed past Vivian on her way out, tossing her a pleading glance. She didn’t want Vivian to mention the attempted shoplifting.
“Katrinka likes you,” Mr. Kazakov said. “You were having a spirited discussion when I arrived.”
“She’s a smart girl.”
“Too smart for her own good sometimes.”
“Probably an inherited trait, sir.” It slipped out before Vivian had a chance to think better of it.
He laughed. “I hope you can keep her in check.”
Nobody could keep that girl in check. She needed something to do besides hang around with her shallow, rich friends and talk about purses. A stint in the military would straighten her right out. Vivian knew better than to say any of that. “I do my best to keep her safe, sir.”
“And that, as you point out so cleverly, is your job. You may go.”
Vivian scooted out of there before he started asking about what Katrinka had got up to that day.
Katrinka waited in the hall by the elevator. “Thank you.”
“You used your get out of jail free card,” Vivian said. “No more chances.”
Katrinka nodded. “Will you tell me what happens with the clutch?”
“Probably somebody mugged the woman who carried it, took out the money, and threw the purse down a tunnel where a rat found it. Most muggers don’t have your encyclopedic knowledge of purse pricing.”
“It might be more interesting than that,” Katrinka said. “But either way, will you tell me if you find out more?”
“So long as it isn’t confidential.”
Katrinka smiled. Not the manufactured smile Vivian had seen in the store, a genuine one that made her look like a little kid again. “Thanks.”
“It’s probably nothing,” Vivian warned. But she was starting to think Katrinka might be right.
The bag might prove very interesting indeed.
Chapter 6
Joe hurried through the concourse at Grand Central Terminal with Edison by his side. People eddied and swirled around them, caught in their own currents. They rushed off trains, across platforms, and emptied out through the concourse’s vast doors. At this time of day, they were on their way to work. Later, they’d wash back through the terminal onto trains that brought them home.
These days, he had his own regular destination, too. Every morning he went into work at Lucid, and every evening he went home — without ever going outside. Usually, he was thrilled to go to work, but today, his steps faltered. Stalling, he stopped by Starbucks and ordered two (blue) coffees.
Lucid’s headquarters weren’t far, since the offices were inside Grand Central Terminal. After a bit of convincing, he’d managed to rent a retail space and convert it from a drug store into every geek’s dream workspace — a cool lobby, two offices, a few cubicles, a room with an MRI machine, and the best game room ever.
His palms were slippery with sweat when he reached the glass doors. Edison nudged his palm reassuringly. Joe stroked the dog’s head and fondled his silky ears. “We’ll get through it.”
Edison looked forward at the office doors. Joe put one hand next to the word LUCID and pushed open the door.
An anatomically correct glass brain about the size of a sofa sat in the center of the waiting room. Fiber optics ran through the inside of the glass like axons through a flesh-and-blood brain. The optic lines pulsed blues, greens, reds, and yellows, showing electronic responses that matched a real human brain, one taken from scans in the database. Joe could sit and watch the sculpture for hours, wondering what thoughts were laid bare in front of him. What would his own thoughts look like? He was about to find out.
“Good morning, Joe,” said Marnie Kay. She was his administrative assistant, come all the way from California to help him start his latest venture. Unflappable, and used to working crushing hours, she was an undeniable asset. To bring her on board, he’d given her better stock options than she could get anywhere else.