Format: 346 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: November 11, 2025
Publisher: Atria Books
Source: Library Book
Genre: Mystery, Suspense
Publisher: Atria Books
Source: Library Book
Genre: Mystery, Suspense
Gabriela Rose, recovery agent extraordinaire, can find just about anything. Too bad she can’t seem to lose her gorgeous-but-infuriating ex-husband Rafer Jones. And now he needs her help. His cousin, Harley, is in trouble…big trouble.
As the president of a too-big-to-fail bank, he invested an astronomical amount of money in insuring some of the world’s most priceless artifacts at the urging of his board. It seemed like a low-risk, high-reward business move, so he jumped in with both feet. But recently, these insured pieces started going missing and worse, there’s no paper trail of Harley being directed to make these risky investments. Unless the artwork can be recovered soon, it looks like Harley is going to be heading to jail as the fall guy for an ingenious crime.
Gabriela knows what she must do: travel around the world with Rafer to find the missing works of art, keep Harley out of jail, and save both his skin and his bank. Along the way, she’ll encounter corruption, threats, murder, mysterious dark forces behind a global conspiracy to destroy the world’s wealth, and a nefarious villain who will stop at nothing to bring the world to the brink of ruin.
As the president of a too-big-to-fail bank, he invested an astronomical amount of money in insuring some of the world’s most priceless artifacts at the urging of his board. It seemed like a low-risk, high-reward business move, so he jumped in with both feet. But recently, these insured pieces started going missing and worse, there’s no paper trail of Harley being directed to make these risky investments. Unless the artwork can be recovered soon, it looks like Harley is going to be heading to jail as the fall guy for an ingenious crime.
Gabriela knows what she must do: travel around the world with Rafer to find the missing works of art, keep Harley out of jail, and save both his skin and his bank. Along the way, she’ll encounter corruption, threats, murder, mysterious dark forces behind a global conspiracy to destroy the world’s wealth, and a nefarious villain who will stop at nothing to bring the world to the brink of ruin.
The King's Ransom is the second installment in author Janet Evanovich's Recovery Agent series. Gabriela Rose, a highly skilled recovery agent who excels at tracking down lost or stolen treasures, is pulled into a personal and professional crisis when her exasperating but gorgeous ex-husband, Rafer Jones, shows up with his cousin Harley Patch.
Harley, president of a major bank, has been set up as the fall guy in a massive insurance fraud involving billions in priceless artifacts (think items like the Rosetta Stone and a golden coffin). These treasures have mysteriously vanished, leaving Harley facing jail time unless Gabriela can recover them. What starts as a rescue mission spirals into a worldwide hunt across London, Cairo, Italy, Florida, and more.
Along the way, Gabriela and Rafer tangle with corruption, murder, shadowy henchmen, and a nefarious conspiracy involving elite villains (referred to as “The Kings”) who aim to create broader chaos. Expect locked-room theft puzzles, daring escapes, cultural detours, and plenty of tension between the exes. The book moves at a breakneck speed, with short, to-the-point chapters. Gabriela is a standout protagonist—resourceful, confident, martial-arts-trained, stylish, and driven.
Unlike the more chaotic Stephanie Plum, Gabriela feels competent and proactive, making her an empowering lead in action scenes. Her skills shine in research, improvisation, and handling danger. The plot occasionally sags when trails go cold, relying on escalating villains and misdirection that some find over-the-top or formulaic. Brand-name dropping (clothes, cars, food) and junk-food consumption get noticeable mentions. Character development is light—typical for Evanovich’s plot-heavy approach—but secondary figures can blur together.
A few plot threads (side characters’ fates) feel unresolved. It’s escapist entertainment rather than deep literary fiction; if you want gritty realism or profound themes, look elsewhere. For true fans of this author, it appears the author and publisher will alternate between Stephanie Plum and Gabby for the foreseeable future.
