Fearless Fourteen - Janet Evanovich [54]
“Nobody home,” a male voice said. Not Dom’s.
“Yeah, but I know he was here. I can smell him.”
The second voice was also male. And again, not Dom’s.
“Look around. Maybe he left something laying out that would tell us something.”
“He wouldn’t do that. He’s living with Jelly. He’s not going to let Jelly see anything.”
“Look around anyway. People are stupid. They do stupid things. And maybe if we stay here long enough, he’ll come home, and we can persuade him to talk to us.”
“We’ve got his sister on ice. How much more persuading can we do? Personally, I don’t think he knows where the money is.”
“For crissake, just look! Would it kill you to look?”
Holy crap. Dom’s partners. And I was stuck under the bed. I went cold inside. I could feel everything liquefying in my intestines. How does this happen to me? How do I get myself into these situations? I heard them rummaging through the living room and kitchen. They came into the bedroom, and my heart rate picked up.
“These guys are such slobs,” one of them said. “It’s like two pigs living in their own slop.”
“You should talk. I’ve been in your apartment and it isn’t that great.”
“Wait until I get my hands on the money, and you’ll see great. I’ll be out of that shit-hole apartment. I’ll be cruising the islands in my boat. Did I ever show you a picture of my boat?”
“Only about a million times.”
They were walking around the bed, and I could see their shoes and the bottoms of their slacks. The one guy was wearing scuffed brown tie shoes, worn down at the heel, and tan slacks with cuffs. The other was in jeans and beat-up CAT boots with a gash in the toe. They went through the bureau drawers and rifled the single drawer in the bedside chest.
“There’s nothing here,” the one guy said. “What do you want to do now?”
“I don’t feel like waiting. I got stuff to do. My wife’s on my ass.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Yeah, no one would marry you.”
“Lots of women would marry me.”
“Oh yeah? Who?”
“Lots of women. And I’m not paying through the nose for a woman I’m not even getting anything from.”
They left the bedroom, and moments later, I heard them on the stairs. The door opened and closed, and the apartment was quiet. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid to crawl out from under the bed. I was pretty sure they were no longer in the apartment, but what if I was wrong? I waited a couple minutes more and slithered to the edge, where I had a better view. I held my breath and listened. I carefully looked around. Now or never, I thought. I belly-crawled out, got to my feet, and forced myself to creep down the hall to the living room. I almost keeled over with relief when no one was there. I hurried to the foyer at the bottom of the stairs and hesitated. If the two bad guys saw me leave, they might think I was coming from the downstairs apartment. Unless they watched the evening news. Then they’d know who I was because I was blue.
I locked the door, placed the key on the top of the doorjamb, opened the front door a crack, and looked out. No one standing there with a gun in his hand. No black mafia staff cars with tinted windows lined up at the curb. I casually walked away from the house, down the block to the corner, around the corner, and angled myself behind the wheel of Morelli’s SUV. I two-handed the key into the ignition and pulled away from the curb with a white-knuckle grip on the wheel. Okay, so I was a little freaked, but I hadn’t messed my pants. That was pretty good, right?
By the time I got to Morelli’s house, I’d calmed down a little but not entirely. It was almost noon and Morelli was sitting on his front step with Bob. I plunked myself down next to him, he put his arm around me, and I collapsed into him.
“Either you like me a lot, or you’ve had a bad morning,” Morelli said.
“It’s both. I did some legwork and ended up at Jelly Kantner’s apartment.”
“At his apartment or in his apartment?”
“In.”
“Were you invited in?”
“No, but I also wasn’t told to stay out.”
“Nobody home,” Morelli said.
“Mmm. Anyway, it was obvious someone