Full House

  He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You don't care what I've been through today or that my nerves are shot. I'm disappointed in you, Raoul. I thought you were more sensitive than—" She shook her head. "Never mind."

  "I'm a helluva lot more sensitive than Nick, if that's what you mean. Shame you waited until it was too late to find out."

  Too late to find out?

  She planted her hands on her hips. "You told me you were married, remember?"

  "I didn't want to risk scaring you off. I'd hoped in time something would happen between us."

  "You lied to me."

  He looked at her a long moment before getting up. "I could make it up to you."

  She waved him aside. "I don't want to talk about it."

  He suddenly looked sad. "Oh, Billie." He stepped closer. "I fell in love with you the first day I met you. There's been nobody in my life since."

  She shot him a rueful look. "More lies."

  "Listen to me, Billie. We can still be together."

  She blinked several times. "What? How?"

  "I can get us out of here safely. We still have plenty of time."

  "What are you saying?"

  "Come away with me."

  "Do you mean that?"

  "Yes."

  She stepped closer as if to embrace him, then came to a halt. "My children. What about my children?"

  "I can get them. It'll take a little planning, but you'll have to trust me."

  Billie gazed up at him. "Trust is hard for me right now, Raoul."

  "I know. But you'll see. In the end, we can all be together, a big happy family." He smiled and pulled her into his arms once more.

  Billie heard a noise and felt Raoul stiffen immediately. "What was that?" she said.

  Raoul released her, pulled a gun from beneath a chair cushion, and peeked out the window. "Dammit to hell!"

  "What is it?" Billie raced to the window. Vehicles, lots of them, not to mention the police cars, as far as the eye could see, were headed down the long dirt road in their direction. Even the tour bus her relatives had rented. There had to be a hundred people on the way. Relief flooded through her. "What in heaven's name?"

  Raoul shoved her away from the window. "Your boyfriend has found us."

  Billie could not hide her joy. Nick was on his way; he had found her!

  Raoul turned, took one look at the smile on her face and slapped her hard. Blood spurted from her nose as Billie collapsed on the floor.

  "Bitch. You been screwing with my head the whole time, haven't you?" He pressed his fist to his forehead. Finally, he raised his gun and aimed it at her.

  Billie froze. The moment of truth had arrived. Somehow, she had managed to hang on this long; now her time was up. But she had to stay alive a few minutes longer so she could warn the others about the doors and windows.

  "Go ahead and kill me," she said. "Isn't that what you've wanted to do all along? But guess what? The minute you pull that trigger, you've lost me for good."

  Raoul's face became distorted with rage, his stare so filled with hate that his eyes seemed to burn right through her. "No!" he cried like a wounded animal. His face crumbled.

  Billie sensed the change in him, the total break from reality. His eyes were those of a madman. He would kill her, all right, and then he'd turn the gun on himself, just as she'd suspected.

  A voice suddenly shouted Billie's name from the other side of the door. She recognized it immediately. In one fluid move, she was on her feet.

  "Nick, stop! Don't touch the door."

  Raoul grabbed her and tried to cover her mouth, but she bit him hard enough to draw blood. He cried out and released her for a second.

  "The door is rigged! Don't touch the door!" Billie shrieked the words so loudly that it felt as though her vocal cords had been ripped from her throat.

  Raoul grabbed her and shoved the pistol against her head. "Come on in, folks," he taunted. "Hey, Nick, I've enjoyed your girlfriend. You're welcome to her. What's left of her." He started laughing. "You get it? What's left of her?"

  On the other side of the door, Nick heard every word. He felt as though all the blood had drained from his veins. What had Hernandez done to Billie? He was filled with such rage that it left him immobile for a minute.

  "He's bullshitting you, Nick," Max said. "Didn't you hear what Billie said? The door is rigged. He wants you to come after her. You could be killed."

  Nick looked at Max. "It doesn't matter anymore.

  I've already died a hundred deaths today. There's no telling what that lunatic has done to her." He closed his eyes and the pictures he saw were horrific.

  "If you go through that door you could kill her," Max said. "She's still alive. That's what counts, right?"

