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.
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 Ranger's 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 façade. 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 backseat, 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 have 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.
There was a part of my brain that was in charge of stupid ideas. When I was seven it told me to jump off my parents' garage roof to see if I could fly. It also encouraged me to play Choo Choo with Joe Morelli when I was a kid. Morelli was the originator of Choo Choo. Morelli was the choo choo train, and I was the tunnel. And as it turned out it was necessary for the train to spend a lot of time under my skirt. Later in life the stupid idea part of my brain encouraged me to marry Dicky Orr. Orr was a slick talker who had a roving eye. Less than a year after the wedding, other body parts that belonged to Orr started roving as well. And that was the end of that marriage.
The stupid idea part of my brain was now telling me I might be able to break in and go undetected. Just for one night, it said. Do it for Rex's sake. Poor Rex needs a place to spend the night.
I backed out of the garage entrance and drove around the block, hoping the stupid idea department would shut down. Unfortunately, it was still up and running when I returned to Ranger's building. I had his truck. He hadn't bothered to remove his gun. Maybe he hadn't bothered to remove his passkey. I checked the visor and the console. I checked the side-door pockets and the glove box. I was looking for a plastic credit card-type key that would slide into the machine. I backed out a second time, drove to the corner, and parked under a streetlight so I could better see the interior of the truck. Still couldn't find the passkey.
I looked down at the key in the ignition. There was an extra key and two small black plastic devices attached to the key ring. One was a remote to unlock the truck. The second was also a remote of some sort. I circled the block, pulled into the garage entrance, pushed a button on the second remote, and the gate slid open.
Stephanie, I said to myself, if you have any sense at all, you'll turn tail and get out of here as fast as possible. Yeah, right. I'd gotten this far—how could I possibly not want to explore further? I mean this was the Bat Cave, for crying out loud.
There were two SUVs parked to the side. That meant Ranger wasn't the only person to use this garage. It would be awkward for Tank or one of Ranger's other men to discover Ranger's truck had wandered home, so I retreated from the driveway and parked on the next block. Then I walked back to the garage, let myself in, and remoted the iron gate closed. I stepped into the elevator and looked at the panel. Seven buttons plus garage. I bypassed the security guard at the desk on the first floor and pressed number two. The elevator rose two floors and the doors opened to a large darkened reception area that I assumed led to offices. Floors three and four were similar. I skipped five and six since these were the lighted and presumably occupied floors. And the seven button wouldn't work. The elevator would go down, but it wouldn't go all the way up to seven.
The penthouse, I thought. The dragons lair. It needed a passkey. Just for the hell of it, I aimed the garage remote at the panel and hit the remote button. The elevator silently rose to floor seven and opened. I stepped out to a small reception area with a patterned white-and-black marble floor and off-white walls. No windows, a break-front on one of the walls, one door in front of me.
I'd like to say that I was very cool about all this, but the truth is, my heart was pounding so hard it was blurring my vision. If the door opened and Ranger looked out at me, I'd fall over dead on the spot. And what if he had a woman with him? What would I do? I wouldn't do anything, I reasoned, because I'd be dead, remember?
I held my breath and remoted the door. I turned the knob. Couldn't get in. I looked more closely at the door. It had a deadbolt. I inserted the extra key and the door opened. Now I had a real dilemma. Up to this point I wasn't feeling especially invasive. I'd discovered the location of Ranger's base of operations. In truth, not such a big deal. However, once I crossed the threshold in front of me, I was in Ranger's private space, and I was uninvited. This was officially breaking and entering. Not only was it illegal . . . it was rude.
The stupid part of my brain kicked in again. Yes, it said, but how about all those times Ranger let himself into your apartment? Half the time you were asleep, and he scared the bejeebers out of you. Can you ever remember one time that he knocked first?
Maybe one time, I answered. It stood to reason that he'd knocked at least once. But hard as I tried I couldn't r
ecall him ever knocking. Ranger slipped in like smoke under the door.
I took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. "Hello," I called softly. "Anybody home? Yoohoooo?"
Nothing. Not a sound. The reception area had been lit, but the apartment was dark. I was standing in a small hallway foyer. An antique wood sideboard was against the wall to my right. There was a tray on the sideboard that looked like it was supposed to hold keys, so I dropped Ranger's keys in the tray. I flipped the switch by the door and two side-by-side candlestick lamps, also on the sideboard, blinked on.
