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CHAPTER 1: Expect the Unexpected

BARCELONA, SPAIN

POINT OF VIEW: THIRD PERSON LIMITED [Katarina Bishop]

"The little things matter. Those little things can get you arrested, which is a reason I own the plates from Buckingham Palace in my mansion and I'm not sharing a dreary cell with an orange jumper on," – Uncle Eddie

Who would've thought a measly little card could change so much? Katarina Bishop wouldn't have thought of it, at least not at that moment she wouldn't have. The young girl with chocolate brown hair pulled her weight farther to her left leg, avoiding the red beams on her right.

This wasn't strange to the 16 year old, navigating through laser grids that had the ability to kill a man four times her size was like wandering around at a mall—easy and normal. She almost scoffed at the thought. My definition of normal needs to be revised, Kat mused.

If only dancing were this easy, Kat thought, recalling the words of a handsome boy from about month ago (who was probably charming-slash-distracting a female security guard about 30 yards away).

Her leg stretched out and she took another step, completing another beat in the rhythm. A few more electric beams were all that stood between Kat and a beautiful young woman made of oil pastels.

The room was dimly lit. The only actual lights were surrounding the framed masterpiece. Of course, there were those flashing red rays but Kat didn't put them in the same category as light bulbs for obvious reasons. With the stealthiness that resembled the feline she was named after, the painting was replaced with a replica and they were gone.

"So, are you enjoying being back?" from the way he had said it, she knew he already had his answer. Kat's shaded navy blue eyes met bright and teasing hazel-green ones.

They were standing in the living room of one of the Hale family's luxurious mansions. If Kat was correct, this was his fourth favorite house.

"You enjoy flirting with security guards?" Kat teased back, the young billionaire chuckled and pulled out a slip of paper. Kat was the girl, who outsmarted the notorious Arturo Taccone; she didn't need the brains to know that seven numbers were scrawled on it.

"Aw, are you jealous Kitty Kat?" Hale grinned, using her nickname. The young Bishop didn't flush pink at all—she knew she wasn't the type of girl to do that nor was she the type that got jealous.

"Would you like me to kick you?" The brunette asked, "'Cause that's what I'm hearing,"

The boy with the golden tan held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, but the slow debonair smile was still planted on his handsome face. The teenage girl could only roll her almond shaped eyes and plopped onto a black leather sofa. Those very eyes were dying to see the success of their heist.

Her eager hands were holding onto the engraved frame, she hadn't allowed herself to take in the details of the brilliant painting of Una mujer en el proyector. Like the name of the canvas, there was a young woman standing in a grey crowd of people—everything was in dark and lights hues of grey, the trees, the streets, even the people.

Only one person stood out in the sea of lethargic paint, it was the young beautiful girl. The women looked to be in her early twenties.

She had delicate and soft curls of light camel hair. Kat suspected the artist had used a blend of ecru colored paint with fallow to get the lush shade. The woman had skin that looked as soft as flower petals, the skin a pale but not-too-pale tone with pink peaking through her cheeks.

All in all, the girl was stunning but the most enticing part of her was her eyes. They were a dazzling fair shade of caramel, staring straight and intensely at her. Kat had to squash the urge to move back and forth to see if its eyes followed her (something that didn't work at all with the replica of the Mona Lisa; that was its only flaw).

The girl gave an unusual vibe; it wasn't like Vermeer's A Girl with a Pearl Earring, looking depressed or helpless. The girl almost looked intimidating—independent, that was for certain.

A strange fire sparked behind her eyes (metaphorically, of course), as if she wanted to burn a message into the artist's mind with her eyes. The blue-eyed thief hadn't even noticed that the sandy-haired boy had sat next to her, until he spoke out loud.

"So…this is the famous A Woman in the Spotlight," Hale said, his left arm was stretched over the back of the couch—leaning towards me. "Who's the artist?"

"No one knows. They just found this someplace near Italy," Kat explained her eyes turned to Hale's, the somber feeling in her stomach showed in her darkened eyes, "And don't think they found this near some pretty canal in Venice. Apparently this man from the ghettos found this painting rolled up in a container somewhere and sold it to the curator of the museum we just cased,"

Hale nodded solemnly, understanding—ever since meeting Abiram Stein, the young girl had noticed that her friend had changed his views on the Old Masters and all art in general.

