42Thank you once again to midnightandahalf for her valuable feedback, support and mad editing skills. Characters still belong to Evanovich, Inc., I'm just having some fun with them.
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Helen Plum, BEA
For as long as I can remember, I have been what some might call impulsive and rash - saying and doing things without giving any thought to what the end result might be. This includes following one Joseph Anthony Morelli into his father's garage at the tender age of six to play a game of choo-choo; believing sugar was pixie dust that would make me invisible and sprinkling it over my head before walking into the boy's bathroom at school; blackmailing my perverted, animal fornicating cousin into giving me a job for which I had zero qualifications or training; and agreeing to spend the night with Ranger in exchange for his help in bringing in an over-the-hill mob guy.
My name is Stephanie Plum, and although it has been a while since I've walked into a boy's bathroom or agreed to that deal with Ranger, I'm still working for my pervert cousin as a fugitive apprehension agent.
The latest example of the aforementioned personality flaw began innocently enough with a stop at my parents' house to mooch some lunch and throw in a load of laundry. I had ruined my last pair of clean jeans earlier in the day chasing down Boogie Barnes through a newly poured concrete slab. He was working as a day laborer for some contractor who was building the next cookie cutter subdivision in Hamilton Township. I would have only ruined my sneakers if I could have run him down, but I was fading fast after just a few steps in the wet cement. So I did what any self-respecting bounty hunter would do - I launched myself at his back and took him down, like a cheetah on the back of a gazelle. Okay, so it was probably more like a rabid honey badger on a ground squirrel, but I was pissed. I just bought these shoes.
The entire front of my body from my waist down was coated in cement. Fortunately, the upper part of my body had landed across Boogie's back, so it was relatively clean. The same couldn't be said for Boogie. I was able to scramble onto his back and get his hands cuffed behind him as he struggled to keep his face out of the cement. He looked like a spa day gone bad when I got him back on his feet. Fortunately, our back sides were cement free so at least my latest POS car would be mostly spared. By the time we reached the police station, the cement was starting to dry. Boogie's face looked like something out of a horror movie with its cracked, gray mask.
I brought him in through the back, leaving chunks of concrete like breadcrumbs in our wake. My hope was, by coming in through the back, I would reduce the risk of running into my once "on-again, off-again" but now permanently "off" ex-boyfriend Joe Morelli. We have so much of a past, I imagine we'll get to that "friendly exes" point in our future. However, our present wasn't so amicable.
Thankfully, luck was on my side, and I was able to get in and out without running into Morelli. My jeans felt like they were cracking as I climbed back into my car and headed for my apartment. Mr. Morganstern was in the lobby checking his mailbox when I walked into the building.
"Used to be the mob only made cement shoes. Looks like they've branched out into trousers," he said with a chuckle. I gave him a stiff smile but didn't bother to comment. Really, what was there to say. I gave him a small wave as I stepped on to the elevator, punching the number 2 with a little more force than necessary.
Once through my door, I headed straight for the kitchen and the large trash bags under the sink. Maybe I should start keeping them in my little entry foyer. It would save some clean-up each time I came home covered in crap.
I opened the bag and spread it in a small circle on the kitchen floor. Stepping into the bag, I untied my sneakers and toed them off. My socks followed and then my ruined jeans. My panties and t-shirt had been spared, so I stepped out of the bag and tied it shut. I tapped on Rex's cage to say hi, and moved to my bedroom to find something clean to put on.
Realizing I had no clean jeans, I threw on a pair of lounge pants and gathered my dirty clothes in my laundry basket. I wouldn't be stopping anywhere between home and my parents' house, so no one would be calling my mother to tell her I was out in my pjs. It was just before noon, so that meant lunch while I waited for my laundry.
I pulled up in front of my parents' house and grabbed the laundry basket from the back seat. My grandmother was standing at the door and held it open for me and my basket. "Look who's here," she said happily. "I was just thinking it would be nice to have a little company for lunch. Your mother is in a bit of a mood after nine phone calls about you and the statue man."
"He wasn't a statue man. He was an FTA who tried to run away through wet cement. He fell and I was able to cuff him and bring him in," I said, leaving out the flying tackle. No one really needed to hear that he fell because I was latched on to his back like a tick on a bloodhound.
