I looked down the block. Cam’s Jeep Wrangler was parked at the corner, her camera to her eye.

“Any sign of security?”

“None that I can see. Bodyguard’s probably out with her.”

“Weak point?”

“I’d try the south side. There’s a bunch of trees shielding it from the road, and it leads right into the backyard.”

“Perfect.”

“You’re not seriously going through with this, are you?” Cal asked.

I hopped out of the car.

“Of course I am.”

“It’s breaking and entering. You could be arrested.”

“If I don’t figure out who’s behind the threats, I could end up dead.”

Cal clenched his jaw together. “This is crossing a line, Bender. I don’t feel good about it.”

“Fine. Wait here, then. I’ll be right back.”

And before he could argue any further, I was jogging across the street to the small grove of trees separating Katie from her neighbor. I cautiously looked both ways, then stepped behind a thick palm and eyed the fence. It was at least eight feet high, brick topped with decorative iron scrollwork. I lifted my arms as high as they would go and tried to get some traction with my feet. I scaled a full two inches up the wall before dropping to the ground again. The bricks were too uniform; there was nothing to hold on to.

I glanced around the yard, looking for anything to boost me over. Flowers, bushes, strategically placed decorative rocks. Shit.

Then I spotted it. A metal planter with a skinny little lemon tree sticking out. It was only a couple feet high, obviously a newbie. With one more over the shoulder glance, I dug my fingers into the soil around the little tree and lifted it, roots and all, out of the planter. I laid the baby tree on the ground, then flipped the planter over and shoved it up against the wall. I stepped up on top of it. It was just high enough that I could reach the iron scrollwork. I curled my fingers around it, planted my feet against the brick, and hoisted myself up on top of the wall. Quickly, I twisted over the top and dropped down the other side. As soon as I landed on Katie’s flagstone patio, my cell buzzed to life with a text. I looked down at the readout. Cam.

Way to go Spidergirl.

I grinned, shoving my phone back in my pocket as I quickly tippy-toed to a pair of French doors at the back of the house. The interior was deserted, large pairings of overstuffed furniture the only occupants. Gingerly, I tried the handle on the back door. Locked. I quickly made my way along the house until I hit another pair of French doors. These looked like they led to a guest room, a colorful throw on the bed, but no personal photos or touches. Again, I tried the door. Locked tight as a drum.