Katie Briggs’s place was on a wide, tree-lined street full of homes on steroids. Big, bold, and fairly bursting from their lots. Katie’s was a two-story Mediterranean style, complete with adobe-colored shingles and wrought-iron balconies filled with brightly overflowing flowerpots. A narrow front lawn separated the house from the street, all wrapped up tight behind a large security gate that spanned the length of the property.
Cal parked at the curb in front of a faux Tudor across the street. “Now what?” he asked. Clearly not really wanting to know.
I ignored him, picking up my cell, dialing Cam’s number, and putting it on speakerphone.
“Yeah?” she answered.
“You in place?”
“Yep.”
I looked down the block. Cam’s Jeep Wrangler was parked at the corner, her camera to her eye.
“Any sign of security?”
“None that I can see. Bodyguard’s probably out with her.”
“Weak point?”
“I’d try the south side. There’s a bunch of trees shielding it from the road, and it leads right into the backyard.”
“Perfect.”
“You’re not seriously going through with this, are you?” Cal asked.
I hopped out of the car.
“Of course I am.”
“It’s breaking and entering. You could be arrested.”
“If I don’t figure out who’s behind the threats, I could end up dead.”
Cal clenched his jaw together. “This is crossing a line, Bender. I don’t feel good about it.”
“Fine. Wait here, then. I’ll be right back.”
And before he could argue any further, I was jogging across the street to the small grove of trees separating Katie from her neighbor. I cautiously looked both ways, then stepped behind a thick palm and eyed the fence. It was at least eight feet high, brick topped with decorative iron scrollwork. I lifted my arms as high as they would go and tried to get some traction with my feet. I scaled a full two inches up the wall before dropping to the ground again. The bricks were too uniform; there was nothing to hold on to.
I glanced around the yard, looking for anything to boost me over. Flowers, bushes, strategically placed decorative rocks. Shit.
Then I spotted it. A metal planter with a skinny little lemon tree sticking out. It was only a couple feet high, obviously a newbie. With one more over the shoulder glance, I dug my fingers into the soil around the little tree and lifted it, roots and all, out of the planter. I laid the baby tree on the ground, then flipped the planter over and shoved it up against the wall. I stepped up on top of it. It was just high enough that I could reach the iron scrollwork. I curled my fingers around it, planted my feet against the brick, and hoisted myself up on top of the wall. Quickly, I twisted over the top and dropped down the other side. As soon as I landed on Katie’s flagstone patio, my cell buzzed to life with a text. I looked down at the readout. Cam.
Way to go Spidergirl.
I grinned, shoving my phone back in my pocket as I quickly tippy-toed to a pair of French doors at the back of the house. The interior was deserted, large pairings of overstuffed furniture the only occupants. Gingerly, I tried the handle on the back door. Locked. I quickly made my way along the house until I hit another pair of French doors. These looked like they led to a guest room, a colorful throw on the bed, but no personal photos or touches. Again, I tried the door. Locked tight as a drum.
Okay, obviously I wasn’t going to get that lucky.
I slipped my hand into my pocket, rummaging for anything that I could use to pick a lock. Gum, movie stub, ballpoint pen. Sigh.
I looked at the glass panes on the door. They were small, but large enough to slip a hand through. If I could smash the one near the handle…
I bent down and picked up one of Katie’s decorative rocks and lifted it over my head.
But someone grabbed it away before I could use it.
“Jesus, Bender!”
I spun around to find Cal glaring down at me. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I was gonna smash the windowpane.”
Cal dropped the rock back on the ground. “I can’t take you anywhere.” Then he proceeded to pull a long, thin thing that looked a dentist tool from his pocket. He inserted it into the keyhole and jiggled it.
“What’s that?”
“Lockpick.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “How is it a guy that ‘doesn’t feel good’ about breaking and entering owns a lockpick?”
He shrugged. “I don’t always have to feel good.”
I grinned.
My cell buzzed in my pocket. Cam again.
Cal’s coming in after you.
Gee, thanks for the heads-up.
“There.” I heard a click, then Cal turned the handle, pushing the door open. “We’re in.”
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and brushed past him into the guest room.
It was on the small side, expensively furnished, but in an understated way. A queen bed, dresser, and matching set of nightstands. A large oil painting hung above the bed depicting the Tuscan countryside, and a vase of fresh flowers sat on the dresser.
“Guest bedroom,” Cal said, voicing my thoughts.
“Let’s go find hers, then.”
I opened the bedroom door, peering out. Two more doors, then the hallway opened up to the large living room I’d seen through the first set of French doors. Quickly I tried the other two rooms, only to find similarly furnished guest rooms. Beyond the living room was a tall, winding staircase, leading to another hallway. I motioned for Cal to follow and jogged up, hoping like hell that my shoes didn’t muck up Katie’s bright white carpets.
At the top of the stairs were three more doors. The first two contained a home gym and a study. The third, a master bedroom bigger than the entire offices of the Informer. Large canopied bed, two walk-in closets, and a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
“So, this is how the other half lives,” Cal whispered beside me.
No kidding.
I spied a Victorian writing desk in the corner. And on top of it? A laptop.
Gotcha.
“No technology my ass…” I mumbled as I crossed the room, flipping the top open and powering the sucker up.
“You know, just because she has a computer doesn’t make her a killer,” Cal pointed out. “Lots of people have computers.”
“Yeah, but why would she lie about it?”
“To impress a fan? To seem deeper than she is?”
I shrugged him off, watching the welcome screen flicker on. I went through the motions of booting up her system, then quickly started scanning her list of programs for Audio Cloak. But, of course, I still wasn’t that lucky.
“Maybe she deleted it,” Cal offered, reading over my shoulder.
I checked her trash folder. Empty.
“Got any other ideas?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “Sorry, not a computer genius.”
Unfortunately, neither was I. What I was dying to do was take this back to the office, to the one person I knew who was a computer genius. Felix. Only, if I did that, I’d also have to tell him whose it was and how I got it. Not exactly a conversation I was dying to have.
“What about her browser history?” Cal suggested. “If she had to go through the website, it should show up there, right?”
“Brilliant.” I pulled up an Internet Explorer window, then checked her history. A list of websites came up. An online shoe store, two spas, a bank, Variety online.
And Match.com.
I snorted. “Looks like we just found Katie’s dirty little secret.” I clicked the link. And immediately a profile popped up on the screen for “Kate B.,” a single, “friendly, outgoing” woman in the L.A. area looking for a “confidant man who doesn’t mind sharing the spotlight.”
“Is this for real?” Cal asked over my shoulder.
I scanned through her profile. “Sadly, it looks like it.” I thought back to the lonely look in her eyes as she’d told me about her night home alone. Could it be that Katie was really that hard up to find a good man?