"So, are you ready to talk?" Lula asked Ward.
Ward shifted the death look to Lula.
"Hunh," Lula said.
We all went into the living room.
"Now what?" I asked Connie and Lula.
"He's pretty tough," Lula said.
"He's not tough at all," I said. "He's a jerk. We're a bunch of wimps."
"How about if we lock him up here and don't give him any food," Lula said. "I bet he'll talk when he gets hungry."
"That could take days."
Connie looked at her watch. "It's getting late. I should be heading for home."
"Me, too," Lula said. "I gotta get home to feed the cat."
I looked over at Lula. "I didn't know you adopted a cat."
"It's more like I'm thinking about it," Lula said. "I'm thinking of stopping at the pet store on the way home and getting a cat, and then I'm going to have to feed him."
"So what are we going to do with this idiot?" Connie asked.
We swung our attention back to Ward.
"I guess we leave him here for now," I said. "Maybe we can think of something overnight."
We cut the ropes away, stood Ward up, shoved him into the bathroom, and cuffed him to the main pipe of the pedestal sink. He had one hand free, and he was within reach of the toilet. We removed everything from the medicine chest. We left the ankle bracelets in place and attached an extra length of chain to the shackle and wrapped the extra chain around the base of the toilet. Then we closed the door on him.
"This feels a little like kidnapping," I said.
"No way," Lula said. "We're just detaining him. We're allowed to do that."
"I'm thinking about changing careers," Connie said. "Something more sane . . . like being the detonator on the bomb squad."
We turned the lights out and locked up. We piled into Lula's car and left Point Pleasant.
"I never even got to play the claw machine," Lula said.
* * *
Ranger's truck was still parked in front of the bond office. It wasn't covered with graffiti or riddled with bullet holes. I thought that was a good sign. I got out of the Firebird and unlocked the truck with the remote. Then I stood back, held my breath, and started the truck with the remote. I blew out a sigh of relief when the truck didn't explode.
"You're in business," Lula said. "See you tomorrow. Be careful."
I got into the truck and locked the doors. I sat there for a moment in the dark, enjoying the silence, not sure what to think of the day. I was tired. I was depressed. I was appalled.
I jumped when someone rapped on the driver-side window. I sucked in some air when I saw the guy. He was big. Over six feet. Hard to tell his build in the dark. But I was guessing he was heavily muscled. He was wearing an oversize black hooded sweatshirt, and his face was lost in shadow inside the hood. His skin in the dark looked as black as the sweatshirt. His eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. He could be one of Ranger's men. Or he could be a messenger from the dead. Either way, he was freaking scary. I released the emergency brake and put the truck in gear in case I needed to lay rubber.
I cracked the window an inch. "What?" I asked.
"Nice truck."
"Un hunh."
"Yours?"
"For now."
"You know who I am?"
"No."
"You wanna know?"
"No."
Pretty amazing that my voice was staying steady, because my heart was racing, and I had a cramp in my large intestine.
"I'll tell you anyway," he said. "I'm your worst nightmare. I'm Junkman. And I'm not just gonna kill you . . . I'm gonna eat you alive. You can take that as a literal promise."
His voice was deep, the inflection serious. No smile in his voice, but I knew he was getting off on the moment. I'd run into his type before. He fed off fear, and he was hoping to see fear in my face. I was looking into his mirrored lenses, my face reflecting back at me. I decided my face wasn't showing much. That was good. I was learning from the men in my life.
"Why do you want to kill me?" I asked.
"For fun. And you can think about it for a while because I gotta cut the balls off a cop before I let myself enjoy you."
There was more to it than fun, I thought. He wasn't a kid. He probably got the muscle and the attitude in prison. He was brought in by the Slayers, and I thought Connie was right, Junkman wanted something from these killings besides satisfying his blood lust. Not to trivialize the blood lust. I was guessing Junkman liked to kill. Probably emasculated his victims for a show of power over the enemy, and I was betting he also liked the blood on his hands.
