Janet Evanovich - Explosive Eighteen

Explosive Eighteen is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2011 by Evanovich, Inc.

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

B ANTAM B OOKS and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Evanovich, Janet.
Explosive eighteen : a Stephanie Plum novel / Janet Evanovich.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-345-52772-1
1. Plum, Stephanie (Fictitious character)Fiction. 2. Women bounty huntersFiction. 3. Trenton (N. J.)Fiction. I. Title.

PS3555.V2126E97 2011
813.54dc23 2011041095

www.bantamdell.com

Jacket art and design: Carlos Beltrn

v3.1

NEW JERSEY WAS 40,000 FEET below me, obscured by cloud cover. Heaven was above me, beyond the thin skin of the plane. And hell was sitting four rows back. Okay, maybe hell was too strong. Maybe it was just purgatory.

My name is Stephanie Plum, and I work as a bail-bonds enforcer for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds in Trenton, New Jersey. Id recently inherited airline vouchers from a dead guy and used them to take a once-in-a-lifetime Hawaiian vacation. Unfortunately, the vacation didnt go as planned, and Id been forced to leave Hawaii ahead of schedule, like a thief sneaking off in the dead of night. Id abandoned two angry men in Honolulu, called my friend Lula, and asked her to pick me up at Newark Airport.

As if my life wasnt enough in the toilet, I was now on the plane home, seated four rows ahead of a guy who looked like Sasquatch and was snoring like a bear in a cave. Good thing I wasnt sitting next to him, because I surely would have strangled him in his sleep by now. I was wearing airline-distributed earphones pumped up to maximum volume, but they werent helping. The snoring had started somewhere over Denver and got really ugly over Kansas City. After several loud passenger comments suggesting someone take the initiative and smother the guy, flight attendants confiscated all the pillows and began passing out free alcoholic beverages. Three-quarters of the plane was now desperately drunk, and the remaining quarter was either underage or alternatively medicated. Two of the underage were screaming-crying, and I was pretty sure the kid behind me had pooped in his pants.

I was among the drunk. I was wondering how I was going to walk off the plane and navigate the terminal with any sort of dignity, and I was hoping my ride was waiting for me.

Sasquatch gave an extra loud snork, and I ground my teeth together. Just land this friggin plane, I thought. Land it in a cornfield, on a highway, in the ocean. Just get me out of here!

Lula pulled into my apartment building parking lot, and I thanked her for picking me up at the airport and bringing me home.

No problemo, she said, dropping me at the back door to the lobby. There wasnt nothing on television, and Im between honeys, so it wasnt like I was leaving anything good behind.

I waved her off and trudged into my apartment building. I took the elevator to the second floor, dragged my luggage down the hall and into my apartment, and shuffled into my bedroom.

It was after midnight, and I was exhausted. My vacation in Hawaii had been unique, and the flight home had been hellish. Turbulence over the Pacific, a layover in L.A., and the snoring. I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself. I was back to work tomorrow, but for now I had to make a choice. I was completely out of clean clothes. That meant I could be a slut and sleep naked, or I could be a slob and sleep in what I was wearing.

Truth is, Im not entirely comfortable sleeping naked. I do it from time to time, but I worry that God might be watching or that my mother might find out, and Im pretty sure they both think nice girls should wear pajamas to bed.

In this case, being a slob required less effort, and thats where I chose to go.

Unfortunately, I was in the same wardrobe predicament when I dragged myself out of bed the next morning, so I emptied my suitcase into my laundry basket, grabbed the messenger bag that serves as a purse, and headed for my parents house. I could use my moms washer and dryer, and I thought I had some emergency clothes left in their spare bedroom. Plus, theyd been babysitting my hamster, Rex, while I was away, and I wanted to retrieve him.

I live in a one-bedroom, one-bath apartment in an aging three-story brick-faced apartment building located on the edge of Trenton. On a good traffic day, at four in the morning, its a ten-minute drive to my parents house or the bonds office. All other times, its a crapshoot.

Grandma Mazur was at the front door when I pulled to the curb and parked. Shes lived with my parents since Grandpa Mazur took the big escalator to the heavenly food court in the sky. Sometimes I think my father wouldnt mind seeing Grandma step onto that very same escalator, but I cant see it happening anytime soon. Her steel-gray hair was cut short and tightly curled on her head. Her nails matched her bright red lipstick. Her lavender-and-white running suit hung slack on her bony shoulders.

What a good surprise, Grandma said, opening the door to me. Welcome home. Were dying to hear all about the vacation with the hottie.

My parents home is a modest duplex, sharing a common wall with its mirror image. Mrs. Ciak lives in the other half. Her husband has passed on, and she spends her days baking coffee cake and watching television. The outside of her half is painted pale green, and the exterior of my parents house is mustard yellow and brown. Its not an attractive combination, but it feels comfortable to me since its been that way for as long as I can remember. Each half of the house has a postage-stamp front yard, a small covered front porch, a back stoop leading to a long narrow backyard, and a detached single-car garage.

I lugged the laundry basket through the living room and dining room to the kitchen, where my mother was chopping vegetables.

Soup? I asked her.

Minestrone. Are you coming for dinner?

Cant. Got plans.

My mother glanced at the laundry basket. I just put a load of sheets into the washer. If you leave that here, Ill do it later for you. How was Hawaii? We didnt expect you home until tomorrow.

Hawaii was good, but the plane ride was long. Fortunately, I sat next to a guy who got off when we stopped in L.A., so I had more room.

Yeah, but you were also next to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Grandma said.

Not exactly.

This got both their attentions.

How so? Grandma asked.

Its complicated. He didnt fly back with me.

Grandma stared at my left hand. You got a tan, except on your ring finger. It looks like you were wearing a ring when you got a tan, but youre not wearing it no more.

I looked at my hand. Bummer. When I took the ring off, I hadnt noticed a tan line.

Now I know why you went to Hawaii, Grandma said. I bet you eloped! Of course, being that you dont got the ring on anymore would put a damper on the celebration.

I blew out a sigh, poured myself a cup of coffee, and my phone rang. I dug around in my bag, unable to find the phone in the jumble of stuff Id crammed in for the plane trip. I dumped it all out onto the little kitchen table and pawed through it. Granola bars, hairbrush, lip balm, hair scrunchies, notepad, wallet, socks, two magazines, a large yellow envelope, floss, mini flashlight, travel pack of tissues, three pens, and my phone.