"Can I throw a load of laundry in?" I asked, hoping the change of subject would put the matter to rest.
My mother waved in the direction of the washer. "Go ahead. I'm just getting things out for lunch. We have left over pot roast for sandwiches, and there is three-bean salad, and macaroni salad. I've also got fresh rolls from Italian Peoples' Bakery, lettuce, and tomato slices for the sandwiches. Do you want mayonnaise or horseradish?"
"Both," I said as I dumped all of my dirty clothes into the washing machine. My theory is, if you can wear it all together, you can wash it all together. I added a little extra laundry detergent due to the generally grubby nature of my clothes, pushed a few buttons, and hoped for the best.
My mother had the rolls sliced and was busy building sandwiches for the three of us. I grabbed forks and napkins and set the little table in the kitchen. The salads were already on the table, so I grabbed glasses and a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. I gave it a discreet sniff to make sure it wasn't my mother's "special" iced tea before pouring.
My grandmother and I sat down and my mother set a plate in front of each of us. The sandwiches were perfectly constructed creations with a green leafy layer of lettuce, a slice of ripe red tomato and a generous portion of thinly sliced roast beef stacked on ciabatta rolls. The whole thing had been cut on the diagonal, because somewhere in the distant history of sandwich making, it had been decreed that mothers always cut their children's sandwiches on the diagonal.
Mealtimes in the Plum household are not wasted on a lot of idle chit chat. We get down to the serious business of eating rather quickly. This is how I was able to get through half of my sandwich, my macaroni salad, and half of my three-bean salad before my mother started in.
"I heard that lawyer's office where Sandra Jackson works is looking for a receptionist. Marilyn Sawyer's daughter works at a lawyer's office. She never goes home covered in cement," my mother said.
"Why would I want to work for a lawyer? I was married to a lawyer. Trust me, the cement is preferable," I replied.
"Stephanie!" my mother exclaimed. "Your sister's husband is a perfectly nice man and a lawyer. You shouldn't say such things."
True, Albert somehow managed to pass the bar exam, but calling him a lawyer might be a bit of a stretch.
"Suzanna Berdini said she saw you harassing poor Mr. Dombrowski at the Stop 'n Bag yesterday afternoon. How could you? He has to be 80 years old."
"Eighty-one," I said. "And old people are wily. He told me he had to use the bathroom before I took him down to be rebonded and then slipped out the back of the store. He was riding around in one of those motorized cart things. I figured there was no way he'd outrun me. Come to find out, his handicap sticker is bogus. He just likes riding around in the electric shopping cart."
"If you insist on continuing to be a bounty hunter, why can't you just do your job without making a spectacle of yourself." my mother said.
I was starting to wish I had poured myself a glass of my mother's "special" iced-tea. And that's when it happened - I present to you the latest example of Stephanie Plum speaking without thinking. "If you think it's so easy, why don't you come with me to pick up Mr. Dombrowski."
"Don't be absurd, Stephanie," my mother said.
Grandma Mazur decided to weigh in on the subject at this point. "What's wrong, Helen? You afraid to put your money where your mouth is?"
My mother huffed. "What would people say? That is the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard."
Grandma Mazur started making chicken sounds and flapping her arms.
"You're right," I said quickly. "Sorry, I don't know what I was thinking. That's a really bad idea."
My mother drew herself up in her chair. "You don't think I could handle an eighty year old man?"
"Eighty-one," Grandma reminded her, and then continued making soft "Bawk, bawk" sounds.
"Grandma, stop that. Mom isn't chicken. She isn't trained to be a bond enforcement agent. She could get hurt."
"I beg your pardon. As I recall, you brought in Joseph on your very first job. And that was with no training. I imagine I could handle one little old man." I could tell she was warming to the idea and I was afraid anything I said at this point would just make her dig her heels in further.
"Fine. You want to come? Come. We'll pick Lula up at the bonds office on our way. I want to check his home address first, then the grocery store, liquor store and then the park where he plays dominos sometimes in the afternoon. If we still haven't found him, I'll try the funeral home later." I knew my mother would want to be home to start supper, and by tying up her entire afternoon, she'd have to back out if she wanted to get the food on the table by six.