He gave me some kind of gang sign language and stepped back from the truck. "Make the most of your last hours on earth, bitch," he said.
A black Hummer came out of nowhere and pulled up beside me. Junkman got in, and the Hummer disappeared down the street. No chance to get the plate.
I sat perfectly still and rigid until I could no longer see the Hummer taillights. The instant the lights vanished from my field of vision, all my bravado vanished as well. Tears poured out of my eyes, and it was painful to swallow. I didn't want to die. I had more doughnuts to eat. I had nieces to spoil. If I died, poor Rex would be orphaned. And Morelli. Don't even go there, I thought. I didn't know what to think about Morelli, but I wished I'd told him I loved him. I'd never said it out loud. I'm not sure why not. Just never felt right, I guess. And I always thought I'd have lots of time. Morelli had been a part of my life since I was a kid. It was hard to imagine a life without him, but sometimes it was equally hard to imagine his role in my future. I couldn't get past two months of cohabitation with him without going nutty. Probably not a good sign.
I had a dilemma now. My eyes were leaking, and my nose was running. I was trying real hard not to progress to openmouthed sobbing. Stop it! I told myself. Get a grip. Easier said than done. I was feeling vulnerable and incompetent. The vulnerable and incompetent Stephanie wanted to run to Morelli. The stubborn Stephanie hated to give in. And the halfway intelligent Stephanie knew it would be a bad thing to leave Ranger's truck sitting in front of Morelli's house. Junkman would recognize it if he rode by, and Morelli's house would be a target for God knows what.
I took the path of mindless action. I stepped on the gas, and I let the truck take me someplace. Of course, it took me to Ranger's building. I parked in my usual spot, two blocks from the garage entrance. I reached under the seat and helped myself to Ranger's gun. It was a semiautomatic. I was pretty sure it was loaded. To say I wasn't a gun person was a gross understatement. I wasn't sure I knew how to fire the gun, but I figured I might be able to scare someone with it.
I retreated into my hooded sweatshirt, locked the truck, and walked head down in the rain to the garage. Minutes later I was in Ranger's apartment with the door bolted behind me. I left the gun and the truck keys on the sideboard. I ditched the sweatshirt, hat, and Kevlar vest. I removed my wet shoes and socks. My jeans were soaked from the knee down, but I'd lived with them like that for the entire day, and I could endure a few minutes more. I'd stopped whimpering, and I was starving.
I stuck my head into Ranger's refrigerator and pulled out one of his low-fat plain yogurts. No way was I going to die with a roll of fat hanging over my waistband.
I scraped the last smidgen of yogurt from the cup and looked at Rex. "Yum," I said. "I'm stuffed."
Rex was running on his wheel and didn't bother to respond. Rex was a little slow. He didn't always see the humor in sarcasm.
"Probably I should call Morelli," I said to Rex. "What do you think?"
Rex was noncommittal on the subject, so I dialed Morelli.
"Hey," Morelli said.
I gave him my smiley voice. "It's me. Sorry we had a bad connection this afternoon."
"You've got to practice your crackle. You've got too much phlegm in it."
"I thought it was pretty good."
"Second rate," Morelli said. "What's up? Are you going to tell me about Ward? I
t seems he's disappeared."
"He escaped from us."
"Apparently he escaped from everybody. His brother hasn't seen him either."
"Hmmm. That's interesting."
"You didn't kidnap him, did you?"
"Kidnap is an ugly word."
"You didn't answer my question," Morelli said.
"You don't really want me to, do you?"
"Jesus."
"I have something else to tell you before this conversation goes down the drain. I met Junkman today. About an hour ago. I was in Ranger's truck, parked in front of the office, and Junkman rapped on my window and introduced himself."
There was a long empty space where nothing was said, and I could feel the electric mix of emotion traveling the phone line. Astonishment that this had happened. Fear for my safety. Anger that I'd allowed contact. Frustration that he couldn't fix the problem. When he finally spoke it was in his flat cop voice.
"Tell me about it," Morelli said.
