Ten Big Ones

by Janet Evanovich

  His freshly shaved head looks buffed up with Pledge. His body is perfectly toned and fat free. His ass is tight. It's rumored that his morals are loose. And his black T-shirt looks painted onto him.

  Hard to tell what Tank thinks of me. Or, for that matter, if Tank thinks at all.

  'Call me if there's a problem,' Tank said. Then he got into the

  SUV and took off.

  Just like that... I had a truck. Not just any old truck, either. This was a wicked, bad-ass, four-door supercrew with oversized cast aluminum wheels, a whole herd of horses under the hood, tinted windows, and GPS. Not to mention a slew of gadgets about which

  I was clueless.

  I'd ridden with Ranger, and I knew he always had a gun tucked away, hidden from view. I climbed behind the wheel, felt under the seat, and found the gun. If it had been my truck and my gun, I'd have removed the gun. Ranger left it in place. Trusting.

  I cautiously turned the key in the ignition and eased the truck into the flow of traffic. The Buick drove like a refrigerator with wheels. The truck drove like a monster Porsche. I decided if I was going to drive the truck I was going to need a whole new wardrobe.

  My clothes weren't cool enough. And I needed more basic black.

  And I should trade in my sneakers for boots. And probably I needed sexier underwear... a thong, maybe.

  I crossed town, drove a couple blocks on Hamilton, and slipped into the Burg. I was taking the long way home to Joe's house. Always procrastinate the unpleasant. Morelli wouldn't be happy about me going off with Lula, but he'd understand. Going off with Lula when he'd asked me to stay in the house would generate the sort of anger that could be worked off with a half hour of vicious channel surfing.

  The truck was going to provoke a full-blown contest of wills.

  I turned the corner onto Slater and felt my heart roll over in my chest. Morelli was home. His SUV was parked in front of the house. I lined up behind the SUV and told myself it might not be so bad. Morelli was a reasonable guy, right? He'd see that I had no choice. I had to take Ranger's truck. It was the sensible thing to do.

  And besides, it was my business. Just because you lived with someone didn't mean they ran your life. I didn't tell Morelli how to conduct his business, did I? Well, okay, maybe once in a while I stuck my nose in there. But he never listened to me! That's the important point here.

  Problem was, it wasn't actually about the truck. It was about

  Ranger. Morelli knew he might not be able to help me if I was standing next to Ranger when Ranger was operating outside the law. And Morelli had enough of his own wild years to understand the feral side of Ranger's sexuality. Another good reason not to have me standing too close to Ranger.

  I swung out of the truck, beeped it locked, and marched up to the house. I opened the door, and Bob rushed up to me and bounced around. I gave him some hugs and got some Bob slobber on my jeans. I didn't mind about the slobber. It seemed like a small price to pay for unconditional love. And besides, you could hardly notice the slobber mixed in with the grass and dirt stains and God knew what else. Bob sniffed at the God knew what else and backed off. Bob had standards.

  Morelli didn't rush to greet me. He didn't bounce around or slobber or exude unconditional love. Morelli was slouched on the couch, watching the Three Stooges on television. 'So,' he said when

  I came into the room.

  'So,' I answered.

  'What's with the truck?'

  'What truck?'

  He cut his eyes to me.

  'Oh,' I said. That truck. That's Rangers truck. He's letting me borrow it until I get the Buick back.'

  'Has the truck got a VIN?'

  'Of course it has a VIN.'

  Is the VIN legitimate would have been a better question. Ranger has a seemingly inexhaustible supply of new black cars and trucks.

  The origin of these vehicles is unknown. The vehicle identification tag is almost always in place, but it seems possible the Bat Cave might contain a metal shop. Not that Ranger or any of his men would actually steal a car, but maybe they wouldn't ask too many questions upon delivery.

  'You could have borrowed my SUV,' Morelli said.

  'You didn't offer it to me.'

  'Because I wanted you to stay in the house today. One day,'

  Morelli said. 'Was that too much to ask?'

  'I stayed in the house for most of the day.'

  'Most of the day isn't all of the day.'

  'What about tomorrow?'

  'It's going to be ugly,' Morelli said. 'You're going to be on a rant about women's equality and personal freedom. And I'm going to be waving my arms and yelling, because I'm an Italian cop, and that's what we do when women are irrational.'

  'It's not about women's equality and personal freedom. This isn't political. It's personal. I want you to support my career choice.'

  'You don't have a career,' Morelli said. 'You have a suicide mission. Most women try to avoid murderers and rapists. I have a girlfriend who goes out trying to find them. And if murderers and rapists weren't bad enough, now you've pissed off a gang.'

  These gang people should get a grip. The least little thing and they're all bent out of shape. What's the deal with them?'

  'That's how they have fun,' Morelli said.

  'Maybe the police should try to get them involved in a hobby, like woodworking, or something.'