My mother finished her lunch and daintily wiped her mouth with her napkin. She placed her dishes in the dishwasher, wiped the counters and took off her apron. "Just let me grab a light jacket in case we're out late," she said, moving toward the stairs.
I looked over at my grandmother, bewildered. "Your father has one of them membership drive dinners at the lodge tonight. Your mother hates going to those things. Says the food is always horrible and it's just an excuse for the men to drink and try to lure the younger generations into coughing up the annual dues to be a lodge member."
Great. I let out a defeated sigh. "I have to wait for my laundry," I said. "At least that will kill some time."
My mother came down the stairs carrying a pale yellow windbreaker and a pair of jeans. "You left these here the last time you stayed over. I thought you might want to put these on so you didn't have to go out in your pajama pants."
"Don't worry, I'll take care of your laundry," Grandma said.
I looked at her squinty eyed. "You're being a little too helpful here. And how come you aren't trying to talk your way into the car?"
Grandma grinned. "Because someone has to stay behind in case you need bail money. Besides, I got my social security check and Sylvia Tanner is picking me up to take me to the mall. We realized everyone in our seniors group is looking a little old and tired so we wanted to get some new duds and try to spruce things up a bit. We'll be like those influencers they've got on Insta. Plus, we're thinking about getting BFF tattoos and want to stop by that Deviant Art and Piercing place and see what our options are. And I hear they pierce men's you know what's there. I'm hoping they've got a viewing room."
Sweet mother of God, my grandmother wants to watch some guy getting a Prince Albert piercing. There is not enough bleach in the world to pour on my brain after picturing that.
My latest POS is a small SUV with four doors, so there would be room for the Three Stooges along with my FTA. I knew there was no possible way this was going to end well. I figured if I went into it with my expectations low then I wouldn't be surprised. We drove over to Hamilton and parked in front of the bonds office. Connie was at her desk typing on the computer and Lula was sitting on the faux leather couch doing something on her phone. Both glanced over when I walked in with my mother in tow.
"Hey, Mrs. P! Long time no see," Lula said before adding, "Actually, I don't think I've ever seen you outside of your house."
My mother greeted Lula and Connie. "How is your mother doing? I heard she had surgery. I hope everything is healing well," she said to Connie.
"She's doing great. She stayed with me for a while after the surgery but now she's back home," Connie said. I remembered when Connie's mom was staying with her. She just about drove Connie insane with her humming.
"We're going after Mr. Dombrowski this afternoon. Lula, you want to go along?" I asked.
"We?" Lula asked. "Mrs. P., you coming along?"
"Yes I am," my mother said firmly. "Stephanie seems to think it will help me appreciate how difficult her job can be."
"I believe what I said was something like 'If you think it's so easy, why don't you come with me?'" I explained. "Then Grandma started making chicken noises and here we are."
Connie stopped typing on her keyboard and was staring at me wide-eyed and mouth agape. "You're taking your mother on an apprehension? Are you crazy?"
My mother's mouth puckered in a sour little expression but she didn't say anything.
"Probably," I responded. I looked over at Lula, "You ready to join this circus?"
"Count me in," she said. "Someone needs to keep you two crazy kids out of trouble."
I seriously doubted Lula's ability to keep anyone out of trouble, but I didn't expect that it would be necessary in this instance. If we did happen to come across Mr. Dombrowski, my plan was to lure him in with the promise of stopping for rice pudding on the way to the station. You'd be amazed at what old people will do for rice pudding. Once we'd topped him off, I'd give Connie a call and have her meet us at the station to get him rebonded.
Rebonding wouldn't be an issue. The courts never wanted to keep geriatrics in lock-up. They were cranky, needed medicating, and, God forbid, if one of them passed away while awaiting trial - the paperwork was endless. Best to get them rebonded and back in their recliner in front of the television as quickly as possible.
Myron Dombrowski lived at the edge of the 'Burg on Genesee Street. The area resembled so many of its inhabitants, tired and worn, but in for the long haul. Curtains hung in all the windows, and some even had flower boxes with cheerful red geraniums. Lawns were small or non-existent but stoops and sidewalks were swept clean, and trash cans were lined up neatly against the homes waiting to be hauled to the curb on trash day.