"He was big. Around six foot two. And he was chunky. It looked like muscle, but it was hard to tell for sure. I didn't get to see his face. He was wearing dark glasses. And he had a big oversize sweatshirt hood over his head."
"Caucasian, Hispanic, African-American?"
"African-American. Maybe some Hispanic. He had a slight accent. He said he was going to kill me, but he had to kill a cop first. He said he was doing it for fun, but I think that's just part of it. When he left he gave me a hand signal. Probably some gang thing. Definitely not Italian."
"It's almost ten o'clock. What were you doing in front of the bonds office at nine o'clock?"
"Lula and Connie and I were out looking for Ward."
"Where were you looking?"
"Around."
There was another big silence and I sensed things were going to deteriorate now, so I moved to wrap it up. "Gotta go," I said to him. "Turning in early tonight. I just wanted to check with you. And I wanted to tell you I . . . uh, like you." Shit I chickened out! What was it with me that I couldn't say the big L word? I am such a dope.
Morelli sighed into the phone. "You are such a dope."
I returned the sigh and disconnected.
"That went well," I said to Rex. Yeesh.
THIRTEEN
It was ten o'clock at night, and I was bone tired. I'd been cold and wet all day I had just had an embarrassing phone conversation with Morelli And one cup of nonfat, unfruited, unsweetened, unchocolated yogurt wasn't doing it for me.
"Sometimes sacrifices need to be made," I told Rex. "Sometimes you have to sacrifice weight loss for the pleasure of eating a peanut butter sandwich on worthless white bread."
I felt a lot better after I ate the peanut butter sandwich on the worthless white bread, so I passed on the milk with the 2 percent butterfat and drank a glass of Ranger's watery, tasteless skim. Am I righteous, or what?
I said good night to Rex, and I switched the light off in the kitchen. I was too tired and cold for television And I was too grungy just to crawl under the covers. So I dragged myself to the shower.
I stood in the shower until I was pruney and toasty warm. I pulled on red bikini undies and dropped one of Ranger's black T-shirts over my head. I dried my hair, and I climbed into bed.
Heaven. Too bad the bed, the shirt, the whole comfy apartment wasn't actually mine. Too bad it belonged to a guy who could be a little scary. This brought me around to thinking about the lock on the front door. Did I throw the bolt when I came in?
I got out of bed, padded to the front door, and checked the locks. All locked. Not that it mattered with Ranger. He had a way with locks. Didn't matter if it was a deadbolt, a slide bolt, a chain. Nothing stopped Ranger. Fortunately, Ranger wasn't due home. And the average garden-variety thief, rapist, murderer, gang guy didn't have Ranger skills.
I slumped back to bed and closed my eyes. I was safe for at least a couple more days.
* * *
I struggled out of sleep thinking something was wrong. I was caught at the edge of a dream, and something was pulling me awake. It was the light, I thought. Dim but annoying. I'd fallen asleep and left a light burning somewhere in the apartment. Probably did it when I checked the locks. Probably I should get up and turn the light off.
I was on my stomach with my face smushed into the pillow. I squinted at the bedside clock. Two o'clock. I didn't want to get out of bed. To quote Grandma Mazur, I was snug as a bug in a rug. I closed my eyes. The hell with the light.
I was trying hard to ignore the light when I heard the faint rustle of clothing from the far side of the room. If I was a man this would have been the point where my gonads ran for cover and hid inside my body. Since I didn't have any gonads, I kept my eyes closed and hoped death came quickly.
After about twenty seconds of this I got impatient with waiting for death. I opened my eyes and rolled onto my back.
Ranger was leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. He was dressed in his usual working outfit of black T-shirt and black cargo pants.
"I'm trying to decide if I should throw you out the window, or if I should get in next to you," Ranger said, not looking especially surprised or angry.
"Are there any other options?" I asked him.
"What are you doing here?"
"I needed a safe place to stay."
His mouth curved at the corners. Not quite a smile but definite amusement. "And you think this is safe?"
"It was until you came home."
The brown eyes were unwavering, fixed on me. "What scares you more . . . getting thrown out the window or sleeping with me?"
