Page 24

Gina let another few seconds pass before slipping deeper into the shadow cast by the balcony twenty feet above her head.

She slid the knotted rope from her shoulder and grasped the hook in one hand while setting the remainder of the coiled hemp carefully on the grass at her feet.

Gripping the rope a few feet from the hook, she began swinging the hook back and forth, building momentum.

One more swing and she flung the hook upward, letting the rope slide through her gloved hand. The hook made a soft thud as it landed on the balcony. She tugged steadily on the dangling rope, waiting for the hook to catch on the metal railing. It didn’t and fell back to the grass.

Again , she recoiled the rope and swung the hook back and forth. With a final heave, she hurled it in the air. This time, when she tugged on the rope, it caught.

Using the knots as gripping points, she began climbing.

Even with the knots, her muscles strained as she hauled herself higher and higher until her fingers met the balcony rail.

She swung her leg up to the edge of the deck and grabbed onto the vertical posts, heaving herself upright until she stood on the outside lip of the deck.

The top metal rail was slippery with frost. Any mistake and she’d fall twenty feet.

With her luck, she’d land on her head instead of her cushy butt cheeks.

Gripping the top rail, she vaulted over and landed on the wood deck.

She crouched and spun, taking another quick scan of the yard below.

Empty . A slight smile tugged at her lips as adrenaline lit a fire in her veins.

This was the rush Sergio told her would hit during times of danger.

When the stakes were high and the risk beyond calculable.

With a flick of her hand, she tugged the penlight from her belt and clicked it on.

She’d retrofit the light with a red lens, so as not to affect her night vision.

Still crouching, she went to the balcony’s sliding glass door and easily found the magnetic sensor on the inside, right at the seam where the door met the frame.

She pulled the strip of supermagnetized metal from a pouch on her utility belt and jimmied it around until it found its way between the sensors.

Piece of cake. Chocolate , of course.

Now to rake the lock. She eyed the keyhole on the brass handle. Even a first-day B and E student could get in. She clicked off the penlight and slid it back onto her belt. This little job could be done by touch alone.

Without looking down, she plucked out her tools.

A slim metal lock pick with a wide tip, a lock rake, and a tension wrench.

She inserted the pick all the way to the back of the lock, then inserted the rake.

She pulled the rake out quickly, feeling the lock’s pins bounce.

With her other hand, she turned the lock plug with the tension wrench and voilà .

Before opening the door fully, she applied several strips of tape to the magnetized piece of metal to hold it in place, then held her breath, tensing as she crouched low and opened the door wider.

Nothing . No lights, no sirens. She stashed her tools back in their case and again clicked on the penlight and scanned the room, particularly the walls, searching for motion sensors.

This was the master bedroom, with its giant, king-size bed taking center stage, and?—

You’ve got to be kidding. Was that a Velvet Elvis hanging above the headboard? Talk about truly tacky artwork. Then she saw it. A tiny red dot.

Sure enough, in the corner of the room next to the bed and about five feet up the wall, a sensor box faced the balcony door. No problemo. All she had to do was keep hugging the floor.

On a hunch, before stepping inside she aimed the flashlight beam down. A floor mat sat just inside the door. Grinning , she lifted one corner of the mat, knowing full well what she’d find. A pressure sensor.

As expected, a thin white wire ran from under the mat to a tiny hole in the floor.

Two metal strips glinted in the flashlight’s beam.

If she’d been sloppy and had stepped on the mat, the two metal strips would have made heavier contact, initiating the alarm sequence.

She would have had about fifteen seconds to punch in the correct code at the main box downstairs before the system started screaming out a signal that someone had broken in.

Carefully , she lowered the mat back to the floor and stepped over it. She eased the door closed behind her and paused. “ I’m in,” she said.

“ Copy that.” Jack’s silky smooth, chocolaty voice rumbled in her ear.

She stifled a snort. The man had a bizarre chocolate allergy, and she’d just equated his voice to chocolate.

Keeping low, she crossed the room, scanning the path ahead as she went. She swept the flashlight beam into the hallway, searching for hidden surprises, but there were none. None she could see, anyway.

