Джанет Иванович - Twisted Twenty-Six

Thirty-five minutes later we pulled into the driveway and stopped.

“It’s gated,” I said.

“Maybe there’s a button you push.”

I looked at the keypad, pushed the red button, and smiled into the camera.

“Yes?” someone asked.

“I’m here to see Steven Cross.”

“Steven isn’t here.”

“I spoke to him earlier this morning, and he said I should come over.”

“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.”

“Steven Cross?” I asked.

“Better known as David Niven,” Lula said.

Cross stopped packing. “Yes?”

I held my fake badge out, so he could see I was official. “I represent your bail bondsman. You missed your court date and you need to reschedule.”

“Sure. Reschedule me,” he said. “Now go away. I’m busy.”

“Looks like you’re going on a trip,” Lula said.

“Brilliant,” Cross said. “What gave me away? The suitcase?”

“No need for sarcasm,” Lula said. “I was just making conversation. Although the clever sarcasm is very David Niven.”

“You need to reschedule in person,” I said.

“Not gonna happen, cutie pie.”

Lula was in Bohemian dress today with platform sandals, skintight poison-green tights, and a tie-dye tank top that was three sizes too small. The outfit was completed with a large faux-leather-fringed boho bag.

“We’re official bond enforcement people,” Lula said, rooting around in her bag. “We’re almost like police, and I got a gun in here somewhere.”

“I’m unarmed,” Cross said. “And I have Georgio as a witness. You can’t shoot me.”

“How about if I knock you down and sit on you until you turn blue?” Lula said.

Georgio unslouched himself and stood.

“This is ridiculous,” he said to Cross. “We’re already behind schedule. Carmine is going to be here any minute, and I’ve been notified that the plane is in place. Forget the packing. You can buy new. Everything in that suitcase is horribly wrinkled anyway. I mean honestly, you can’t just throw things in there.”

Lula was still pawing through the junk in her bag. “I was almost sure I put it in here.”

“As it turns out, I do have a gun,” Cross said, taking a Glock out of his suitcase. “And I don’t care if you’re armed or not, I’d shoot you without remorse, because that’s the kind of guy I am.”

“David Niven didn’t go around shooting people,” Lula said.

“I’m not David Niven.” He glanced at Georgio. “What should I do with them? Should I kill them? Cripple them? I could just shoot them in the knees.”

“Only if they don’t cooperate,” Georgio said. “I hate to see this carpet ruined. It’s hand-knotted from Nepal, and you know how difficult it is to remove bloodstains.”

A car horn honked outside.

“That’s Carmine,” Georgio said. “We need to lock these two up somewhere.”

Cross looked around. “Everything locks from the inside.”

“The cellar door has a lock on it,” Georgio said. “We can put them in the cellar.”

“I’m not going in no cellar,” Lula said. “There’s always spiders in cellars.”

Cross fired off a shot that missed Lula’s little toe by an eighth of an inch.

“Okay,” Lula said. “Maybe just this once.”

Three minutes later we were standing in front of the cellar door.

“No good,” Cross said. “The lock works both ways. Maybe I should just shoot them.”

“How about the wine cellar?” Georgio said. “The new one you just put in the game room. It has a padlock.”

We were marched into the game room. Cross unlocked the padlock and motioned us in.

“Wow, this is amazing,” Lula said. “It’s a real wine cellar. There must be a thousand bottles of wine here. And there’s a little wine-tasting bistro table and everything.”

There was also a glass door.

“You’re looking at the glass door,” Cross said. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s impact glass. Bulletproof. No good to you even if your friend ever finds her gun. You can make a phone call, but by the time someone crowbars you out of there we’ll be long gone.”