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Chapter OneCHAPTER ONE
Gabriela Rose sipped her champagne and looked around the room at the 156 people who had each paid $5,000 to participate in a political fundraiser hosted by Eldridge Parker Rollings. Their contributions had gotten them through the elaborate gated entrance, up the short driveway to valet parking, and through the oversized mahogany front door of Rollings’s Montecito mansion. Once inside they were treated to bargain basement champagne and vegan appetizers. If they wanted their picture snapped with Barry Burlew, a Ringo Starr look-alike and candidate for the California State Assembly, it would cost them another $2,000.
Gabriela was here for reasons other than warm champagne. She’d bought her way onto the guest list because it gave her a unique opportunity to get her hands on a sack of shiny baubles that were worth $13 million, give or take a few cents. This was the first time Gabriela had been in the sprawling Spanish Colonial Revival mansion, but she’d studied photos from a realtor website, and floor plans from blueprints her assistant had provided. She had Google Earth photos and drone videos of the grounds. As it turned out, the videos of the grounds would be the most useful.
In ten minutes, the candidate was going to speak to the crowd and thank them for their support. When everyone was focused on the candidate, Gabriela would leave through an open patio door and slip out into the dark yard. Her only obstacle was Rollings. He was currently standing by the double door, exchanging pleasantries with an elderly couple. Rollings’s girlfriend du jour was plastered against him, reveling in her girlfriend status, basking in Rollings’s wonderfulness.
Rollings and his Russian-born wife, Olga, had bought the house seven years ago, during happier times. Now they were in the final stages of a contentious divorce. Rollings was going to keep the Montecito property, and Olga would get the slope-side Aspen house plus the Bentley and the Malibu beach house. Somehow $13 million in jewelry had disappeared during all the shouting and finger-pointing that had preceded Olga’s final departure in the Bentley. Theft was suggested but never proved.
Rollings submitted an insurance claim and as a result, Gabriela Rose was on the scene, drinking warm champagne, on the clock for the insurer. Insurance Fraud Investigator was printed on her business card, and she had an international reputation for excellence in the field. Most of her jobs had one thing in common. Something needed to be found. And it was a fact that where others had failed, Gabriela was known to succeed.
Gabriela left her secluded corner and pushed through the crowd to join Luis Salazar. He looked bored, standing next to a potted palm in the back of the room. He was retired LAPD. Forty-three years old. Slim and fit. Handsome enough to get bit roles when a film needed a Latino extra. He was also available for freelance security jobs. He knew how to keep a secret, and his morals were flexible. Gabriela had used him on previous jobs when she needed a little extra muscle.
Luis nodded at Gabriela when she approached. “You aren’t actually drinking that piss water, are you?” he asked, looking at the glass of champagne.
“No. Do you want it?”
“Sure. What the hell.” Luis polished off the champagne and set the empty glass in the palm tree’s massive midnight-blue ceramic pot. “When’s showtime?”
“In five minutes, when everyone’s attention turns to the candidate. He’s supposed to address the audience from the platform they’ve placed on the other side of the room. We’ll make our move when he starts to talk.”
“What about Rollings? He’s standing in front of our door.”
“He’s going to introduce the guest of honor,” Gabriela said. “Here we go. He’s checking his watch.”
“And he’s on the move,” Luis said, “along with the woman who’s surgically attached to his hip.”
Rollings stepped onto the stage, the crowd gravitated toward him, and Gabriela and Luis stepped outside, onto the broad, tiled lanai that was lit with vintage gas lanterns. Beyond the lanai was a sloping lawn that quickly disappeared into the dark night. Gabriela knew that a small cottage was sitting in that darkness. It had been the original structure on the property and was now simply a picturesque relic. And beyond the relic was a kitchen well that had also been passed over by time.
Gabriela knew that all of Rollings’s security was concentrated on the front of the house tonight. They were policing the gated entrance and checking IDs at the front door. No one was watching the cameras in the back of the house. And if they were watching, they would see two lovers stealing away, into the dark, to do whatever. And one of them would be carrying her Louboutin slingbacks and walking barefoot.
“I can’t see anything,” Luis said. “I can’t see you next to me. You’re next to me, right?”