  'Yeah, maybe we could get it to replace all the drug dealing and killings they're doing now.'

  'Are they really that bad?'

  'Yes. They're really that bad.'

  Morelli shut the television off and came over to me. 'What the hell happened to you?' he said, looking more closely at my jeans.

  'I had to run Roger Banker down.'

  'What's this in your hair?'

  `I'm hoping it's dog drool.'

  'I don't get it,' Morelli said. 'Other women are happy to stay home. My sister stays home. My brothers' wives stay home. My mother stays home. My grandmother stays home.'

  Tour grandmother is insane.'

  'You're right. My grandmother doesn't count.'

  `I'm sure there'll be a time in my life when I want to stay home.

  This isn't it,' I said.

  'So I'm ahead of my time?'

  I smiled at him and kissed him lightly on the lips. 'Yeah.'

  He pulled me close to him. 'You don't expect me to wait, do you?'

  'Yep.'

  `I'm not good at waiting.'

  'Deal with it,' I said, pushing away.

  Morelli narrowed his eyes. 'Deal with it? Excuse me?'

  Okay, maybe I said it a little more authoritatively than I'd intended. But my day hadn't been all that great, plus I was feeling just a tad defensive over the foreign substance in my hair that might have been drool, but then maybe not. I could have ended the conversation there, but I didn't think it was smart to back down on the issue. And truth is, I was working my way out of Morelli's house.

  `I'm not staying home. End of discussion.'

  'The hell this is the end,' Morelli said.

  'Oh yeah? Well end this.' And I gave him the finger and headed for the stairs.

  'Very adult,' Morelli said. 'Nice to know you've thought this through and have it reduced to a hand gesture.'

  'I've thought it through, and I have a plan. I'm leaving.'

  Morelli followed me upstairs. 'Leaving? That's a plan?'

  'It's a temporary plan.' I took the laundry basket from the closet and started putting clothes in it.

  'I have a plan, too,' Morelli said. 'It's called you're staying.'

  'We'll do your plan next time.' I emptied my lingerie drawer into the basket.

  'What's this?' Morelli said, picking out lavender string bikini underpants. 'I like these. You want to fool around?'

  'No!' Actually, I sort of did, but it didn't seem in keeping with the current plan.

  I gathered up some things from the bathroom, added them to the basket, and carted the basket downstairs. Then I lugged the hamster
cage from the kitchen and put it on top of the clothes in the basket.

  'You're serious about this,' Morelli said.

  `I'm not going to start every day off with an argument about hiding in the house.'

  'You don't have to hide in the house forever. Just lower your visibility for a few days. And it would be nice if you'd stop looking for trouble.'

  I hefted the laundry basket and pushed past him to the door. 'On the surface that sounds reasonable, but the reality of it is that I give up my job and hide.'

  I was telling the truth. I didn't want to start every day off with an argument. But, I also didn't want to wake up to more graffiti on

  Joe's house. I didn't want a firebomb thrown through his front window. I didn't want a Slayer breaking in when I was alone and in the shower. I needed a place to stay that was unknown to the

  Slayers. Not Morelli's house. Not my parents' house. Not my apartment. I wouldn't feel completely safe in any of those places.

  And I didn't want to put anyone in danger. Maybe I was making a big thing out of nothing... but then, maybe not.

  So, here I was idling at the corner of Slater and Chambers with a pleasant, perfectly designed, color-coordinated Martha Stewart laundry basket on the seat beside me, filled with all the clean clothes I could find, a hamster cage wedged into the seat behind me... and no place to go.

  I'd told Morelli I was going home to my parents' house, but it had been a fib. The truth was, I walked out without totally thinking the whole thing through.

  My best friend Mary Lou was married and had a pack of kids.

  No room there. Lula lived in a closet. No room there either.

  The sun was setting, and I was feeling panicky. I could sleep in

  Rangers truck, but it didn't have a bathroom. I'd have to go to the

  Mobil station on the corner to use the toilet. And what about a shower? The Mobil station didn't have a shower. How was I going to get the drool out of my hair? And Rex? This was so pathetic, I thought. My hamster was homeless.

  A flashy black Lexus SUV made its way up Slater. I slid low in the seat and held my breath as the Lexus rolled forward. Hard to see through the SUV's tinted windows. Could be anyone driving, I told myself. Could be a perfectly nice family in the Lexus. But in my gut I worried that they were Slayers.

  The Lexus stopped in front of Morelli's house. The bass from the SUV stereo thumped down the street and beat against my windshield. After a long moment the SUV moved off.

  Looking for me, I thought. And then I burst into tears. I was in emotion overload, feeling sorry for myself. A bunch of gang guys were out to get me. The police had Big Blue. And I'd moved out on Morelli... for the umpteenth time.

  Rex had come out of his soup can and was hunkered down on his wheel, myopically surveying his new surroundings.