The foyer area was defined by an arch and beyond the arch the living room opened directly in front of me. Kitchen and dining area to the right of the living room. Bedroom suite to the left. The apartment was larger than mine and miles more opulent. Ranger had furniture. Expensive furniture. It was an eclectic mix of antique and modern. Lots of wood and black leather. Marble in the small powder room off the foyer.
Hard to imagine Ranger moving through these rooms dressed in SWAT black. The apartment felt masculine, but more like cashmere sweater and Italian loafers than bounty hunter fatigues. Okay, maybe jeans and boots and cashmere sweater but that was a stretch. The jeans would have to be excellent.
The kitchen was gourmet and stainless steel. I peeked in the refrigerator. Eggs, fat-free milk, four bottles of Corona, a plastic container of rustic olives, and the usual condiments. Apples, limes, and eating oranges in the crisper. Brie and cheddar in the dairy drawer. All jars and shelves were immaculate. Nothing but ice cubes in the freezer. Spartan, I thought. I looked through the cupboards. Organic unsweetened granola, a jar of honey, an unopened box of crackers, green tea, a foil bag of Kona coffee beans, a foil pack of smoked salmon, and a foil pack of tuna. Yeesh. No Cap'n Crunch, no peanut butter, no Entenmann's coffee cake. How could anyone live like this?
I prowled through the living room into the bedroom area.
There was a small sitting room with a comfy, clubby couch and large-screen plasma TV. The bedroom opened off the sitting room. King-size bed, perfectly made. Four king pillows in shams, matching the ivory sheets trimmed with three narrow ribbons of dark brown piping. All looked like they'd been ironed. A lightweight down comforter encased in a matching dark brown duvet covered the bed. No spread. Blanket chest at the foot of the bed. Brass lamps with black shades on tables. Fabrics on chairs and curtains were earth tones. Very subdued and classy. I'm not sure what I expected from Ranger, but it wasn't this.
In fact, I was having some doubts that he lived here. It was a great apartment, but there were no personal touches. No photographs in the living room. No book on the nightstand next to the bed.
The master bath and dressing room attached to the bedroom. I stepped into the bath and went momentarily breathless. The room very faintly smelled like Ranger. I prowled around and discovered the scent was from the soap. Again, as in the rest of the house, nothing was out of place. Towels were neatly stacked. Ivory and dark brown, matching the sheets. Very plush. The thought of them next to a naked Ranger gave me a rush that buckled my knees.
The double sink was soap scum-free and set into a marble countertop. Toiletries were displayed to the left. Straightedge and electric razor to the right. No tub, but there was a large marble-and-glass walk-in shower. White terry robe on a hook by the shower.
The dressing room was filled with clothes. A mix of work and casual. I recognized the work clothes. The Ranger who wore the casual hadn't been a part of my life. Everything was neatly hung or folded. No dirty socks on the floor. Everything perfectly pressed. Thank God, no ladies' lingerie. No birth control pills or box of tampons.
I decided there were two possibilities. Either Ranger lived with his mother, or else he had a housekeeper. I didn't see any evidence of a little Cuban lady in residence, so I was going with the housekeeper theory.
"So," I said to the empty apartment, "nobody'd mind if I stayed here tonight, right?"
Since no one objected, I took it as a positive sign. Ten minutes later, I was back in the apartment with Rex and a change of clothes. I set Rex's cage on a kitchen counter and gave him a chunk of apple. I ate the rest of the apple and wandered into the sitting room. I sunk into the comfy couch and picked up the remote for the television. Total space age. I hadn't a clue what to do with all the buttons. No wonder Ranger said he never watched television.
I gave up on the television and migrated into the bedroom. I was tired and the bed looked inviting, but the thought of sliding between Ranger's sheets had me in a cold sweat.
Get over it, I told myself. It's not like he's here.
Yes, I answered, but these are his sheets, for cripes' sake. His personal sheets. I did some chewing on my lower lip. On the other hand, they'd obviously been laundered since he'd slept in them. So it wasn't all that personal, right?
Problem number two: I didn't want to contaminate the sheets with the gunk in my hair. This meant I'd have to shower in Ranger's bathroom. A shower meant I'd have to get naked. And the thought of being naked in Ranger's bathroom brought back the cold sweat.