“Right,” Gabriela said, reaching out and grabbing him by his jacket sleeve.
It was a moonless night. Gabriela was navigating by periodically looking over her shoulder at the brightly lit mansion. She knew if she continued to walk straight ahead, she would come to a hedgerow and then the cottage. Luis also knew about the cottage because this morning he’d talked his way in as part of the gardening crew. He’d left a pair of rubber boots, a length of rope, a pry bar, and two PVC pipes behind the cottage.
“I don’t mean to be nosy,” Luis said, “but what the hell are we doing? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were bringing me back here to tie me up and have your way with me. Or maybe to kill me.”
“Neither of those,” Gabriela said. “I need you to help me get the two-hundred-pound capstone off the well and to secure the rope when I rappel down.”
“I assume you have good reason to go into an abandoned well at night?”
“I have a reliable source who, after too many shots of Don Julio, told me that Rollings dumped his wife’s jewelry into the well. Rollings told him that Olga got the Bentley and two houses, and he’d go to his grave before she got her hands on her jewelry.”
“He didn’t trust a safe-deposit box?”
“Not for a second.”
“I like it. I’m guessing you aren’t going to keep the jewelry,” Luis said.
“Tempting, but no.”
Gabriela suddenly stopped short but Luis crashed into the shrubbery.
“Shit,” he whispered. “What the fuck?”
“Good work, you found the hedgerow,” Gabriela said.
They carefully walked past the hedge and around the cottage. The well was in the shadow of the cottage and wasn’t visible from the main house, so Gabriela took a penlight out of her Birkin bag and clicked it on. She dropped her shoes and her bag onto the ground and stripped her little black dress off over her head and handed it to Luis. She had black techno tights and a rash guard on under her dress. She unrolled the legs of the tights to just above her knee and stepped into the boots Luis had brought earlier.
“I feel overdressed,” Luis said.
“You don’t have to go into the well. And you aren’t wearing a two-thousand-dollar dress.”
“All good things,” Luis said.
They pried the capstone off the well and moved it to the side.
Gabriela flashed the penlight down the shaft. The walls of the well were stone, covered in slime. She judged the width to be three feet and the depth to be thirty to forty feet. It looked like there was water at the bottom. She hoped it wasn’t too deep. Her boots only went to midcalf. Luis gripped the rope and Gabriela rappelled down. She splashed into about two inches of water at the bottom and then it was soft muck. No visible snakes. No frogs. Just disgusting muck. She kicked around and felt something solid underfoot. Her heart skipped a beat. She put her hand into the muck and pulled out a plastic ziplock gallon freezer bag filled with jewelry. She continued to slosh around and push through the muck with her hand to make sure there were no more bags.
“What’s going on?” Luis called down. “Everything okay?”
“I found it. I’m coming up. Hold tight.”
In less than a minute she was out of the well with the bag tucked into her tights.
“What were you in a previous life?” Luis asked. “Marine commando? Where’d you learn to climb like that?”
“I’ve had some tactical training. Comes in handy.”
“No shit.”
Gabriela kicked her boots off and took stock of the tights and rash guard. “These are going to have to go,” she said. “They’re muddy and slimy.”
She peeled them off and was left in her La Perla bra and panties.
“I love this job,” Luis said, handing her the dress.
She slipped into the dress and took a plastic bag out of her purse. She emptied the jewelry into the clean bag, dropped it into her Birkin, and stepped into the boots.
“What about your muddy clothes and the equipment?” Luis asked.
“Leave everything here. And we’ll leave the capstone off. The police will be here in the morning. They can re-cap the well. I’ll shuck the boots when we get closer to the house.”
“Going back will be easier,” Luis said. “We just head for the lights and the noise.”
Gabriela agreed. Nothing in front of them but lawn and party house. She forged ahead in total darkness, carrying her shoes and Birkin bag. The lawn close to the house was perfectly manicured. The lawn further out, closer to the hedgerow, was thick and unruly, going to seed. Luis was walking slightly ahead of Gabriela. She heard his foot connect with something, there was an ungodly shriek, and a creature jumped out of the high grass and attacked Luis.
