I got out of the Cayenne, crossed the street, crept up to Morelli’s house, and carefully inserted myself into the azalea bushes planted under his front window. I stood on tiptoe and saw that Morelli, Morelli’s dog, Bob, and Mooch, and Anthony were on the couch, watching the game on television. The coffee table in front of them was littered with empty beer cans, opened bags of chips, a cardboard pizza box from Pino’s, some plates with forks, and the casserole dish Joyce had taken from me. The casserole dish was empty. Holy crap. Joyce had fed the toxic barbecue to Morelli.
I extricated myself from the bushes and danced around, pumping my fist and thinking, YEAH! Woohoo! Whoopie! After about thirty seconds of this, I realized I looked stupid, and it would be beyond embarrassing for Morelli to come out and find me on his lawn. And beyond that, I probably shouldn’t have been so happy about three men and a dog getting diarrhea, but the truth is, the only one I felt bad about was Bob. Bob was a big, shaggy-haired, entirely lovable beast. And he didn’t deserve diarrhea. I stopped dancing and skulked back to the Cayenne.
I put the Cayenne in gear and drove to my apartment building. I pulled into the lot and found Lula’s Firebird parked next to Mr. Macko’s Cadillac, and light shining from my apartment windows. I’d been hoping to find my apartment dark and deserted. I loved Ranger’s apartment, but it wasn’t home. Looking up at my windows, I wasn’t sure that was home, either. I’m in limbo, I thought. My whole friggin’ life is in limbo.
I thought I should go in to see the kitchen progress and verify that Lula was staying the night. Unfortunately, that might involve more of Larry in the blue cocktail dress. Or even worse, Larry in his shorts. I felt like I’d had enough weird for one day, so I maneuvered the Cayenne out of the lot and headed for Rangeman.
I WAS SOUND asleep when the bedside phone rang.
“He just hit two accounts,” Ranger said. “They phoned in minutes apart. Both of the houses were on your high-risk list. Tank is waiting for you in the garage. I want you to take a look at these houses from the inside.”
I looked at the clock. It wasn’t quite midnight. I took a moment to come awake, and ten minutes later, the phone woke me up a second time.
“Tank has a key,” Ranger said. “And he’ll come in and get you if you’re not in the garage in five minutes.”
I managed to get myself out of bed and vertical, but I wasn’t firing on all cylinders. I was wearing Ranger’s T-shirt as a nightshirt, and I left the shirt on, tugged on cargo pants, socks, sneakers, and a sweatshirt and grumbled my way to the elevator and down to the garage.
“Whoa!” Tank said when he saw me.
I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“Nothin’,” Tank said. “Guess you were asleep. You just took me by surprise, with the hair and all.”
I rolled my eyes up to the top of my head, but I couldn’t see my hair.
“I’m feeling grouchy,” I said to Tank.
“Do you want to see a picture of my cat?” Tank asked. “That always makes me happy.”
I climbed into Tank’s Rangeman SUV, buckled my seat belt, and looked at the picture of his cat.
“Cute,” I said.
“Do you feel happy?”
“No.” Crawling back into bed would make me feel happy.
Both houses were north of town in a high-rent neighborhood by the river. The first house Tank took me to looked like Mount Vernon if Mount Vernon was built in 2008. It was Faux Vernon. Tank drove into a circular driveway and parked behind Ranger’s Porsche. A police car and another Rangeman SUV were in front of Ranger. The front door was open and every light was on in the house. We walked in and met Ranger in the foyer.
“Why was this house on your at risk list?” he asked me.
“It had some things in common with the houses that were already hit. All houses are single family on large lots. All houses have attached garages that open off a side drive court. All houses have trees and bushes that throw shadows and partially screen the house. None of the houses are on streets with on-street parking.”
“Our guy likes to have cover,” Ranger said.
“Exactly.”
“Look through the house and see if you come up with anything. I’m sending Tank with you so you’re not mistaken for a vagrant and arrested.”
I flipped Ranger the bird.
Ranger smiled at me. “Cute.”
“That’s what I said about Tank’s cat.”
“He made you look at his cat picture?”
“I thought it would make her happy,” Tank said.
Ranger’s smile widened. “Did it make you happy?” he asked me.
“A little.”
I suspected I was to Ranger what Tank’s cat was to Tank.
“Take good care of her,” Ranger said to Tank.
Ranger left for the second break-in, and Tank and I set off on our exploration. The exploration didn’t take long. I was getting to know what to expect. Start with the door leading from the garage and take the shortest route to the master bedroom. Check out the home office, the den, the kids’ rooms. Proceed to the front door or possibly back door. Locate the keypads.
I felt like the keypads held the answer to the mystery. There were three keypads in this house. One in the master bedroom, one on a wall by the front door, and one by the door to the garage. None of the keypads were visible from a window.