Just do it, I told myself. Be an adult. Unfortunately, being an adult was part of the dilemma. I was having a very adult reaction to getting naked in the shower. An uncomfortable mix of desire and acute embarrassment. I ordered myself to ignore it all. I squinched my eyes closed and took my clothes off. I opened my eyes, adjusted the water, and stepped under the spray. Serious. Down to business. Get the gunk out of my hair. Get out of the shower.
Halfway through lathering with Ranger's shower gel I was barely able to focus. The scent seemed to swell around me. I was hot and slippery with shower gel, and I was surrounded by Essence of Ranger. Agony. Ecstasy. I was living a wet dream. Yikes. Next time I broke into Ranger's apartment I would bring my own soap.
I scrubbed my hair with a vengeance, rushed out of the shower, and toweled off. Yes, these were Ranger's towels and God only knows what they've touched, so don't go there! This was not exactly a silent thought. This was more of a mental shriek.
I got dressed in undies and T-shirt and marched off to bed. I slipped under the covers. I closed my eyes and groaned. It was heaven. Like floating on a seven-hundred-thread-count cloud. Total comfort, except for the uneasy feeling of impending doom.
* * *
The room was still dark when I awoke the next morning. Curtains were drawn throughout the apartment, and I wasn't about to open them. Didn't want to broadcast my presence. I rolled out of bed and went straight to the shower. It was daytime. I was feeling much more brave. And God help me, I was looking forward to Ranger's shower. I was a shower gel slut!
After the shower, I had an orange and some granola for breakfast. "I got through the night, and I survived the shower," I said to Rex, sharing a slice of orange with him, dropping some granola in his food dish. "I don't know why I was so worried. Probably Ranger wouldn't even mind that I was here. After all, he's slept in my bed and used my shower. Of course, I was in them at the time. Still, what's good for the gander is good for the goose, don't you think?" The apartment was quiet and comfortable, and I was feeling less like an intruder. "This isn't too different from living with Morelli," I told Rex. "I was a guest there. And I'm a guest here." The fact that Ranger didn't know I was a guest was starting to seem like a technicality. "Don't worry," I said. "I'm going to get our apartment back. All I have to do is find a place for Valerie. And hopefully the Slayer problem will go away."
I didn't expect Ranger would be home anytime soon, but I wrote a note of explanation, just in case, and propped it on Rex's cage. I closed Ranger's front door behind me and remoted it locked. Then I took the stairs, stopping periodically to listen for footfalls, keeping alert for the sound of a fire door opening above or below me.
I cracked the door to the garage and peeked out. Ranger's two cars were still in place. The SUVs had multiplied overnight. There were now four of them parked side by side. No humans walking around, so I scuttled across the garage, opened the gate, and hurried up the street
to the truck.
I hauled myself up behind the wheel, locked the doors around me, and sat for a moment in the silence, inhaling the delicious aroma of leather seats and Ranger.
I sniffed my arm and groaned. The Ranger smell was coming from me. He'd given me his truck, and I'd moved into his home. I'd slept in his bed, and I'd showered with his shower gel. I couldn't imagine what would follow if he found out.
Ranger rarely showed emotion. He was more a man of action . . . throwing people against walls and out windows, never breaking a sweat, his face perfectly composed. Now you've made me mad, he'd calmly say. And then bodies would fly through the air. The bodies always belonged to scumbags who'd done really bad things, so the carnage wasn't totally unjustified. Still, it was a scary and awesome spectacle to watch.
I didn't think Ranger would throw me against a wall or out a window. My fear was more that we'd stop being friends. And there was also a small fear that retribution would be sexual. Ranger would never do anything that wasn't consensual. Problem was, once Ranger truly invaded my space there wasn't a lot I didn't eventually consent to. Ranger was very good in close.
Okay, so what's up for the day? Harold Pancek was my only outstanding case. I needed to work at finding Pancek. Probably I should check up on Carol Cantell. I should stay out of Slayerland. And I needed to find an apartment for Valerie.
A call to Morelli was in the number one slot.
"Hey," I said when he answered. "Just wanted to make sure you're okay."
"Where are you?"
"I'm in the truck on the way to work. Any new damage from the Slayers?"
"No. It was a quiet night . . . after you left. So what's the deal, are you coming back?"
"No. Never."
Plum 10 - Ten Big Ones Page 9