Janet Evanovich - Explosive Eighteen

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Bounty hunter Stephanie Plum's life is set to blow sky high when international murder hits dangerously close to home, in this dynamite novel by Janet Evanovich.
Before Stephanie can even step foot off Flight 127 from Hawaii to Newark, she's knee deep in trouble. Her dream vacation turned into a nightmare, she's flying back to New Jersey solo, and someone who sounds like Sasquatch is snoring in row 22. Worse still, her seatmate never returned to the plane after the L.A. layover. Now he's dead, in a garbage can, waiting for curbside pickup. His killer could be anyone. The FBI, the fake FBI, and guns-for-hire are all looking for a photograph the dead man was supposed to be carrying.
Only one other person has seen the missing photograph – Stephanie Plum. Now she's the target, and she doesn't intend to end up in a garbage can. With the help of an FBI sketch artist Stephanie re-creates the person in the photo. Unfortunately the first sketch turns out to look like Tom Cruise, and the second sketch like Ashton Kutcher. Until Stephanie can improve her descriptive skills, she'll need to watch her back.
Over at the Bail Bonds Agency it's business as usual – until the bonds bus serving as Vinnie's temporary HQ goes up in smoke, Stephanie's wheelman, Lula, falls in love with their 'largest' FTA yet, lifetime arch nemesis Joyce Barnhardt moves into Stephanie's apartment, and everyone wants to know what happened in Hawaii?!
Morelli, Trenton's hottest cop, isn't talking about Hawaii. Ranger, the man of mystery, isn't talking about Hawaii. And all Stephanie is willing to say about her Hawaiian vacation is… It's complicated.

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“How do you know?”

“I just know. I’m going to see if I can talk her out of it.”

Forty minutes later, I was about to turn off Route 1 into Brenda’s neighborhood when her toaster zipped out in front of me. There were four cars between us, but I knew it was Brenda.

“You want me to call her?” Lula asked.

“No. Let’s see where she’s going.”

She took Route 1 to Route 18, and got onto the Turnpike heading north. It was clear where she was going. She was going to the airport, and Jason was in the car with her.

“Maybe she’s just taking her kid,” Lula said. “He’s still hiding, right?”

“It’s possible.”

I followed her to the short-term parking garage and watched from a distance while she took suitcases out of the Scion. They walked toward the terminal, dragging their luggage. It didn’t look to me like she even bothered to lock the car. I knew she was jumping bail.

I found a parking place, and Lula and I hustled to catch up with Brenda. A man was a short distance away, walking toward us. He was carrying a suiter, looking very tanned.

It was The Rug. Simon Ruguzzi. The skip responsible for all my problems in Hawaii. Our eyes met, and he dropped the suiter and took off.

Brenda was worth loose change to Vinnie. The Rug was worth big bucks.

I changed course in the middle of the parking garage and ran for Ruguzzi. I could hear Lula clattering in her heels behind me, and I was gaining on the guy in front of me. I got to within a couple feet of him, took a flying leap, and grabbed his pants cuffs. He went to the ground, and Lula rushed over and sat on him. I cuffed him and dragged him to his feet.

“How’d you know to run?” I asked him.

“You’re famous,” he said. “I saw you on the side of a bus, in an ad for the bonds office.”

Vinnie’s brilliant idea, and not a highlight in my life.

I loaded The Rug into the backseat and headed back to Trenton. I called Ranger from the road.

“I just captured The Rug,” I told him. “I had a feeling Brenda was going to skip, so I followed her to the airport. I ran into Ruguzzi in the parking garage, and Lula and I took him down.”

“Babe,” Ranger said.

***

It was late afternoon by the time I met Vinnie at the coffee shop.

“Sorry about Brenda,” I said. “I’m pretty sure she skipped.”

“I was counting on it,” Vinnie said. “She put her Ferrari up for bond. Now I can give it to DeAngelo.”

“It’s hot,” I told him. “And it doesn’t come with keys.”

