Twisted Twenty-Six (Stephanie Plum 26)

“One moment.”

A couple minutes of silence passed, and the voice returned.

“Who’s calling, please?”

“Stephanie Plum.”

More silence.

“I’m sorry, Miss Plum. Steven isn’t here.”

“Do you know when he’ll return?”

“I couldn’t say.”

I backed out of the driveway and pulled to the side of the road.

“He’s there,” I said to Lula.

“Probably out playing tennis.”

I brought the area back up on Google Maps. Cross’s house was squashed between two other large houses. A thick fifteen-foot-high ficus hedge ran between the houses. A wooded area bordered the back of the property. There was a generous front lawn, cut by a driveway that became a circular drive court when it reached the house. Garages were attached and to the side.

I was able to see part of the house when I was at the gate. White with black trim. Two stories. Big. I could bushwhack my way through the hedge and walk to the house, but I’d be visible, and he could send a pack of vicious dogs out to maul and eat me. I could sit on the side of the road and wait for him to leave for the airport. This could take a long time.

“We should launch a drone,” Lula said. “We could use it to look in his windows and see what he’s doing.”

“I don’t have a drone. Do you have a drone?”

“Not on me.”

“Do you have one at home?”

“No. I don’t have one there either.”

There was big money involved in this capture. If I didn’t bring him in, Vinnie would be out a small fortune. If I did bring him in, I’d make enough money to buy a car. It wouldn’t be a new car. And it wouldn’t be as good as the car I was currently driving. Still, it would be mine.

I looked at Google Maps again. If I went along the edge of the neighbor’s yard and bludgeoned my way through the hedge by the garage I might not be seen. Probably there were security cameras everywhere, but they might not be manned. Especially if Cross was getting ready to leave the country for an extended period of time and was cutting his staff.

“I’m going to try to cut through his side yard,” I said to Lula. “Are you in?”

“Hell, yeah. I’m not going to miss seeing David Niven.”

The neighbor’s property was heavily shrubbed but wasn’t gated. I left the Macan on the side of the road, and Lula and I hugged the ficus hedge as best we could, scrambling around plantings. We broke through the hedge in the middle of the yard and looked around. Quiet. No dogs. Four garage bays with doors closed. A small porch with a single door to the side of the garage.

Lula and I sauntered across the yard, looking very casual and David Nivenish in case someone was watching. I went to the side door and tried the doorknob. Unlocked. I held my breath and cracked the door. No alarm. I let my breath out in a whoosh.

Lula and I stepped into a hallway that led to the kitchen on the ground floor and service stairs to the second floor. No one was in the kitchen. I could hear someone moving around above us. I motioned to Lula that I was taking the stairs, and she gave me a thumbs-up. I reached the second floor and stared down a long, wide hallway. A door was open toward the end of the hall. We tiptoed down and stopped just short of the open door.

As a designated representative of a licensed bondsman I can legally enter a home if I believe my man is inside. It’s considered polite to announce yourself.

“Knock, knock,” I said, and I stuck my head around the doorjamb.

Steven Cross was in his gargantuan master bedroom suite. He was packing, throwing things into a large suitcase that was open on his bed. Another man slouched in a club chair nearby.

“Oh, dear God,” the second man said. “Now what?”

“I bet you’re the hairdresser,” Lula said. “I could tell by your complexion that you have an excellent skin care regimen.”