I sat up in bed, pulling the covers up with me. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not that scary." Liar, liar, pants on fire!
The almost smile stayed in place. "I saw the gun and the flak vest when I came in."
I told him about the death threat from Junkman.
"You should have asked Tank for help," Ranger said.
"I don't always feel comfortable with Tank."
"And you feel comfortable with me?"
I hesitated with my answer.
"Babe," Ranger said. "You're in my bed."
"Yes. Well, I guess that would indicate a certain comfort level."
His attention dropped to my chest. "Are you wearing my shirt?"
"I have to do laundry."
Ranger unlaced his boots.
"What are you doing?"
He looked over at me. "I'm going to bed. I've been up since four this morning, and I just drove nine hours to get home. Half of it in pouring rain. I'm beat. I'm going to take a shower. And I'm going to bed."
"Urn . . ."
"Don't look so panicked. You can sleep on the couch, or you can leave, or you can stay in the bed. I'm not going to attack you in your sleep. At least it's not my plan right now. We can figure this out in the morning."
And he disappeared into the bathroom.
Heaven help me, I didn't want to give up the bed. It was warm and comfy. The sheets were silky smooth. The pillows were soft. And the bed was big. I could stay on my side, and he could stay on his side, and we'd be fine, right? Clearly, he didn't think my staying was a sexual invitation. We were adults. We could do this.
I turned on my side, face to the wall, back to the bathroom, lulled into sleep by the distant sound of the shower and the rain on the window.
* * *
I came awake slowly, thinking I was back at Morelli's house. I could feel the warmth from the man next to me, and I edged closer. I reached out, and the instant my fingertip touched skin I realized my mistake.
"Oops," I said.
"Babe," Ranger said, wrapping his arms around me, gathering me close to him.
I meant to push away, but I was distracted by the scent of the sexy shower gel mingled with warm Ranger. "You smell great," I told him, my lips brushing against his neck as I spoke, my mind suddenly not totally connected to my mouth. "I thought of you every time I took a shower. I love this stuff you use."
/>
"My housekeeper buys it for me," Ranger said. "Maybe I should give her a raise."
And he kissed me.
"Oh shit," I said.
"Now what?"
"I'm sorry. I'm having a major guilt attack over Morelli."
"While we're on the subject, why aren't you in his bed?"
"Same old, same old."
"You had a fight, and you moved out."
"More like a disagreement."
"I'm seeing an unhealthy pattern of behavior here, Babe."
Tell me about it. "I didn't want to move back home because Junkman was looking for me, and I didn't want to endanger my family." Plus they'd drive me crazy. "I was going to sleep in the truck, but it led me here. The GPS was on. I just followed it backwards."
"And broke into my apartment?"
"I had a key. You don't seem especially upset or surprised that I borrowed your apartment."
"With the exception of the seventh floor, the entire building inside and out is monitored. Tank called me when you pulled up to the gate. I assumed you had a good reason for needing the apartment, so I told him to let you stay."
"That was nice of you."
"Yeah, I'm a nice guy. And I'm late for work." He rolled out of bed, stood at bedside, pressed speaker phone, and hit a button.
A woman's voice came on. "Good morning," she said. "Welcome home."
"Breakfast for two this morning," Ranger said. And he disconnected.
I looked over at him. He was wearing the black silk boxers. They sat disturbingly low on his hip, and his hair was mussed from sleep. How I'd managed to stop kissing him and give in to the guilt was a mystery. Even now, I was having a hard time not jumping across the bed and grabbing him.
"What was that?" I asked, thankful my voice didn't sound as breathless as I felt.
"Ella and Louis Guzman manage this building for me. I work here, and sometimes I sleep here. That's about it. Ella makes it easy for me. She does the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, the shopping."
"And she brings you breakfast?"
"She'll be at the door in ten minutes. I've never had a woman here before, so she's going to be curious. Just smile and endure it. She's a very nice lady."
Plum 10 - Ten Big Ones Page 19