  Nick steeled himself. Max was right. As long as Billie was alive everything would be okay.

  Detective Ferrell and several other officers examined the door. "Shit, it's booby-trapped," Ferrell said. "Call the bomb squad."

  Nick stepped closer. "There's no time, dammit! He could be doing anything to her in there."

  Ferrell turned to him. "What do you expect us to do, burst through the door and get blown to hell and back?"

  "I can get you through that door," Max said.

  The men jerked their heads in his direction. Nick grabbed the boy. "Are you sure?"

  Max nodded. "Yeah, I can disarm that thing. I'll need something from the tool box to cut the wires."

  Ferrell was already on the phone to headquarters. Agent Hawkins stepped closer to Max. "I can't let you do that, son. Please move away from the door."

  Deedee called out. "Max, I have my manicure kit with me. Will that work?" Behind her the whoosh of a bus door opening caught Agent Hawkins's attention. Deedee tossed a black leather case to Max, who opened it and pulled out a pair of gold clippers.

  "Stop!" Hawkins ordered. "You are unauthorized to touch that explosive device."

  "Go to hell, man," Max said. "I make my own rules."

  Nick put his hand on Max's arm. "Listen to me, Max," he said gently. "You've done enough."

  "This is not a sophisticated device, Nick. It's a simple tilt fuse. Anybody can make one; all you need is a battery, a test tube or plastic pill container, a little wire, and a ball bearing. Hernandez was simply counting on the element of surprise. We rush the door, turn the knob, and blam!"

  "We could try the windows."

  "He's rigged the windows as well, so we may as well go through the door." He pointed to the doorknob. "See what I mean? All you have to do is cut those wires. That'll break the circuit, and we're in."

  Nick grabbed his arm. "Wait. Let me cut them."

  "The bomb squad is on its way," Ferrell said. "Both of you back off. Now."

  "Why don't you shut up, you giant turd?" Deedee said to Ferrell. "My brother is smarter than the whole bunch of you."

  Inside, Billie screamed as Raoul, his arm locked around her throat, tightened his grip. "Come on in, Kaharchek," he called out. "I'm waiting for you."

  Billie was fast losing oxygen. Her head fell to the side and she sank to the floor, falling at Raoul's feet in an amorphous lump. He laughed out loud.

  "You're missing the party in here, Nick, old boy. I just strangled your girlfriend."

  On the other side of the door, Nick panicked. He grabbed the clippers from Max. "Back away!" he shouted to the crowd, putting the clippers to the wire. "Get back, Max."

  "Let me help you, Nick."

  "For God's sake, Max, listen to me. I can't lose you, too. I love you, kid."

  Billie's family stepped back silently, as did the half-dozen or so wrestlers who had arrived in the limos behind the bus. Ferrell and Hawkins motioned for the officers to take cover, as well.

  Raoul pressed his ear closer to the door. "They're going to disarm the damn thing," he muttered angrily.

  Nick stood alone at the door. Once he saw that everyone was a safe distance away, he took a deep breath and very carefully clippe
d the wires. He turned the knob carefully. Seconds ticked by. Nothing happened.

  Max grinned. "Told you so. It's safe now."

  On the other side, Raoul tucked his pistol inside his waistband and reached for a shotgun.

  Ferrell stepped forward with half a dozen police officers, all holding guns and big riot shields. "You're under arrest, Kaharchek," he said. "You, too, squirt," he told Max. He looked at his men and nodded.

  One of the officers tried the doorknob. It turned, but the door didn't budge. "It's locked tight," he said. "Maybe he's got it braced shut."

  Frankie seemed to step out of nowhere, surrounded by five other wrestlers. "Move out of the way and let us professionals handle this."

  Ferrell arched both brows as he took in the size of the men. Frankie grabbed two shields and handed one to Snakeman. "Let's go." The two wrestlers slammed against the door. The wrestlers took turns. The dead bolts held fast, but the door splintered.

  Inside, Raoul let out a loud hysterical laugh as he aimed his weapon. "Come on in, Kaharchek. Come to papa."