Between the wrought iron grating on the first-floor windows, the motion sensor guarding the second-floor balcony door, and the security box wired to the front door, Psycho probably figured he had the entire house protected.

Sergio’s warning clanged in her head. Expect the unexpected.

After a quick check of the other bedrooms, all located exactly as shown on the schematics she’d studied, Gina padded down the carpeted staircase and onto the tiled entryway, sweeping the flashlight beam in all directions.

More heinous artwork hung on the walls. As far as interior decorating went, Mrs .

Psycho was clueless. Or it was all swag, stolen from seriously low-end motels.

The kind that charged by the hour and had vibrating beds.

Fifty cents for ten minutes of shake, rattle, and roll.

The control box on the wall by the door glowed a steady red, indicating the alarm system was fully engaged. She continued past the living room and into Psycho’s study where Jack would install his bug. No more wall-mounted motion sensors or pressure mats.

Last , she checked the kitchen, aiming the beam around the room. As with the other rooms on the first floor, nothing unexpected.

Tap . Gina dropped to the floor, crouching. Every muscle in her body went to DEFCON 3. She was definitely alone inside, so…

Tap . Tap . Tap .

There it was again, only this time she determined its source. The refrigerator, or freezer, more likely. Probably chunks of ice from the automated icemaker.

Whew . She let out a breath and returned to the hallway to address the control box.

First , she plucked a tiny screwdriver from her belt and unscrewed the plastic facing.

Then she pulled out her code-breaker kit, the same one she’d used to deactivate Rocco’s decrepit alarm system.

She attached the kit’s alligator clips to the box’s metal contacts and watched as the kit did its thing.

A steady stream of changing numbers glowed green on the digital readout as the kit searched for Psycho’s security code.

This unit required seven numbers, three more than Rocco’s .

As she waited for the telltale click announcing the kit had found the code, she tapped her hand against the side of her leg.

Four numbers. Five numbers. Six . Seven .

Click . The tiny light on the code box turned green.

Taking a steadying breath, she turned the deadbolt, then the knob, cracking the door a mere quarter inch. A beam of streetlight spilled inside, and she quickly shut the door.

The alarm system had been successfully deactivated, but something about this job still bugged her, pardon the pun. Maybe it was her Spidey -sense talking. For her, the hard part was over. That didn’t stop the worry niggling at the back of her mind that something was wrong here.

“ Jack ,” she said into the microphone. “ Front door is open.”

“ Copy that. ETA one minute.”

Less than a minute later, there was a knock at the door, prearranged so that anyone passing by would assume he was a legitimate visitor. She opened the door to let him in, then closed it behind them.

In one hand he carried a black, metal briefcase. He rested his other hand on her shoulder. Even with the cast on his wrist, he managed to give her a gentle squeeze. “ Good job. Any other motion sensors on this floor?”

“ No , I checked.”

“ Anything else I should know about?”

“ No .” Other than her Spidey -sense being wigged-out.

He flicked on a flashlight, also red-beamed, and headed directly for Psycho’s study.

Not surprisingly, he already knew the interior layout of the place.

He set his briefcase on the desk and flipped open the catches.

Inside the case was a high-tech tool kit, including wire cutters and splicers, screwdrivers and wrenches of all sizes, an ammeter, fuses, penknives, and several different colors of electrical tape.

Even with a cast on one wrist, he wielded the tools with expert precision, first splicing into Psycho’s internet line.

Deep concentration etched into his handsome features.

He’d pushed up the sleeves of his bomber jacket, and as he carefully concealed the tiny listening device to the underside of the cable, thick muscles in his forearm rippled and bunched in a sensual dance.

When he touched a voltage meter to the bug, a bulb lit on the meter.

“ I need to wait for confirmation the bug is actively transmitting,” Jack said as he tapped a text into his cell phone. “ It’ll be a few minutes.”

“ Great .” Not . Those niggly-wigglies were getting worse by the second, and she was eager for them to get as far away from Casa Psycho as possible. Unable to stand still, she shifted repeatedly from one foot to the other.

Jack gave a soft laugh. “ Why don’t you keep an eye out the front door?”

“ Good idea.” She nodded, happy to be given a task to keep her mind occupied.