Molly crouched behind the inflatable bounce castle, studying the gymnasium floor with the intensity of a general surveying a battlefield. Wrapping paper glittered under the fluorescent lights like treasure in a dragon's hoard. A pyramid of gift boxes stood near the cake table, practically begging to be liberated. Bill crawled up beside her, wheezing slightly. His all-black outfit had caught on the castle's velcro patch three times already. "This is insane," Bill whispered. "It's brilliant," Molly countered. "No security. No alarms." "They're eight years old, Molly. We're stealing from children." She rolled her eyes at him. Bill always got sentimental during the planning phase. The man had once refused to steal from a retirement home because it made him feel guilty. This from someone who'd robbed a casino in Atlantic City. "The parents are wealthy," Molly reasoned. "They'll replace everything by tomorrow." A child's laughter pierced the air as balloons fell from the ceiling. Bill watched a little girl catch three in her arms, her face radiant with joy. He felt something crack inside his chest. "I hate you sometimes," he muttered. Molly grinned and checked her watch. Five minutes until the piñata distraction.