  Behind him, Billie pulled herself to a standing position and reached for one of the gallon-sized jars. Adrenaline gushed through her body as she raised it over Raoul's head and slammed it down with every ounce of strength she could muster. Glass shattered in all directions. The shotgun fell to the floor. It fired, and a hail of lead splintered the baseboard.

  Raoul sank to the floor as the door burst open and the wrestlers came through, Frankie leading the way. Frankie grabbed the shotgun from the floor and the pistol from Raoul's pocket, and handed them to a police officer.

  Nick rushed in, eyes wild with fear at the sound of the gunshot. He saw Billie, looking much the worse for wear, but still alive. Ignoring the drying blood at her nose and on her suit, he took her in his arms. She burst into deep sobs.

  Raoul opened his eyes. Several wrestlers stood over him, then looks menacing. Raoul flinched. "I have spiders on me," he cried. "Oh, shit, they're brown recluses! One of them bit me. Somebody help me."

  The wrestlers took one look at the skittering spiders and raced from the house. "You don't want to mess with a brown recluse," Frankie told Deedee once he reached her side. "You ever see what they can do to a man?"

  "Oh, Frankie," she said on a sigh. "You were so brave."

  Raoul was crying as a police officer wearing thick gloves hauled him to his feet. "Please help me," he sobbed.

  Billie shuddered and Nick led her outside where her large audience of family and friends cheered. Her parents raced to her side and hugged her. "Where are the kids?" she asked.

  "Back at the hotel," her mother told her. "They're safe."

  Nick took Billie in his arms once more, choking back the emotion he felt now that she was safe. "They're okay, baby. Everything's going to be okay."

  * * * * *

  Two hours later, Billie was seated on her sofa, her children on one side, Nick on the other. Her parents sat in chairs across from them. She was clean, and Nick had personally tended her wounds. Her house and backyard were packed with relatives and wrestlers, all of whom had dined on a truckload of pizzas and submarine sandwiches Nick had ordered from a nearby deli. Neighbors had streamed in with food, including more than a dozen desserts. Deedee and Frankie had already left to catch a chartered plane to Vegas where they planned to be married upon arrival.

  Nick and Billie were oblivious to most of what was going on around them. All they could do was gaze at one another and remind themselves how lucky they were to be together.

  "I thought I'd lost you," Nick whispered.

  Billie raised her hand to his cheek. He looked exhausted. She had already heard how he and Max had broken into the water company in order to find Raoul's house, and she couldn't have been prouder of them.

  "You saved my life," she said. "You know what that means. I'm responsible for you. For the rest of your life," she added with a smile.

  Billie's minister, who had spent the past hour with the family, shaking hands and making certain everyone knew how blessed they were that everyone had come through the ordeal without serious injury—except Raoul, of course, who'd suffered multiple spider bites and was in critical condition in the hospital— stepped up to the couple.

  He took Billie's hand as he prepared to leave. "This has been a long day for you," he said. "If I can be of help, please call me."

  Billie smiled. "There is one thing you can do for us, Reverend Bennett," she said softly.

  Ten minutes later, Billie and Nick said their vows before a full house of relatives, neighbors, and wrestlers. Nick kissed Billie tenderly as soon as they were pronounced man and wife. He hugged her tightly against him, then pulled Christie and Joel close. He motioned for Max, and the kid joined in. They were greeted with more cheers.

  "Does this mean you're going to adopt me?" Max asked hopefully.

  "You can stay as long as you like," Billie said. "You're part of this family now." She and Nick exchanged smiles.

  "Do we get to go on the honeymoon with you?" Joel asked.

  Nick and Billie looked at one another. "Honeymoon?" they said in unison.

  "I completely forgot," Nick confessed.

  "You can leave tomorrow," Max said. "I'll babysit."

  Once again Billie and Nick exchanged looks.

  "You've done enough, Max," Nick said. "We wouldn't think of imposing."

  Billie nodded emphatically. "Besides, the kids want to spend a couple of weeks with their grandparents."

  Joel opened his mouth to object, but one look from Billie made him close it.

  "Then I'll stick around and watch the house while you're gone," Max offered. "I still have a few more things to repair, and I need to get back to work on that marshland project."

