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The Toms’ confidence in themselves extended to their security—or lack of it. I’d expected to have to boot the door off its hinges, but the something that told me to try the handle first got top marks. That meant I found myself standing in the entranceway to the miniaturised Playboy mansion with no hitches to the grunts and exaggerated wailing.
Taking advantage of that, I strode past an open living space on my right, and followed the sounds down a narrow corridor. Around a corner to the right, the walkway stretched alongside three doorways, two of which stood open. I headed that way, marching past the room of the first shebang without even being spotted, straight into the bedroom holding the Tom I sought.
He didn’t notice me, either—not with his head thrown back and his eyes screwed t
