Page 43 of Perfect Vengeance

Ironically, in the last few days, Jack had touched her—literally—more than Paul ever had in their entire two-month relationship. No, that wasn’t exactly true. But Jack’s professional searches of her body for weapons and wiring her up for that earpiece had gotten her oodles hotter than Paul ever had.

She let the utility belt and rope drop to the seat so she could shrug out of her sweat suit.

“Head to the Holland Tunnel,” Jack ordered Kinsey after he’d gotten into the front passenger seat and shut the door.

“Nice ride.” Kinsey gunned the SUV down the block. “Whatcha got under the hood?”

“Six speed, V8, 5.4-liter engine, 310 horsepower, 365 pound-feet of torque.”

While he outlined more of the Expedition’s vital statistics as if it were a hot chick, Gina couldn’t tear her eyes from his mouth. Those lips. Not for the first time, she wondered what his kisses would be like.

She rolled her eyes. FBI. Remember that. Besides, he might be gorgeous and hunky and everything Kinsey and Anna said he was, but he was such a tight-assed control freak. He probably kissed like a robot—stiff, with no passion. One of the reasons she’d broken it off with Paul was because he was boring, and his kisses were an extension of that personality trait. Locking lips with him had been like kissing a limp noodle. Major ick. So why did her skin ignite every time Mr. Uber-Robocop touched her?

“Niiiice.” Kinsey stroked the dashboard. “I love having all that power beneath me.”

Kinsey looked about five seconds away from having an orgasm. Gina couldn’t be sure whether it was from flirting with Jack or from driving his SUV. The woman did love a souped-up vehicle.

As they whizzed past a streetlight, Jack smiled at Kinsey, and a brief stab of jealousy kicked in. Why, for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine. Kinsey was gorgeous. If he wanted to flirt back at her friend like a lovesick teenager, why should she care?

With Kinsey’s lead foot, they crossed into New Jersey and were now heading west toward Montclair. Gina cinched her utility belt around her waist, tightening it over her suit before slipping on her black gloves.

A short time later, Jack directed Kinsey onto Psycho’s block. “Pull over here while we do a radio check.” He pointed to the sidewalk about fifty feet before Psycho’s driveway. As Kinsey pulled over, he keyed the radio. “Annabelle, radio check.”

Jack’s deep voice came through Gina’s earpiece.

“Loud and clear,” Anna answered. “We’re in position one street over. Negative countersurveillance.”

Jack twisted in the seat to face her. “Did you get that?”

“Ten-four, good buddy.” Ignoring the annoyed look he shot her in the dark, Gina pulled on her hood and stuffed her hair beneath the snug-fitting garment, being careful not to dislodge the earpiece. Next, she adjusted the attached microphone until it was a quarter inch from her lips.

“Your mic will automatically transmit anything you say over the radio,” Jack said. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

He nodded once. “Let me know when you’re in.”

She slung the rope over her shoulder and opened the door.

“Wait.” He caught her arm. “I already verified the house is empty, but if anything goes wrong, don’t stop to think. Just get out. I mean it.”

“You don’t need to pretend to care about me. About us.” She tipped her chin to Kinsey, who watched them with a curious expression. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you inside so you can get your precious bug planted.” She yanked her arm away and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Quietly, she nudged the door closed. Adrenaline surged through her body as she sprinted to Psycho’s driveway. The padded hook at the end of the rope slapped against her shoulder as she ran.

Though it was a moonless night, between the streetlights and the lamp over the house’s front door, the place was lit up like Times Square. The rest of the house and the property were dark. No light shined from any of the windows. She stayed in the shadows as much as possible, being careful to step over the invisible line running between the two motion sensors on either side of the driveway. If she tripped it, a signal would probably go directly to Psycho’s cell phone. The same thing would happen if she messed up picking the balcony door’s lock.

Her heart rate kicked up as she ran into the backyard, hugging the side of the house. Frost-covered grass crunched beneath her boots. She paused with her back against the stucco and quickly scanned the yard. Wisps of condensed breath swirled before her face.

She slowed her breathing to listen. Aside from the pulsing of her own heartbeat in her ears, the neighborhood was as quiet as could be expected. It was only ten o’clock. Gina and her friends didn’t normally do rips this early. People weren’t solidly in their REM sleep stage until around two or three in the morning, making that the preferred time for a break-in. If it were up to her, she would have waited until at least after midnight, but Jack was calling the shots, and Psycho wasn’t supposed to be at home. Just because the driveway was empty didn’t automatically mean the house was.

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.