  Nick shook his head. "I have a feeling that our lives will never be the same." He kissed Billie full on the lips as Christie and Joel giggled and Max rolled his eyes. In the background, the ice maker dumped another load.

  Turn the page for a sneak preview of Janet Evanovich's

  Visions of Sugar Plums: A Stephanie Plum Holiday Novel

  Available in hardcover on November 5, 2002, from St. Martin's Press

  Chapter One

  My name is Stephanie Plum and I've got a strange man in my kitchen. He appeared out of nowhere. One minute I was sipping coffee, mentally planning out my day. And then the next minute ... poof, there he was.

  He was over six feet, with wavy blond hair pulled into a ponytail, deep-set brown eyes, and an athlete's body. He looked to be late twenties, maybe thirty. He was dressed in jeans, boots, a grungy, white thermal shirt hanging loose over the jeans, and a beat-up, black leather jacket hanging on broad shoulders. He was sporting two days of beard growth, and he didn't look happy.

  "Well, isn't this perfect," he said, clearly disgusted, hands on hips, taking me in.

  My heart was tapdancing in my chest. I was at a total loss. I didn't know what to think or what to say. I didn't know who he was or how he got into my kitchen. He was frightening, but even more than that he had me flustered. It was like going to a birthday party and arriving a day early. It was like ... what the heck's going on?

  "How?" I asked. "What?"

  "Hey, don't ask me, lady," he said. "I'm as surprised as you are."

  "How'd you get into my apartment?"

  "Sweet cakes, you wouldn't believe me if I told you." He moved to the refrigerator, opened the door, and helped himself to a beer. He cracked the beer open, took a long pull, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You know how people get beamed down on Star Trek? It's sort of like that."

  Okay, so I've got a big slob of a guy drinking beer in my kitchen, and I think he might be crazy. The only other possibility I can come up with is that I'm hallucinating and he isn't real. I smoked some pot in college but that was about it. Don't think I'd get a flashback from wacky tobacky. There were mushrooms on the pizza last night. Could that be it?

  Fortunately, I work in bail bond enforcement, and I'm sort
of used to scary guys showing up in closets and under beds. I inched my way across the kitchen, stack my hand into my brown bear cookie jar, and pulled out my .38 five-shot Smith & Wesson.

  "Gripes," he said, "what are you gonna do, shoot me? Like that would change anything." He looked more closely at the gun and shook his head in another wave of disgust. "Honey, there aren't any bullets in that gun."

  "There might be one," I said. "I might have one chambered."

  "Yeah, right." He finished the beer and sauntered out of the kitchen, into the living room. He looked around and moved to the bedroom.

  "Hey," I yelled. "Where do you think you're going? That's it, I'm calling the police."

  "Give me a break," he said. "I'm having a really shitty day." He kicked his boots off and flopped onto my bed. He scoped out the room from his prone position. "Where's the television?"

  "In the living room."

  "Oh man, you don't even have a television in your bedroom. Someone's really sticking it to me."

  I cautiously moved closer to the bed, and I reached out and touched him.

  "Yeah, I'm real," he said. "Sort of. And all my equipment works." He smiled for the first time. It was a knock-your-socks-off smile. Dazzling white teeth and good-humored eyes that crinkled at the corners. "In case you're interested."

  The smile was good. The news was bad. I didn't know what sort of real meant. And I wasn't sure I liked the idea that his equipment worked. All in all, it didn't do a lot to help my heart rate. Truth is, I'm pretty much a chickenshit bounty hunter. Still, while I'm not the world's bravest person, I can bluff with the best of them, so I did an eye-roll. "Get a grip."

  "You'll come around," he said. "They always do."

  "They?"

  "Women. Women love me," he said.

  Good thing I didn't have a bullet chambered as threatened because I'd definitely shoot this guy. "Do you have a name?"

  "Diesel."

  "Is that your first name or your last name?"

  "That's my whole name. Who are you?"

  "Stephanie Plum."

  "You live here alone?"

  "No."

  "That's a big fib," he said. "You have living alone written all over you."