Nick Fox didn’t choose this method to communicate with Serena Blake. Fox masqueraded as her attorney, Jean-Luc Picard. He arrived at the prison in an ancient black Mercedes, accompanied by Kate and Boyd Capwell. Boyd wore a weather-beaten leather coat with wide sheepskin-lined lapels that looked as if it might have been stolen from a homeless man who’d used it as bedding.
Kate parked in the small lot in front of the prison, the buildings within hidden from street-level view behind the gray wall that encircled the property. This was the prison’s only entrance, a rectangular opening as wide as a four-car garage, with a thick iron-barred gate and, to one side, a tiny guardhouse. Kate had on a knit cap with her hair tucked up inside. She was wearing a bulky jacket with the collar turned up, and Nick had transformed her face with makeup and prosthetic padding so that she would be unrecognizable to Serena.
Nick had told Boyd that they were helping to free a woman who’d been framed for a crime. “Are you ready?” Nick asked him. “Everything rides on you being convincing.”
“This is nothing. I played Inspector Javert in the animated version of Les Misérables.”
“The one with the singing mice?”
“I imbued a mouse with moral authority and an all-consuming obsession while carrying a tune in a squeaky French accent. Next time, give me a real challenge.”
“There was no danger involved in that. Now you’re impersonating a real police officer and walking into a prison full of armed guards.”
“They don’t scare me,” Boyd said. “I’ve faced drama critics. They can be inhuman.”
Nick nodded, satisfied. “Then let’s do it.”
Kate stayed with the car, and Nick and Boyd got out and walked to the guardhouse. They could hear people on the street yelling at the prisoners inside and the muffled voices of the prisoners yelling back from the open windows of their cells.
Nick smiled at the guard and greeted him in French.
“Look at you. Who is the real prisoner here?” Nick asked the guard. “You or the men inside?”
“I ask myself the same question every day. At least they have room to turn around in their cells,” the guard said.
“Ah, but do they go home to the love of a good woman every night?”
“You obviously haven’t met my wife,” the guard said and roared with laughter.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Boyd said, speaking in English with a thick Manchester accent. “I’m Detective Chief Inspector Dennis Gooley, London Metropolitan Police. Can we speed this up? I’ve got a plane to catch, and I need to get my prisoner.”
Nick sighed and spoke again in French to the guard. “The British have no appreciation for pleasant conversation. And I am going to be stuck beside him on a plane.”
“I’d rather be in this shack,” the guard said.
The guard took Boyd’s ID and handed Nick a clipboard. “Have him sign this form. The assistant warden will meet you in front of the women’s cell block with your client.”
Boyd signed the form, the guard pressed a button, the gate opened, and Nick and Boyd stepped inside the prison grounds.
The prison block was three stories tall, but could have passed for a 1950s-era high school or library, if not for the bars in front of the windows. They were met outside the door by a timid, thin little man with pale skin who wore a rumpled black suit and looked more like an undertaker than a bureaucrat. He carried a sheaf of papers under his arm.
“Inspector Gooley, I am Maksud Attard, assistant warden,” Attard said in English. “We received the paperwork this morning from our Ministry of Justice approving the extradition request by the British authorities. I must say it’s a most unusual situation.”
“Everything my client was alleged to have stolen has been recovered,” Nick said. “The French authorities have nothing to gain by keeping her.”
“Except justice,” Attard said. “They caught her red-handed.”
“It’s a plea bargain,” Boyd said. “She’s agreed to help us catch the thief who was her accomplice in exchange for a lighter sentence to be served entirely in the UK.”
Attard shook his head. “You must be a remarkable lawyer, Monsieur Picard, to have managed that deal.”
Nick agreed. “C’est vrai.”
Boyd made a derisive sound. “Serena Blake is a small fish compared to her pal Nick Fox. Every law enforcement agency involved jumped at the chance to trade her for Fox. And Serena would sell out her own mum to avoid a Turkish prison. A monkey could’ve made this deal.”
The door to the cell block opened and Serena Blake was brought out by two guards.
Boyd stepped up to her, placed a handcuff on her right wrist, closed it tight, and then closed the other cuff on his left wrist. “You’re nicked, doll.”
Serena looked at Boyd like he smelled bad. And, in fact, he didn’t smell all that wonderful in the ratty coat.
Attard held some papers and a pen out to Boyd. “Sign these and she’s in your custody.”
Boyd signed the papers. One copy was given to him, another to Nick, and Attard kept the third. Nick, Boyd, and Serena walked out the gate and took their time getting to the Mercedes. Kate was behind the wheel, Boyd and Serena slid into the backseat, and Nick took the passenger seat beside Kate. Kate backed out of the parking space and drove down Boulevard Guy-Marie Riobé, passing a taxi heading in the opposite direction. The taxi’s passenger was a man wearing a leather-and-sheepskin coat that looked exactly like the one Boyd was wearing.
