As Vic was reaching for his nephew, Livy heard keys in the back door and a few seconds later, an enormous grizzly came storming into the kitchen.

Vic stared at the bear for a moment before saying, “Hi, Dan.”

“I’m here for my wife,” the grizzly announced . . . loudly. He pointed at Igor. “Go get your mother, son. I’m taking her home!”

“Okay, Dad!”

Livy removed the bowl from Igor’s lap, and the boy jumped off the table and ran off to find his mother.

Once the boy was gone, Dan whispered, “How did that sound, Vic? Pretty tough?”

Gawking at his brother-in-law, Vic slowly nodded his head. “Uh . . . yeah. Sure. Tough.”

“Great.” He looked at Livy. “Hey, Livy.”

“Hi, Dan.”

“Were you in the cabinets again?”

“Pretty much.”

The bear leaned over a bit. “Are you making pancakes?”

“And bacon. Plus my honey–maple syrup mix. The ultimate in delicious decadence.”

“Oh man. That sounds really good.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” Vic offered.

“Yeah, but I should really drag your sister home by her hair.” He blew out a breath, glanced up at the ceiling. “But I really want pancakes with that syrup.”

“Then tell her she has to stay,” Livy suggested. “Until you’re done eating.”

“Oh. Good idea. Thanks, Livy!” The bear grinned at her and walked off to order his wife to stay until he finished his breakfast.

Livy looked at Vic. “Are they happy like that?” she asked.

“Very.”

She shrugged and walked to the stove. “Then that’s all that matters.”

Shen parked the windowless black van two blocks away from their target and turned off the engine. He looked back at them and announced, “I’ll go recon the area.”

The driver’s door closed behind him and Livy asked, “He’s going to recon the area?”

Vic shrugged. “He never really left the geek room, as I called it. He and his geek coworkers used technology and their obsessive natures to track down targets, and the rest of us took it from there. It’s a relationship that’s worked well for me in the past.”

Livy, dressed in skintight black clothes, replied, “Huh.”

Vic watched her slip on black gloves and cover her black-and-white hair with a black knit cap.

“You got everything you need?” he asked.

“What do I need?”

“Livy . . .”

She chuckled. “I’ve got everything.”

“Good. Now she’s supposed to be out of the apartment the entire night, but—”

“Would you stopworrying? I know what I’m doing. I learned to do this while I was in the womb.”

“And it’s my job to worry. That’s what I do.”

Livy tucked her hair under the cap. “And you’re surprisingly good at it.”

“I’m just asking that you be careful.”

“I will. Promise.”

The van door opened and Shen said, “It’s clear, Livy.”

“Thanks.”

Livy slipped a tiny black backpack on and stepped out of the van. “I’ll be back,” she said, before she disappeared into the darkness.

Shen got into the van, closed the door, and sat down on the floor. He pulled out his laptop and began accessing their target’s security system.

Smiling, Shen pulled out one of his cut bamboo stalks and began his infernal chewing while he worked.

“So,” he said around the stalk, his eyes locked on his computer screen, “she looks mighty good in that little outfit, doesn’t she?”

“Shut up.” And Vic forced himself not to throttle the panda laughing at him.

Livy slipped into the alley beside the building. As soon as she did, she felt . . . at home. In the darkness, moving through the shadows. It was in her blood. Both sides of her family, for centuries, were thieves. Honey badger thieves. Their targets ranged from art to silver, gold, banks, and crown jewels. What the family didn’t tolerate were tacky home invasions of any kind, targeting the poor, or stealing from their own family. A Kowalski never stole from another Kowalski. A Yang never stole from another Yang. Not without repercussions. And honey badger repercussions could be . . . painful.

The funny thing was, Livy had done all she could to pull herself away from this part of her life. She was an artist, a phrase that offended her mother on a visceral level. “We’re not artists,” she’d drunkenly snarled during a Thanksgiving dinner many years ago, “we steal from artists. You never get that right.”

But her mother’s constant pushing and her father’s indifference just made Livy more resolute. She was an artist, a photographer. At least that was what she’d always thought . . . until she’d run out of ideas, creativity . . . desire. When it came to art, desire was a big part of it. Not sexual desire, but the desire to create, to produce, to explore the world around oneself. Without the desire . . . an artist had nothing.

And right now, Livy had nothing.

So she fell back on what she knew: breaking and entering.

Although, for Livy, breaking and entering wasn’t the challenge it was for most. She didn’t need fancy equipment to get at a target. All she needed was an idea of a building’s layout and the cover of darkness, both of which she currently had.