  'Look at me.' I said to Rex. `I'm a mess. I'm hysterical. I need a doughnut.'

  Rex got all perky at that. Rex was always up for a doughnut.

  I called Morelli on my cell and told him about the Lexus. 'Just thought you should know,' I said. 'Be careful when you go out of the house. And maybe you shouldn't stand in front of any windows.'

  'They're not out for me,' Morelli said.

  I nodded agreement in the dark truck and disconnected. I drove a half mile down Hamilton and pulled into the drive-thru lane at

  Dunkin' Donuts. Is this a great country, or what? You don't even have to get out of your car to get a doughnut. Good thing, too, because I looked a wreck. Besides the grass-stained, ripped-up clothes, my eyes were all red and splotchy from crying. I got a dozen doughnuts, parked in the back of the lot, and dug in. I gave

  Rex part of a jelly doughnut and a piece from a pumpkin spice doughnut. I figured pumpkin was good for him.

  After eating half the bag I was sick enough not to care about

  Morelli or the gang guys. 'I ate too many doughnuts,' I said to Rex.

  'I need to lie down or burp or something.' I checked out my shirt.

  Big glob of jelly on my boob. Perfect.

  The engine was off and the only diode blinking was for the antitheft system. I turned the key and the dash lit up like

  Christmas. I touched one of the buttons and the GPS screen slid into place. After a few seconds a map appeared, pinpointing my location. Very slick. I touched the screen and a series of commands appeared. One of the commands was return route. I touched the screen and a yellow line took me from Dunkin' Donuts back to

  Morelli's house.

  Just for the hell of it I pulled out of the lot and followed the line.

  Minutes later, I was at Morelli's house. Interesting thing is, the line didn't stop there. I continued to follow the line and after a couple blocks I got really excited because I knew where I was going. The line was taking me to the police station. And if the line led me to the police station, maybe it would also retrace the route Tank took when he brought the truck to me. If the computer stored enough information there was the possibility that it might take me to the

  Bat Cave.

  Stephanie Plum 10 - Ten Big Ones

  six

  I reached the police station and sure enough the yellow line kept going. I was moving back toward the river, into an area of renovated office buildings and street-level businesses. Now I had a new problem. The yellow line could go on forever. It could go right past the Bat Cave, and I'd never know. And just as I was thinking this, the yellow line stopped.

  I was on Haywood Street. It was a side street with minimal traffic, two blocks away from the noise and frustration of city center rush-hour gridlock. A series of four-story town houses ran along the north side of the street. A couple office buildings occupied the south side. I had no idea where to go from here.

  None of the town houses had an attached garage and there was no on-street parking. I circled the block, looking for an alley with rear-access parking. None. This was a good central location, and one of the town houses would make a good Bat Cave, but I couldn't see

  Ranger parking his truck any distance from his house. I was idling in front of an office building with underground parking. Ranger could park in the underground garage, but even then he'd have to cross the street to get to the town house. Not a big deal for an ordinary person. Seemed out of character for Ranger. Ranger sat with his back to the wall. Ranger never left himself exposed.

  The other possibilities weren't as much fun. The computer could simply have run out of allotted space, and Haywood Street meant nothing. Or Tank could have taken Rangers truck and parked it convenient to the Tank Cave.

  Lights were on in most of the town houses. The office buildings were mostly dark. The building with parking was a relatively small seven-story structure. The foyer plus floors six and five were lit. I rolled back a couple feet, so I could see through the large glass double door. The foyer looked newly renovated. Elevators to the rear. Reception desk to one side. There was a uniformed guy behind the reception desk.

  A two-lane entrance to the underground parking garage sat like a black gap in the building facade. I pulled into the parking garage entrance, but I was stopped by a machine that demanded a passkey. A heavy iron gate barred my way. I squinted into the dark interior and got a rush. I was pretty sure I was looking at a black

  Porsche parked nose-in to the back wall.

  I hit my high beams, but the angle of the truck didn't splash a lot of light around the garage. Fortunately, Ranger carried a full array of bounty hunter toys. I retrieved a three-pound Maglite from the back seat, swung out of the truck and played the light across the expanse of the garage. The back wall held a stairwell and elevator.

  There were four parking spaces in front of the elevator. The first two were empty. Ranger's Porsche Turbo filled the third. A Porsche

  Cayenne filled the fourth. His Mercedes was missing. And I had the truck. Two black SUVs were parked on the side wall.

  It's the Bat Cave,' I said to Rex when I got back behind the wheel.

  Kind of fun to finally hav
e found it... but now what? Ranger was off somewhere, and I still didn't have a place to spend the night. I stared into the dark garage. I had no place to stay, and dollars to doughnuts, sitting in front of me was a building with a vacant apartment. Don't even think about it, I said to myself. That's like a death wish. This man is fanatical about protecting his privacy.

  He won't be happy to find you've broken into his apartment and done the Goldilocks thing.