He was close enough to the house for some ambient light to show him in outline, all flailing arms and a large winged creature hopping on him, beating him with its wings. Gabriela ran to help, and in an instant, the creature turned on her, screaming and attacking, slashing her dress with its talons, pecking at her Birkin.
“Stand back and I’ll shoot it,” Luis said.
“It’s a peacock,” Gabriela said, swatting at the bird, trying to keep it away from the Birkin. “You can’t shoot a peacock.”
“The hell I can’t,” Luis said.
The peacock left Gabriela and returned to Luis, gaining some altitude before it dive-bombed him. Gabriela threw her shoe at it. The bird caught it midair and awkwardly flapped away.
“What the hell?” Luis said.
“I didn’t see that coming,” Gabriela said, plucking a large feather from her hair. She got the penlight out and looked at the feather. “Definitely peacock.”
“No way. You’re kidding, right?”
“You must have stumbled onto her nest.”
“This is embarrassing,” Luis said. “I just came out on the losing end with a peacock.”
“It took my shoe!”
“Sorry about the shoe. I hope it was one you didn’t like.”
“It was a Louboutin slingback.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I appreciate the effort you made to save me from death by peacock,” Luis said. “Am I going to get combat pay?”
“No, but I’ll buy you a new suit.”
They skirted the back of the house, entered through the kitchen door, and went straight to the front foyer and valet parking.
“Whoa,” the valet said when Gabriela and Luis stepped forward. “That must be some party in there.”
Their clothes were shredded. Hair was scarecrow. Gabriela was in rubber boots, carrying a single slingback.
“We stepped outside for air, and we were attacked by a peacock,” Gabriela said.
The valet nodded. “Yeah, they’re vicious at this time of the year. They lay their eggs all over the backyard. They’ll peck your eye out. I guess you didn’t get the peacock memo.”
Gabriela Rose sipped her champagne and looked around the room at the 156 people who had each paid $5,000 to participate in a political fundraiser hosted by Eldridge Parker Rollings. Their contributions had gotten them through the elaborate gated entrance, up the short driveway to valet parking, and through the oversized mahogany front door of Rollings’s Montecito mansion. Once inside they were treated to bargain basement champagne and vegan appetizers. If they wanted their picture snapped with Barry Burlew, a Ringo Starr look-alike and candidate for the California State Assembly, it would cost them another $2,000.
Gabriela was here for reasons other than warm champagne. She’d bought her way onto the guest list because it gave her a unique opportunity to get her hands on a sack of shiny baubles that were worth $13 million, give or take a few cents. This was the first time Gabriela had been in the sprawling Spanish Colonial Revival mansion, but she’d studied photos from a realtor website, and floor plans from blueprints her assistant had provided. She had Google Earth photos and drone videos of the grounds. As it turned out, the videos of the grounds would be the most useful.
In ten minutes, the candidate was going to speak to the crowd and thank them for their support. When everyone was focused on the candidate, Gabriela would leave through an open patio door and slip out into the dark yard. Her only obstacle was Rollings. He was currently standing by the double door, exchanging pleasantries with an elderly couple. Rollings’s girlfriend du jour was plastered against him, reveling in her girlfriend status, basking in Rollings’s wonderfulness.
Rollings and his Russian-born wife, Olga, had bought the house seven years ago, during happier times. Now they were in the final stages of a contentious divorce. Rollings was going to keep the Montecito property, and Olga would get the slope-side Aspen house plus the Bentley and the Malibu beach house. Somehow $13 million in jewelry had disappeared during all the shouting and finger-pointing that had preceded Olga’s final departure in the Bentley. Theft was suggested but never proved.
Rollings submitted an insurance claim and as a result, Gabriela Rose was on the scene, drinking warm champagne, on the clock for the insurer. Insurance Fraud Investigator was printed on her business card, and she had an international reputation for excellence in the field. Most of her jobs had one thing in common. Something needed to be found. And it was a fact that where others had failed, Gabriela was known to succeed.
