Finger Lickin' Fifteen (Stephanie Plum 15)

“Sounds like a plan. Who’s going in first?”

“I’ll go in first. You don’t go in at all unless I yell for you. You keep your eyes open in case he goes out a front window.”

I drove a couple blocks into Ernie’s neighborhood, found the alley that ran past the back of his house, and crept along until I reached his driveway. I pulled in and angle-parked behind the garage, blocking his exit.

“I’ll give you time to walk around the house, and then I’m going in,” I said to Lula. “Just stay put until you hear from me.”

Lula checked the Velcro on her vest to make sure everything was secure. “Gotcha.”

We left the Cayenne and went our separate ways. I counted off two minutes and knocked on the back door. No answer. I knocked again and tried the door. Unlocked. I stepped into the kitchen and listened. No sound. “Bond enforcement!” I yelled. “Ernie, are you in here?” Nothing. I walked through the house, stood at the bottom of the stairs and called out again. I climbed the stairs and went room by room. No Ernie. I returned to the first floor and opened the door to Lula.

“He’s not here,” I said. “I’ll try again later.”

We walked through the house and let ourselves out.

“There’s something wrong here,” Lula said, standing on the back stoop. “I get the feeling something’s not right. What is it?”

A wave of nausea swirled through my stomach. “It’s Ranger’s Cayenne,” I said. “It’s gone.”

“Yep,” Lula said. “That’s it, all right. There’s a big empty space where the car used to be.”

I dialed Rangeman and got Hal. “Is Ranger on the floor yet?”

“No,” Hal said. “I haven’t seen him. Would you like me to transfer you?”

“No. I don’t want to bother him. Is the GPS still working on the Cayenne?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you could send someone after it, since it’s been sort of . . . stolen.”

There was a beat of silence. “Stolen?” Hal said. “Someone stole Ranger’s Cayenne?”

I blew out a sigh. “Yes.”

“Uh-oh,” Lula said, staring off into the distance. “I don’t like the looks of this.”

I followed her line of sight and felt my heart skip a couple beats. Black smoke billowed skyward about a quarter mile away.

“Has the car stopped?” I asked Hal.

“Yes.”

“No rush,” I told him. “It’s going to be there for a while.”

“Now what?” Lula asked when I got off the phone.

I wanted to get on a plane and leave the country. Get a job in St. Bart’s and never come back.

“Hal’s sending a car to pick us up,” I said.

Ten minutes later, a black SUV rolled into the driveway. Ramon was at the wheel.

“I need to get my car at Cluck-in-a-Bucket,” Lula told him. “I gotta go cook up barbecue.”

Ramon glanced over at me. “Ranger would like me to take you back to Rangeman.”

“Sure,” I said. “Drop Lula at the Bucket and take me to the Batcave.”