Sunday, September 13

Hannah Dain parked her Subaru behind a stand of sun-faded palo verde. She didn’t know much about breaking and entering, but figured that hiding the getaway car was probably a good idea.

Dressed in black athletic tights and long-sleeved top, she reached into the rear seat for her rock-climbing shoes. The rubber soles would be quiet and provide good traction if she had to make a run for it. Slipping on her backpack and largest pair of sunglasses, Hannah checked out her reflection in the car’s side mirror.

All I need is a balaclava to complete the burglar look. But a woolen hood would attract too much attention, especially in the middle of a hot Arizona afternoon.

Head down, she zigzagged through the chaparral toward the lone building. Two single-story wings stretched out from a high central section, stucco walls bright white against the sharp blue sky. The windows were covered with iron grilles that Hannah suspected were more functional than decorative. A pergola draped with vines led past well-groomed lawns to tennis courts and a lap pool.

Once in the parking lot, Hannah continued to work her way forward, using the cars as cover. Thirty feet from the building’s main entrance, she crouched in the shade of an oversized SUV to survey the scene.

She had timed her visit for the afternoon, when the “guests”—Hannah thought the term ridiculous—were confined to their rooms and the staff spent more time in their offices. So far, the only person in sight was the security guard standing next to the front door.

White and in his mid-thirties, the guard wore mirrored sunglasses and a duty belt heavy with billy club, mace, and gun. He remained nearly as stationary as the building itself for the twenty minutes Hannah watched him.

Maybe he’ll go to the bathroom soon. She toyed with the idea of plying him with a Coke from the gas station down the road.

Walking past the guard was Hannah’s only option. There were alternative means of entry—climbing in through an air-conditioning vent, prying open a window, picking a lock on a side door. But they all required equipment and skills that Hannah didn’t have. She wondered if the penalty was less severe for entering sans breaking.

On the street side of the parking lot, Hannah heard an engine rumble, then downshift. She squatted lower behind the SUV as a truck displaying a nursery company’s logo rolled up to the building’s main entrance. The driver’s side window was down, and Hannah heard the blare of mariachi music.

Two Hispanic men wearing dark green shirts and matching baseball hats got out of the cab, slid open the door in the back, and started unloading plants. Hannah didn’t know what kind they were, but it didn’t matter. They were tall and leafy and just the thing to get her into the lobby past the security guard.

Keeping out of sight, Hannah crept up to the truck and, standing on the running board, looked through the open driver’s window. A cap emblazoned with the nursery company’s name, like the ones the two delivery men wore, lay on the front seat. Hannah reached in, snatched the cap, and pulled it low on her head. Walking to the rear of the truck, she picked up the closest plant—a four-foot-tall specimen with thick fronds in a black plastic tub—and carried it toward the building entrance.

The two delivery men were already hauling tubs of their own. Hannah fell in line behind them, grateful for her dark hair and olive skin. If her fellow plant bearers noticed that their number had increased, they gave no sign.

As the two men passed the security guard, one turned to the other and spoke in rapid Spanish. The other laughed and answered. Hannah decided she better join the conversation.

“Dé mis recuerdos a sus tíos,” she said as she went by the guard, hoping he was as monolingual as he looked. Otherwise he might wonder why Hannah had just given her regards to his aunt and uncle. It was one of the few Spanish phrases she could recall from a summer course a few years ago—her East Coast prep school had emphasized French. Luckily, the guard ignored her.

The building’s lobby was tastefully appointed with wood and leather furniture. Beautiful photographs of the Grand Canyon covered several walls. But despite the resort-hotel façade, Hannah wasn’t fooled. Fully equipped gym, gourmet cuisine, and decorator-chosen color scheme aside, the place still had the air of a prison.

Holding the plant high in front of her, Hannah frog-marched across the tile floor. The plastic tub was starting to feel heavy—all told, her camouflage probably weighed forty pounds. At least it wasn’t a cactus.

Eyes averted, she passed the reception desk, on course for the door that led to guest housing. Only when she got closer did she see the five-button keypad.

Now what? Hannah needed a free hand to work the lock, but didn’t want to risk discovery by setting down the plant. In any event, it was a hypothetical dilemma. She didn’t know the lock combination.

“Looks like you have your hands full. Let me help you.”

A woman in a nurse’s uniform reached around Hannah and tapped in a sequence on the keypad. There was a loud click. The woman grasped the handle and opened the door.

“Muchas gracias,” Hannah mumbled into the fronds.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Hannah put down the plant and rubbed her aching biceps. Her arms felt so stretched out, she almost expected her sleeves to be too short.

She was in a narrow corridor lined with closed doors. Each one had a nameplate mounted beside it, and Hannah blew out a small sigh of relief. Finding the right room was going to be easier than she had thought.

Hannah read the first name.

Nope.

She crossed the hall and looked at the nameplate there.

Not this one.

She reached down, grabbed the rim of the plant, dragged it ten feet, then stopped and read the next name.

Uh-uh.

She checked the door across the way.

Not here either.

Hannah dragged the plant another ten feet, then paused, hands propped on her knees. Sweat dampened the bill of her cap.

Thirty seconds to check four doors. Thirty seconds wasn’t very long. Unless you were hauling a heavy plant down a hallway where you didn’t belong with another dozen doors to check—on each side. And when at any moment one of the doors might open, with the person behind it wanting to know just what in the heck you were up to.

On a hunch, Hannah jogged the length of the corridor. From what she could tell, the rooms at the end were slightly larger, and so might be considered premium accommodations. She was pleased, and not altogether surprised, to find the name she was looking for on the last door on the right.

Hannah ran back to the plant and dragged it over beside the main door. In case she had to dash, she didn’t want any obstacles in her way. And if someone else showed up, Hannah hoped that the plant would divert attention long enough for her to escape.

She returned to the room at the end of the corridor. Scarcely breathing, Hannah stood close to the door and pressed her ear against the metal, but she couldn’t hear anything—to be expected in a place where the insulation was thick enough to muffle the occasional scream.

Hannah reached for the knob. It turned under her hand, and she felt a surge of excitement. Heart pounding, she eased the door open about half an inch, unsure what she was going to find on the other side.

Just then, voices sounded at the other end of the corridor.

“What’s this plant—”

Hannah pushed the door open wider and stepped into the room.