It was an altercation involving one of these trash cans that had led to Myron Dombrowski's arrest. According to the arresting officer, Myron had pulled his can to the curb the morning of trash day. He had been having trouble with the trash company not stopping to collect his garbage, reminiscent of my Uncle Fred a few years back. Because of this, Myron was waiting by his window, watching for the garbage truck. It was while waiting that he witnessed a passerby with a large Saint Bernard drop what appeared to be a very full little blue baggy into his trash can.
Myron rushed out the door, rushed being a relative term when referring to an eighty-one year old, and started yelling at the man to remove whatever it was that he had dropped into Myron's trash can. The passerby told him to "fuck off" and continued to walk away. Incensed, Myron retrieved the blue bag from the trash can and flung it at the dog walker. Turns out, back in the day, Myron was a minor league pitcher for the Trenton Giants and was known for his fast ball. The bag hit the rude dog walker in the back of the head, causing him to stumble forward and trip over the Saint Bernard. The startled dog tried to run, dragging his owner several feet across the sidewalk. The dog walker suffered a mild concussion from striking his head on the sidewalk, and the blow opened up a gash that required six stitches to close.
"So what's the deal with this guy?" Lula asked from the back seat. "This guy have a weapon?"
"Simple assault," I said. I didn't think doggie doo was considered a weapon. "I happened across him in the store yesterday, but he slipped out the back when he went to use the restroom."
"You let the guy take a potty break?" she asked.
"He's old and he was in one of those electric shopping carts. I didn't think he'd run." I was really getting tired of explaining this. I needed to get him brought in so I could close the damn file.
We pulled to the curb a couple of car lengths from his fenced in drive. The fence was chain link, with a padlocked gate facing the street. I could see there was no car in the driveway. I got out of the car and told my mother and Lula to sit tight while I went to knock on the door. His bond agreement listed an older Buick LeSabre under his assets, so I was guessing he wasn't home.
I rang the bell and listened for movement inside the house. I glanced through the ground floor window beside the stoop, but didn't see anyone inside. I rang the bell one more time for good measure and then made my way back to the car.
"Not here," I said. "Let's cruise around the neighborhood and look for his car." We drove to the Stop 'n Bag where I had seen him the day before. The lot was full of older model Buick LeSabres. Half the population of the 'Burg drove a LeSabre, including my mother. None had the right license plate and I couldn't see old Myron switching plates.
We cruised by the liquor store, a couple of neighborhood pubs, and the closest bakery. Next, I did a drive-by of the small park off Emory Avenue but there were no domino players, so we headed to Columbus Park. We were cruising around the park looking for a place to pull over when Myron passed us going in the opposite direction. By the time I got turned around he was more than a block in front of us.
I was pretty sure he hadn't recognized me and it looked like he was headed back to his house so I didn't make much of an effort to catch up with him. We followed him down Division Street and saw him turn onto Genesee. I pulled to the curb in front of his house, shifted the car into park and told my mother and Lula to wait in the car.
Myron had pulled into the drive alongside his house and was moving toward the gate holding the padlock with a set of keys hanging from it. Recognition was instant when he saw me and he flung the padlock at me before moving off back down his driveway. The padlock bounced off my forehead, stunning me and sending me down to one knee. My mother and Lula were by my side in an instant.
"He went toward the back," I said to Lula, already feeling the goose egg swelling up on my forehead. Lula took off down the driveway as fast as she could go in her 5" platform, genuine knock-off Louboutins.
"You're bleeding," my mother said. She dug into her purse and pulled out a travel pack of Kleenex. I gingerly pressed the tissues against my head. Thank God Myron hadn't had time for the wind up before the pitch or I might have been out cold on the sidewalk.
My mother and I both looked as Lula rounded the back of the house empty handed. She broke into a run and was barreling straight towards us. "You sneaky old bastard," she yelled.
I glanced over my shoulder in time to see Myron driving away in my still running SUV. Shit.
"Oh no you don't!" my mother said, picking up the padlock with the dangling keys. She yanked the keys from the lock and tossed the padlock at my car, but it hit the street far behind the fleeing vehicle.
My mother looked at Lula. "Help me get Stephanie into the Buick," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. They each grabbed an arm and started half dragging me toward the LeSabre.