"We'll give this to Mr. Stein, he'll know where its home is," He said softly, his arm had changed from lying on the back of the couch to loosely holding Kat's shoulders. The brunette liked it there, but she'd never admit it aloud.

"Yeah," Kat said, equally soft. It was then that it caught her eye, something that didn't fit the picture. Something was stuck in the crafted frame.

A white card that looked so familiar to Katarina. Her hands slipped it out, the appearance reminded her of a business card—strictly professional looking. The familiar handwriting was there—like she'd expected. Kat's blue eyes skimmed the snow colored paper.

Eyes that were a cross between clear honey and forest green were staring at her, she could feel it. Kat could also feel his concern. She didn't say, "Everything's going to be okay," or "It's all fine, nothing big," because she wasn't sure if either one of those statements were even true. Only one statement seemed to fit the situation and it's exactly what she said.

"Hale? Could you ask Marcus to arrange us two plane tickets for tomorrow morning?" the second generation of Bishop was already up and she started for the grand staircase, heading for her guestroom.

Kat was out of the room before Hale could even answer, but she heard his voice ring out from behind her.

"Where to?" that was thing, which destination would be best? Poland was out of the question, Mr. Stein couldn't have the painting just yet—it was their only clue. Should she leave to Paris to find her father? Should she head to England and round up the Bagshaws or even Gabrielle in Switzerland? Maybe going to Florida would've been best; Simon could've been useful, right? But she said none of those places or people.

"New York," but the young girl only added "To Uncle Eddie," in her mind.

LONDON, ENGLAND

POINT OF VIEW: FIRST PERSON [Cameron Ann Morgan]

"Beginnings are always hard, we all know that. But want to know what's worse? The ending, why? Because you know there's a new beginning coming to smack you in the face. Yeah, life can be a bitch," – Macey McHenry

Expect the unexpected. That was one phrase that I, a Gallagher Girl, couldn't do properly. Not yet anyways.

I didn't expect the sweetest boy in the world to drive a forklift through a wall and hit my dreamy CoveOps teacher—to save me. I didn't expect that the cute boy who was flirting with me in an elevator was a spy as well. I didn't expect an enemy helicopter to land and attack me and my roommate in Boston. I didn't expect them to really be after me. I didn't expect a lot of things. But as I stood there with my best friend, I knew that my extremely long list of "I didn't expect…" had just gotten a little bit longer.

I didn't expect the Henley to be stolen from and burnt to a crisp.

The Henley—as in the most secure art museum in the world was plucked and deprived of its most prized possession, the original masterpiece by Leonardo da Vinci himself—Angel Returning to Heaven. It was gone. Not to mention four other portraits and if I heard right, a statue.

"Oh God," I whispered, there was bright yellow police tape wrapped around what seemed to be the exhibit. The darkened part of the large building was basically webbed with the lines "POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS."

"We really need a TV at Gallagher," Bex mumbled, her hands were shoved into her stylish coat. "Really, it feels like we're living under a rock or something," she shook some of the snowflakes away from her beautiful midnight mane. I only nodded, feeling the wind stir the floating pieces of ice around me.

Winter break, it was suppose to be a time where everyone relaxed—it was almost like a rule, a law. A spy's life is, by definition, rules-optional, the words of my aunt swirl in my head and I couldn't help but think, maybe once in my life I wished the rules weren't so easy to bend and I could live by them. But life just wasn't fair, especially for a rules-optional agent.

I was jerked out of my thoughts by someone shaking my shoulder.

"Cam, he said back up," Bex said, my eyes were on the tall, uniformed officer in front of us. I only muttered an apology and stepped back.

I looked around, Solomon's lesson of noticing things coming back to me. Through all the unexpected things that had happened to me, I could proudly say something I did expect. The sidewalks were crammed, filled with families, business people, and shopping teenagers—a pavement artists' dream home.

"Come on Cam; let's head to one of the shops. I'm in the mood for some coffee," Bex stated, we've been in England for only half a day and her accent was already thickening.

I smiled and continued walking with her, my blue and white Nikes leaving imprints in the thin layer of snow. Footsteps…They could find me. I banished the thought immediately. Thinking of them was only going to lead to paranoia.

The thick smell of coffee hits me as I entered the small Starbucks that Bex had led me into. I would've enjoyed the lush scent more if my nerves hadn't felt like they were electrocuted, my eyes were scanning everything.

