Read Online Wicked Business by Janet Evanovich - Free Book Online

House , so I had a vague understanding of the geography.
    Diesel left Storrow Drive for the flat of the hill, found Mt. Vernon Street, and turned into Louisburg Square. Hecounted off houses and idled in front of a perfectly renovated town house that sat in the middle of the block.
    “This is the address on the computer printout,” he said. “According to the text I just got from my assistant, the house is owned by Gerald Belker. He’s president of Belker Extrusion. Has a wife and two adult children. This is one of three houses he owns. It’s not clear if he’s in residence. Reedy was let into the house to see the painting, but that was a couple weeks ago. My assistant called the house and got a machine.”
    “What’s your assistant’s name?” I asked Diesel.
    “I don’t know. She’s been with me for three weeks, and it’s too late to ask. She’d get insulted and quit.”
    “So how are we going to get in to see the painting?”
    “We ring the doorbell. If someone answers, we lie our way in. If no one answers, we break in.”
    “I don’t like either of those ideas.”
    Diesel parked two houses down. “What’s your plan?”
    “You treat me to dinner at a nice restaurant, we go home, and we pretend we didn’t discover the computer printout of the second painting.”
    “Not gonna happen, but after we break into the house, I’ll buy you a pizza and a beer.”
    “I’m not breaking into the house. Look at these places. They all have alarm systems. The police will come and arrest us.”
    “No worries. There’s not a jail that can hold me.”
    “But what about me? I can’t do the whole Houdini thing you do with locks.”
    “Yeah, you’d be behind bars for a long time.”
    “Good grief.”
    Diesel grinned. “I’m kidding. I’ll take care of the alarm.”
    “You can do that?”
    “Usually.”
    “Only usually?”
    “Almost always.”
    I followed him up the stairs to Belker’s house and waited while he rang the bell. No answer. He rang again. Still no answer.
    “I have a bad feeling about this,” I said. “I don’t think we should break in. It’s daylight. People will see us.”
    Diesel put his hand to the door and the lock tumbled. “No one’s looking.”
    He opened the door, we stepped in, and the alarm went off.
    “Bummer,” he said. “I usually block the electrical signal.”
    “Shut it off! Shut it off! Do something .”
    “Look around for the painting.”
    “Are you insane? You set the alarm off. The police are rushing over here.”
    Diesel was going room by room. “The alarm company will call first.”
    The phone rang.
    “What should I do? Should I answer it?” I asked him.
    “No. You don’t know the code word. Just look for the painting.”
    My heart was racing, and I was having a hard time breathing. “I’m gonna go to jail. What’ll I tell my mother? Who’ll make cupcakes for Mr. Nelson?”
    “I found it,” Diesel yelled from upstairs, barely audible over the screaming alarm.
    “I’m leaving,” I yelled back. “You’re on your own. I can’t eat prison food. It’s probably all carbs.”
    Diesel jogged down the stairs with the painting.
    “What are you doing?” I asked him.
    “I’m borrowing it.”
    “Omigod, you’re stealing it.”
    “Only for a little while. Help me wrap this bed sheet around it.”
    “It’s huge!”
    “Yeah, it didn’t look this big in the book. The gold frame doesn’t help, either.”
    We got the sheet around the painting, and Diesel hustled it out the door and down the street to his car. I had the hood pulled up on my sweatshirt and my face tucked down in case someone was looking and making notes or, God forbid, taking pictures. We slid the painting into the back of the SUV, scrambled into the front seat, and Diesel took off. He turned out of Louisburg Square, onto Pinckney. I looked back and saw the flashing lights of two cop cars as they came in and angle parked in front of Belker’s house.
    “See,” Diesel said. “No