Gabriela left her secluded corner and pushed through the crowd to join Luis Salazar. He looked bored, standing next to a potted palm in the back of the room. He was retired LAPD. Forty-three years old. Slim and fit. Handsome enough to get bit roles when a film needed a Latino extra. He was also available for freelance security jobs. He knew how to keep a secret, and his morals were flexible. Gabriela had used him on previous jobs when she needed a little extra muscle.
Luis nodded at Gabriela when she approached. “You aren’t actually drinking that piss water, are you?” he asked, looking at the glass of champagne.
“No. Do you want it?”
“Sure. What the hell.” Luis polished off the champagne and set the empty glass in the palm tree’s massive midnight-blue ceramic pot. “When’s showtime?”
“In five minutes, when everyone’s attention turns to the candidate. He’s supposed to address the audience from the platform they’ve placed on the other side of the room. We’ll make our move when he starts to talk.”
“What about Rollings? He’s standing in front of our door.”
“He’s going to introduce the guest of honor,” Gabriela said. “Here we go. He’s checking his watch.”
“And he’s on the move,” Luis said, “along with the woman who’s surgically attached to his hip.”
Rollings stepped onto the stage, the crowd gravitated toward him, and Gabriela and Luis stepped outside, onto the broad, tiled lanai that was lit with vintage gas lanterns. Beyond the lanai was a sloping lawn that quickly disappeared into the dark night. Gabriela knew that a small cottage was sitting in that darkness. It had been the original structure on the property and was now simply a picturesque relic. And beyond the relic was a kitchen well that had also been passed over by time.
Gabriela knew that all of Rollings’s security was concentrated on the front of the house tonight. They were policing the gated entrance and checking IDs at the front door. No one was watching the cameras in the back of the house. And if they were watching, they would see two lovers stealing away, into the dark, to do whatever. And one of them would be carrying her Louboutin slingbacks and walking barefoot.
“I can’t see anything,” Luis said. “I can’t see you next to me. You’re next to me, right?”
“Right,” Gabriela said, reaching out and grabbing him by his jacket sleeve.
It was a moonless night. Gabriela was navigating by periodically looking over her shoulder at the brightly lit mansion. She knew if she continued to walk straight ahead, she would come to a hedgerow and then the cottage. Luis also knew about the cottage because this morning he’d talked his way in as part of the gardening crew. He’d left a pair of rubber boots, a length of rope, a pry bar, and two PVC pipes behind the cottage.
“I don’t mean to be nosy,” Luis said, “but what the hell are we doing? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were bringing me back here to tie me up and have your way with me. Or maybe to kill me.”
“Neither of those,” Gabriela said. “I need you to help me get the two-hundred-pound capstone off the well and to secure the rope when I rappel down.”
“I assume you have good reason to go into an abandoned well at night?”
“I have a reliable source who, after too many shots of Don Julio, told me that Rollings dumped his wife’s jewelry into the well. Rollings told him that Olga got the Bentley and two houses, and he’d go to his grave before she got her hands on her jewelry.”
“He didn’t trust a safe-deposit box?”
“Not for a second.”
“I like it. I’m guessing you aren’t going to keep the jewelry,” Luis said.
“Tempting, but no.”
Gabriela suddenly stopped short but Luis crashed into the shrubbery.
“Shit,” he whispered. “What the fuck?”
“Good work, you found the hedgerow,” Gabriela said.
They carefully walked past the hedge and around the cottage. The well was in the shadow of the cottage and wasn’t visible from the main house, so Gabriela took a penlight out of her Birkin bag and clicked it on. She dropped her shoes and her bag onto the ground and stripped her little black dress off over her head and handed it to Luis. She had black techno tights and a rash guard on under her dress. She unrolled the legs of the tights to just above her knee and stepped into the boots Luis had brought earlier.
“I feel overdressed,” Luis said.
“You don’t have to go into the well. And you aren’t wearing a two-thousand-dollar dress.”