Tank and I had gone through the house and returned to the door leading to the garage. We were standing in a small hallway behind the kitchen. The laundry room and a half bath opened off the hallway.
“I think this guy is getting the code from the keypad,” I said to Tank.
“I’ve been thinking that, too. It’s like when people watch you at the ATM and they get your bank code. It’s like someone’s looking through walls.”
We left Faux Vernon and went to house number two. The second house was only three blocks away in the same neighborhood. It was a huge redbrick box with white columns and a porte cochere.
Ranger met us at the door. “The drill is the same. Cash and jewelry taken from the upstairs master.”
“Are the police making any progress on these robberies?”
“Not that I can tell. Not a lot of talent assigned to this desk.”
“It’s odd that these two houses were hit together.”
“Both clients were at the same dinner party,” Ranger said. “Somehow, our bandit knew the houses would be empty. Originally, I thought he randomly hit houses that were dark. Now I think he plans ahead. We need to go over the original report taken after each break-in to see if there’s a common service provider. Someone who might have talked to the homeowner. And we probably want to go back and reinterview all of the clients who were robbed.”
“That still doesn’t tell us how he got the codes.”
“Trust me, if I catch this guy, he’ll tell me how he got the codes.”
THE FIRST THING I noticed when I woke up was that I wasn’t alone. Ranger was in bed with me. And he was asleep. I reviewed the night, and I couldn’t remember anything amazing happening. Tank had driven me back to Rangeman around two in the morning. Ranger hadn’t come back with us. It was now nine o’clock. I checked around and determined I was wearing all the clothes I was supposed to be wearing. Panties and T-shirt. I slipped out of bed, and Ranger woke up.
“When did you get home?” I asked him.
“A little after five.”
“I’m surprised I’m not naked.”
“You weren’t in the mood,” Ranger said. “You told me you’d shoot me with my own gun if I touched you.”
“What did you do?”
“I got up and locked my gun in the safe. You were asleep when I came back to bed.”
“I was tired.”
“Are you tired now?”
“No, but I’m going to work. I have three skips to catch. I need to check in on Lula. And I want to go over the reports from your break-ins.”
“The reports are on my desk,” Ranger said.
&n
bsp; A half hour later, I rolled out of the garage in Ranger’s Cayenne and dialed Lula.
“What’s going on today?” I asked her. “And where are you?”
“I’m getting ready to leave your apartment. Your kitchen is all clean, and they’re putting my new door up this morning. I’m having brunch with Mister Clucky, and then I’m going to your mama’s house to cook with your granny. You could have brunch at Cluck-in-a-Bucket with me if you want.”
“Cluck-in-a-Bucket has brunch?”
“Only on Sunday. You get orange juice and biscuits and a bucket of nuggets.”
“How is that different from every other day?”
“It’s the orange juice. Usually, you get a soda.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll meet you at Cluck-in-a-Bucket.”
I’d grabbed a to-go cup of coffee from the fifth-floor kitchen before I left Rangeman, but I hadn’t bothered with breakfast, so biscuits and orange juice sounded good.
I drove through the center of the city and reached Cluck-in-a-Bucket just as Lula was pulling into the lot. Mister Clucky was dancing around in front of the building, and the hideous impaled chicken was spinning overhead.
“Yoohoo, Mister Clucky, honey,” Lula called, getting out of her Firebird and waving.
“Boy, you must really like him,” I said.
“He’s an excellent scrubber, and besides, it’s not everybody gets to know Mister Clucky personally. He’s one of them minor celebrities.”
Mister Clucky was surrounded by kids, so we bypassed him and put our order in.
“I’m going to try my luck with Ernie Dell again,” I said to Lula. “Are you in?”
“As long as it don’t take too long. Larry gave me his barbecue recipe, and Granny and me are trying it out this afternoon.”
I got an orange juice and two biscuits. Lula got an orange juice, a bucket of biscuits, and a bucket of nuggets.
“Crickey,” I said, looking at her tray. “I thought you were cutting back on the food.”
“You said only have one pork chop and one burger and one steak. So I only got one bucket of biscuits and one bucket of nuggets. You got a problem with that?”
“You could feed a family of six on that food.”
“Not in my neighborhood. I live in a three-pork-chop neighborhood.”
Mister Clucky came inside dancing and singing his Mister Clucky song, going table by table.
“I know him personally,” Lula said to the woman at the table next to her.
Lula was still wearing the flak vest. She ate half the bucket of nuggets, and she released the Velcro straps to give herself more room.
“Is that a bulletproof vest?” the woman next to Lula asked.
“Yep,” Lula said. “And it’s hard to make a fashion statement in this on account of it don’t come in a lot of colors. I gotta wear it because there’s a couple guys tryin’ to kill me.”
