‘‘Really?’’ He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a baseball.
‘‘What’s that?’’
He tossed it to her. She caught it.
‘‘A Willie Mays autographed ball?’’ She looked up, surprised. ‘‘From the law firm’s memorabilia collection? You stole it?’’
‘‘On our way out. And it’s not just any baseball. It’s
the
ball—from the 1954 World Series. The greatest catch of all time.’’
She gawked. ‘‘It’s got to be worth—’’
‘‘Hundred thousand.’’ He smiled, broadly. ‘‘Right under
your
nose.’’
Anger flashed across her face. She shoved the ball back into his hands. ‘‘Okay, bonus points for chutzpah.’’
He laughed and tossed the baseball into his other hand. ‘‘Fear not—it’ll be returned. That’s the next challenge.’’
‘‘How? The building’s locked down. And your fingerprints are all over it.’’
‘‘So? I’m a star client. My lawyer let me hold it. It doesn’t matter that my fingerprints are on it.’’ He glanced at the police car down the block, then back at her. ‘‘How will you explain that yours are?’’
She stopped dead on the sidewalk.
He held up the ball. ‘‘Return it without getting prosecuted. I dare you.’’
He turned, faced the jewelry store they were passing and hurled the ball straight through its front window. Glass crashed. An alarm shrieked. He spun back around.
‘‘Have fun, Hardgirl.’’
He took off running down the street.