“Don’t care,” Vinnie said. “That’s DeAngelo’s problem. I’ll send it to him on a flatbed.”

I got a Frappuccino and got into my truck. Magpie would wait for another day. Truth is, I was rolling in money from my Ruguzzi capture. I stopped at my parents’ house on the way home.

“Looks like you tore the knees out of your jeans,” Grandma said.

I followed her into the kitchen. “Occupational hazard.”

“Are you staying for dinner?” my mom asked.

“No. I need to go home and take a shower and change my clothes.”

I’d been pelted by rats, plus I’d skidded across about five feet of cement when I tackled The Rug. I didn’t think she wanted to know the details.

“I was hoping I could mooch some sandwich stuff from you. I need to go shopping, but I didn’t want to go into Giovichinni’s with this hair and the skinned knees, and my black eye is turning green.”

“Green is good,” Grandma said. “That’s one of the last colors.”

My mom fixed a bag of food for me and handed it over. She went to the cupboard where she kept her liquor stash, pulled out a photograph, and held it up. It was the photograph from the plane!

“Your grandmother had this in her room,” she said. “I know you were looking for it. I found it when I went in to change the linens today.”

“The guy in the photo is a hottie,” Grandma said. “I pulled it out of the garbage. I didn’t know you wanted it.”

I tucked the photo into the food bag. I’d give it to Ranger for safekeeping. Or maybe for giggles I’d give it to Berger. He’d think he finally had a picture of the hacker he’d been after. As far as I knew, Berger and Razzle Dazzle didn’t know the photo was a composite that hid a computer message.

“Gotta go,” I said. “Thanks for the food and the photo. I’ll find a hot replacement for you, Grandma.”

Grandma took a little bottle filled with pink stuff off the counter. “Annie dropped this off for you.”

“More Pepto-Bismol?”

“No. She said this is the real thing.”

***

I’d picked Morelli’s SUV out in my parking lot, so I wasn’t surprised when I opened my door and Bob bounced up to me. I scratched behind his ears and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. Morelli strolled in from the living room. The television was on.

“Suppose I came home with some hot guy, and you were here in your socks, watching television,” I said.

“It would be awkward.”

I set the bag on the counter and unpacked.

“Looks like you stopped off at your mom’s house,” Morelli said. “Oh man, is that chocolate cake?”

“Yes. And I have some sandwich stuff. Are you hungry?”

“Starved.” He opened a plastic baggie and snitched a piece of ham. “I have good news for you. Berger got Raz.”

“Get out!”

“Actually, he was dead by the time he got him, but he got him all the same.” Morelli opened another baggie. “Corned beef. This is the mother lode.”

“How did Raz get dead?”

“He escaped from the cemetery, but he stole a car sometime during the night, and this morning one of Trenton’s finest spotted him. There was a chase, and Raz lost control of his car and hit a bridge abutment.”

“Jeez.”

He looked down at my knees. “I heard you brought The Rug in. Looks like you tackled him.”

“Yeah, I should take a shower. The blood’s caking.”

“I could help with the shower.” He put the corned beef down and picked up Annie’s little bottle. “Your mom thinks of everything. I’ve had heartburn all day.” He unscrewed the bottle and drank it before I could stop him.

I stared at him. “Um, how do you feel?” I asked.

He thought for a moment. “Better,” he finally said. “Warm.” His eyes got dark and soft, and the corners of his mouth tipped into a smile. “Very friendly.” He reached out for me and pulled me into him. “Come here, Cupcake.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

JANET EVANOVICH is the 1 New York Times bestselling author of the Stephanie - фото 2

JANET EVANOVICH is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Stephanie Plum novels, twelve romance novels, the Barnaby and Hooker novels and graphic novels, Wicked Appetite (the first book in the Lizzy and Diesel series), and How I Write: Secrets of a Bestselling Author .

Visit Janet Evanovich’s website at

www.evanovich.com

Facebook/JanetEvanovich

or

write her at PO Box 2829, Naples, FL 34106.

***
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