The woman gave a gasp and hustled her two kids out the door.
“Hunh,” Lula said. “She just up and left. She didn’t even finish her Clucky Burger.”
“Next time, say you’re wearing a back brace.”
We finished eating, Lula said good-bye to Mister Clucky, and we saddled up. We left Lula’s Firebird in the lot, and I drove.
“I love this car,” Lula said. “My personality don’t fit a SUV, but this car is still excellent. It got buttons all over the place. What’s this button do?”
“I don’t know.”
Lula pushed the button and my GPS screen went blank. “Oops,” Lula said.
The car phone rang, and I opened the connection.
“This is Hal in the control room,” a voice said on the hands-free phone. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“You just dropped off my screen. Did you disable your GPS?”
“It was an accident. How do I fix it?”
“Push the button again.”
“Where’s that voice comin’ from?” Lula wanted to know. “It sounds like the voice of God, floatin’ around in space.”
I disconnected Hal, reconnected the GPS, and turned off Hamilton.
“This time we’ll cover all exits,” I said. “You take the front door, and I’ll take the back door.”
“Sounds like a plan. Who’s going in first?”
“I’ll go in first. You don’t go in at all unless I yell for you. You keep your eyes open in case he goes out a front window.”
I drove a couple blocks into Ernie’s neighborhood, found the alley that ran past the back of his house, and crept along until I reached his driveway. I pulled in and angle-parked behind the garage, blocking his exit.
“I’ll give you time to walk around the house, and then I’m going in,” I said to Lula. “Just stay put until you hear from me.”
Lula checked the Velcro on her vest to make sure everything was secure. “Gotcha.”
We left the Cayenne and went our separate ways. I counted off two minutes and knocked on the back door. No answer. I knocked again and tried the door. Unlocked. I stepped into the kitchen and listened. No sound. “Bond enforcement!” I yelled. “Ernie, are you in here?” Nothing. I walked through the house, stood at the bottom of the stairs and called out again. I climbed the stairs and went room by room. No Ernie. I returned to the first floor and opened the door to Lula.
“He’s not here,” I said. “I’ll try again later.”
We walked through the house and let ourselves out.
“There’s something wrong here,” Lula said, standing on the back stoop. “I get the feeling something’s not right. What is it?”
A wave of nausea swirled through my stomach. “It’s Ranger’s Cayenne,” I said. “It’s gone.”
“Yep,” Lula said. “That’s it, all right. There’s a big empty space where the car used to be.”
I dialed Rangeman and got Hal. “Is Ranger on the floor yet?”
“No,” Hal said. “I haven’t seen him. Would you like me to transfer you?”
“No. I don’t want to bother him. Is the GPS still working on the Cayenne?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you could send someone after it, since it’s been sort of . . . stolen.”
There was a beat of silence. “Stolen?” Hal said. “Someone stole Ranger’s Cayenne?”
I blew out a sigh. “Yes.”
“Uh-oh,” Lula said, staring off into the distance. “I don’t like the looks of this.”
I followed her line of sight and felt my heart skip a couple beats. Black smoke billowed skyward about a quarter mile away.
“Has the car stopped?” I asked Hal.
“Yes.”
“No rush,” I told him. “It’s going to be there for a while.”
“Now what?” Lula asked when I got off the phone.
I wanted to get on a plane and leave the country. Get a job in St. Bart’s and never come back.
“Hal’s sending a car to pick us up,” I said.
Ten minutes later, a black SUV rolled into the driveway. Ramon was at the wheel.
“I need to get my car at Cluck-in-a-Bucket,” Lula told him. “I gotta go cook up barbecue.”
Ramon glanced over at me. “Ranger would like me to take you back to Rangeman.”
“Sure,” I said. “Drop Lula at the Bucket and take me to the Batcave.”
RANGER WAS IN the shower when I got to the apartment. I flopped onto the couch, pulled a pillow over my head, and hoped when he came out he wouldn’t notice me lying there.
Pretend you’re in a good place, I told myself. You’re on a beach. Hear the waves swooshing in and out. Hear the seagulls.
The pillow got lifted off my face and Ranger looked down at me. “You can run, but you can’t hide,” he said.
“Just shoot me and get it over with.”
“Talk to me.”
“Ernie Dell.”
Ranger yanked me to my feet, pulled me into the hall and out the door. “He needs to find another hobby.”
Ranger
is a master of control. He can lower his heart rate at will and walk past a bakery and never be tempted. On the surface, Ranger would appear to have no emotion. It’s anyone’s guess what rages below the surface. What I do know about Ranger is that he’s most dangerous when he’s dead calm. And right now he was pretty calm, except for having his hand clamped around my wrist.