The moist crunch of the grass and leaves under my Pumas made me feel a little 007 as I crossed the street. I reminded myself that James Bond was a little cheesy; I should imagine myself to be Jason Bourne. Even though there was no one around, I faked a spy move and tried to be invisible behind a tree, pressing my stomach into the scratchy bark.

I’d be Mrs. Bourne . . . but didn’t Mrs. Bourne die in the second movie? Whatever. I slipped toward the carport. Dave had changed his pass codes on his phone a long time ago, but I was pretty confident that he wouldn’t have found a new place for the key.

Dave’s VW was resting in the covered driveway, but I wasn’t worried he was home; he’d never leave his car at LAX, even for a brief weekend trip. He’d once explained that his car was “catnip” to the various nefarious types that prowled LAX looking to steal. He usually threw in a few racial slurs in his description of the prospective thieves. Classy guy.

I crept my way up to peer into the window of the VW. The car was glossy from the lone streetlight illuminating the carport. Peeking in, I saw a script thrown across the backseat. I also spied a half empty bottle of Evian. Instantly I corrected myself: a half full bottle. Listening to all those Tony Robbins tapes was really paying off.

Moving past the car, I saw my objective: the pile of wood slats resting against the far wall. Shortly after Dave first moved in, he’d had a leak in the bathroom and the plumbers had ripped out the flooring to get to the pipes that needed to be repaired. Following the work, Dave’s landlord had to replace a good-sized chunk of the flooring, and these golden slats of walnut had been left over.

Dave would never move the emergency key—this was too great a hiding spot. All you had to do was to move a few slats and you’d find the key secreted between a couple of the wood pieces. Reaching for the wood, I really did feel like Jason Bourne.

It was dark and I hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight for my covert mission. I’d retrieved the key a few times with Dave, so I thought I remembered where to look. My heart raced as I slid the slats apart, and I realized I was holding my breath. Nothing. With both hands I started to disassemble the small woodpile, throwing planks to the side as I made my way down. I was making a lot of noise and sounded like a coyote going through someone’s garbage can, and I got scared that someone might come looking. Dumbstruck and feeling defeated, I turned to leave.