Kate pulled to the side of the road and parked behind a gray panel van. Everyone got out of the Mercedes, piled into the van, and Kate drove off.
“That went as smooth as silk,” Boyd said. “I was excellent.”
“You were a credit to the coat,” Nick told him.
“My prison cell smelled better than this coat,” Serena said. “Could we lose the coat and the cuffs?”
Boyd unlocked the cuffs, took the coat off, and Serena threw the coat out the window.
Kate dropped Serena off at the train station, and Serena headed for parts unknown. Boyd was dropped off on the right bank of the Seine, where he was meeting an actor friend. And Kate and Nick continued on to the airport, where they would board separate planes back to the United States.
Kate parked the van, stripped off her fake face, and left the bulky jacket and cap on the backseat.
“Do you think Serena recognized me?” she asked Nick.
“No,” he answered. “And if she did, I don’t think she’ll ever say anything to anybody. I’m sure she’s grateful to have this end.”
“I’m happy to have this operation behind me,” Kate said when they arrived at the terminal. “I’m still not sure we did the right thing.”
“All’s well that ends well,” Nick said. “All of the stolen art has been returned. Menendez will never see the light of day. And Boyd gets to have a couple days in Paris. It’s all good.”
Kate’s cellphone buzzed, and she flinched when she saw the caller ID. It was her boss, Carl Jessup.
“I just received a text message that less than an hour ago Serena Blake escaped from prison,” Jessup said. “Did you have anything to do with it?”
“Of course not,” Kate said. “That would be a crime.”
“I’m glad to hear you still know where to draw the line.”
“How did the escape go down?” Kate asked.
“Gooley arranged to have Serena extradited to England, but when he got to the prison in Orléans to pick her up, he discovered that she’d already been released to someone masquerading as him.”
“Very clever.”
“Clever enough to be arranged by Nick Fox.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We can’t be involved in breaking criminals out of prison,” Jessup said.
Kate made crackling sounds into the phone. “You’re breaking up,” she said. “Can’t hear you.” And she disconnected.
Nick raised his eyebrows in question.
“Jessup heard about Serena
’s escape,” Kate said.
“Good news travels fast.”
“He didn’t think it was good news.”
“Good news is relative.” Nick glanced at his watch. “You need to check in. My plane doesn’t leave for a while, so I’m going to the lounge.”
“Try to stay out of trouble,” Kate said.
Nick grabbed her, pulled her close against him, and kissed her. There was some tongue involved and a little discreet groping.
“Zoinks!” she said when he released her.
“It gets even better,” he said. “I’ve got something you can wrap your hand around and really enjoy.”
And he slipped a giant-sized Toblerone bar into the pocket of her sweatshirt.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We’d like to thank Craig Barron, James T. Clemente, Serge Dintroz, Dallas Murphy, Mark Safarik, and Jenny White for sharing their knowledge and experience with us. We hope they won’t mind the creative liberties we’ve taken and will forgive us for any mistakes we’ve made.
BY JANET EVANOVICH
THE FOX AND O’HARE NOVELS WITH LEE GOLDBERG
The Heist
The Chase
The Job
THE STEPHANIE PLUM NOVELS
One for the Money
Two for the Dough
Three to Get Deadly
Four to Score
High Five
Hot Six
Seven Up
Hard Eight
To the Nines
Ten Big Ones
Eleven on Top
Twelve Sharp
Lean Mean Thirteen
Fearless Fourteen
Finger Lickin’ Fifteen
Sizzling Sixteen
Smokin’ Seventeen
Explosive Eighteen
Notorious Nineteen
Takedown Twenty
Top Secret Twenty-One
THE BETWEEN THE NUMBERS STORIES
Visions of Sugar Plums
Plum Lovin’
Plum Lucky
Plum Spooky
THE LIZZY AND DIESEL NOVELS
Wicked Appetite
Wicked Business
THE ALEXANDRA BARNABY NOVELS
Metro Girl
Motor Mouth
Troublemaker (graphic novel)
NONFICTION
How I Write
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
JANET EVANOVICH is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Stephanie Plum series, the Fox and O’Hare series with co-author Lee Goldberg, the Lizzy and Diesel series, twelve romance novels, the Alexandra Barnaby novels and Troublemaker graphic novel, and How I Write: Secrets of a Bestselling Author.
www.evanovich.com
Facebook.com/JanetEvanovich
@JanetEvanovich
LEE GOLDBERG is a screenwriter, TV producer, and the author of several books, including King City, The Walk, and the bestselling Monk series of mysteries. He has earned two Edgar Award nominations and was the 2012 recipient of the Poirot Award from Malice Domestic.
www.leegoldberg.com
Facebook.com/AuthorLeeGoldberg
@LeeGoldberg
Janet Evanovich, The Job
(Series: Fox and O'Hare # 3)
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