There were only 8 customers here including Bex and me. Two were old ladies chatting and laughing quietly. One was a man in a suit with a briefcase; his anxious brown eyes behind his glasses frequently went to his silver Rolex.

Another was a man with graying hair and bored blue eyes. The last two seemed to be brothers, to be honest—they looked like twins, the only difference was that one was a bit taller and skinnier than the other, both wearing caps—and possible red hair sticking out from under it. I almost felt normal for a second, but that all ended when I felt eyes.

"Cammie," Bex whispered. But I already knew as I sipped my hot chocolate. A single word seemed to pass between her caramel eyes and mine. Tails. It was at that point that Bex had headed down the sidewalks and my feet carried me back to where the Henley was. This, in retrospect, was probably the dumbest idea I used in London—so far at least.

The unexpected always happens. How did I end up quoting John Steward from Bram Stoker's Dracula? I didn't know. But the phrase was absolutely true anyhow. Unexpected things always happening—that would describe my life perfectly. I didn't say it aloud, because it wasn't necessary. The evidence to prove myself was standing right in front of me.

I could run, but he'd be faster. I could fight, but he'd be better. I could scream, but he'd outsmart me. So I did the only think I could do.

"So, how are you enjoying London?" the words were casual and smooth as they played out from my lips—the refreshing chocolate-mint flavor still faintly there.

It was only then that I—vaguely—noticed the snow was falling even more. Snow is a double-edged sword to a chameleon.

The dazzling flakes of snow make for great camouflage. But, if there isn't enough you leave tracks, you leave a trail, you leave evidence plainly giving out your location.

It hit me then. My footprints. I almost wanted to use the Lipinski maneuver on myself for my stupidity. But the dark haired man in front of me didn't laugh; he simply gave me a look while I detected the almost microscopic hint of a smile on his face.

"Fine, it's colder than I remember," he makes a point of brushing snow out of the waves of brunette hair, the dark strands almost resembled a shade of ebony.

"I see. I would have thought you were used to the cold or at least snow," The dark haired man in front of me didn't smile, didn't say anything.

"Well, I can see you aren't used to the snow," despite the frost that bit my cheeks I could feel a warm glow radiating from them. I could only image the shades of pink I was turning, probably somewhere between amaranth pink and brink pink. "That was a pretty amateur move, wasn't it? Only a day into winter break and you're slipping?"

I wanted to snap at him. I wanted to say that not everyone could be as amazing at espionage as him. I wanted to say anything, a comeback, an insult—something other than what I did say.

"I know," my breath created a small fog as I spoke. My voice tugging at a confidence I wish I had all the time and not just on occasions. My average eyes met his, my head tilting a bit to see him. "But it's your job to make sure I don't slip, isn't it?"

Of course, I thought, almost sighing, my never ending list continues. "I didn't expect," number 6: I didn't expect to see Joe Solomon in London, smiling and having a strange premonition that he wasn't the only important one here.

"That's right, Ms. Morgan. It is my job," my CoveOps teacher stated, muscular arms crossed over his chest. Training during winter break with Mr. Solomon—definitely something I didn't see coming. The news was swirling around in my head just like the snow. I'll be ready. Because it didn't take an agent to know that Joe "The Wise Guy" Solomon was very good at his job.

Maybe it was the fact that someone as handsome as Mr. Solomon was standing in front of me. Maybe I was getting sick from the cold surrounding me, maybe I just wasn't thinking but I finally realized something. The trail I made to get to my teacher—it was still there. Maybe it was nerves as I walked with Wise Guy, maybe the head of strawberry-blond hair was just an illusion.

(Author's Note:) Hm…difficult to write the beginning, that was for sure. But this was maybe…I don't know, my fourth or fifth draft? Hard to pick because they all had their strong points. Anyways.

How did you guys like it? Did it meet your expectations? It's boring now but it'll get better, I promise. Were they in character?

Oh and if you're wondering why the first part was in third person and the second was first person, I just felt that I went along with the book. Heist Society was third person limited with Kat and Gallagher Girls was first person with Cammie. So…that's how I'll be doing it as well (maybe some occasional POVs such as Hale).

Good? Bad? Any predictions for what happens next? Tell me in a review and I'll improve (: Thanks for reading, please review.

First SIX people to review will get the sneak peek of chapter 2 (:

~diva~