“All good things,” Luis said.
They pried the capstone off the well and moved it to the side.
Gabriela flashed the penlight down the shaft. The walls of the well were stone, covered in slime. She judged the width to be three feet and the depth to be thirty to forty feet. It looked like there was water at the bottom. She hoped it wasn’t too deep. Her boots only went to midcalf. Luis gripped the rope and Gabriela rappelled down. She splashed into about two inches of water at the bottom and then it was soft muck. No visible snakes. No frogs. Just disgusting muck. She kicked around and felt something solid underfoot. Her heart skipped a beat. She put her hand into the muck and pulled out a plastic ziplock gallon freezer bag filled with jewelry. She continued to slosh around and push through the muck with her hand to make sure there were no more bags.
“What’s going on?” Luis called down. “Everything okay?”
“I found it. I’m coming up. Hold tight.”
In less than a minute she was out of the well with the bag tucked into her tights.
“What were you in a previous life?” Luis asked. “Marine commando? Where’d you learn to climb like that?”
“I’ve had some tactical training. Comes in handy.”
“No shit.”
Gabriela kicked her boots off and took stock of the tights and rash guard. “These are going to have to go,” she said. “They’re muddy and slimy.”
She peeled them off and was left in her La Perla bra and panties.
“I love this job,” Luis said, handing her the dress.
She slipped into the dress and took a plastic bag out of her purse. She emptied the jewelry into the clean bag, dropped it into her Birkin, and stepped into the boots.
“What about your muddy clothes and the equipment?” Luis asked.
“Leave everything here. And we’ll leave the capstone off. The police will be here in the morning. They can re-cap the well. I’ll shuck the boots when we get closer to the house.”
“Going back will be easier,” Luis said. “We just head for the lights and the noise.”
Gabriela agreed. Nothing in front of them but lawn and party house. She forged ahead in total darkness, carrying her shoes and Birkin bag. The lawn close to the house was perfectly manicured. The lawn further out, closer to the hedgerow, was thick and unruly, going to seed. Luis was walking slightly ahead of Gabriela. She heard his foot connect with something, there was an ungodly shriek, and a creature jumped out of the high grass and attacked Luis.
He was close enough to the house for some ambient light to show him in outline, all flailing arms and a large winged creature hopping on him, beating him with its wings. Gabriela ran to help, and in an instant, the creature turned on her, screaming and attacking, slashing her dress with its talons, pecking at her Birkin.
“Stand back and I’ll shoot it,” Luis said.
“It’s a peacock,” Gabriela said, swatting at the bird, trying to keep it away from the Birkin. “You can’t shoot a peacock.”
“The hell I can’t,” Luis said.
The peacock left Gabriela and returned to Luis, gaining some altitude before it dive-bombed him. Gabriela threw her shoe at it. The bird caught it midair and awkwardly flapped away.
“What the hell?” Luis said.
“I didn’t see that coming,” Gabriela said, plucking a large feather from her hair. She got the penlight out and looked at the feather. “Definitely peacock.”
“No way. You’re kidding, right?”
“You must have stumbled onto her nest.”
“This is embarrassing,” Luis said. “I just came out on the losing end with a peacock.”
“It took my shoe!”
“Sorry about the shoe. I hope it was one you didn’t like.”
“It was a Louboutin slingback.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I appreciate the effort you made to save me from death by peacock,” Luis said. “Am I going to get combat pay?”
“No, but I’ll buy you a new suit.”
They skirted the back of the house, entered through the kitchen door, and went straight to the front foyer and valet parking.
“Whoa,” the valet said when Gabriela and Luis stepped forward. “That must be some party in there.”
Their clothes were shredded. Hair was scarecrow. Gabriela was in rubber boots, carrying a single slingback.
“We stepped outside for air, and we were attacked by a peacock,” Gabriela said.
The valet nodded. “Yeah, they’re vicious at this time of the year. They lay their eggs all over the backyard. They’ll peck your eye out. I guess you didn’t get the peacock memo.”
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