"Stop, we can't steal his car," I said, surprised to be the voice of reason.
"That man just assaulted my daughter and stole her car," my mother said. "And, he left you bleeding, dying for all he knew, lying on the sidewalk. If it is the last thing I do, I am putting that man behind bars where he belongs. Now get in the car." This whole statement was delivered in a scary kind of calm tone delivered through clenched teeth.
My mother got behind the wheel, I rode shotgun and Lula jumped in the back. My mother took off out of the driveway like she was being chased by the hounds of hell, speeding down Genesee well above the posted limit.
Dombrowski had been headed toward Liberty Street and we spotted him stopped at the light waiting to turn. We were two cars behind him waiting for the light to change.
"What's the plan?" I asked my mother.
"I don't know yet," she said, probably just now realizing it was difficult to wave down a cop when you're driving a stolen vehicle.
"Let's ram him," Lula said from the back. "Run his sorry, old fogey ass right off the road."
"NO!" I yelled, not wanting to give my mother any ideas.
The light turned green and Dombrowski pulled out on Liberty. We were now directly behind him and I saw when he looked in the rear view mirror and spotted us on his tail. He sped up, probably hoping to lose us in traffic.
"Stop chasing him," I said to my mother. "I don't want to be responsible for him crashing into someone trying to get away from you."
"I'm just going to give him a tap so he knows the jig is up," my mother said, ignoring me and speeding up, bumping into the back of my SUV.
The tap was light, but it was enough to cause the whole back bumper of my SUV to fall off. There was no way to avoid the debris, but my mother tried, jerking the wheel hard to the right. There was a thump-thump as the driver's side tire rolled over the mangled bumper, right before we crashed into the fire hydrant and sent a geyser of water skyward. Both front airbags deployed and we all jerked up tight against our seatbelts.
"Is everyone okay?" I asked. I couldn't see any obvious injuries on my mother, but I knew from experience the exploding airbag and the seatbelt can leave some nasty bruises.
"Holy shit, what the fuck just happened?" Lula asked, before adding, "'Scuz my language."
The police and the fire trucks were on the scene in no time. We were able to crawl out of the car under our own power, but we were soaked from the spray. I looked around, hoping to see my cousin-in-law Eddie Gazarra or Carl Costanza and Big Dog. I groaned when I saw Officer Bernard Gaspick, commonly referred to as Officer Picky, and two other cops I didn't know.
"Is this your car?" Picky asked, already running the plate.
"No, we borrowed it when mine was stolen," I said.
My mother stormed up to Picky. "I demand you go after the man who stole my daughter's car. He assaulted her with a padlock and then stole her car. That's why we stole his. To chase him down and return a dangerous criminal to justice."
I was pulling on my mother's arm, trying to put some distance between her and Officer Picky. The other two cops saw what was happening. One grabbed Lula's arm and the other moved towards me. In two seconds, they had us up against the wall, feet spread and were patting us down for weapons.
"You're all under arrest for grand theft auto and joy riding," Picky said.
Thankfully, our purses were still in my stolen vehicle, so they didn't find my slightly illegal stun gun or Lula's unregistered Glock. We were cuffed and unceremoniously shoved into the back of Picky's blue and white.
We entered the station through the back door where I brought so many of my FTA's. No one said a word as we were photographed and fingerprinted. Thankfully, we were only given a cursory pat down instead of a body cavity search before being escorted to a holding cell.
"Well, this is a nice change of scenery," my mother said, making her way to the metal bunk attached to the wall. She perched primly on the edge, crossing her ankles and folding her hands in her lap.
Lula flopped on the other end of the bunk and settled her back against the wall. Not wanting to crowd the bunk, I stood leaning against the bars at the front of the cell.
From my position, I could see the strange look Lula gave my mother, probably wondering if she'd hit her head in the crash. "It's a prison cell, Mrs. P."
"I was being sarcastic," she replied to Lula.
"Huh," Lula grunted, "I would have expected sarcasm from Steph, here. But not you, Mrs. P. You always seemed real nice and shit; 'scuz my language."
I really didn't know how to respond to that, but I was pretty sure I had just been insulted. Probably best just to let it go. I hadn't seen any of my cop friends on the way to the holding cell, but being the Bombshell Bounty Hunter meant it wouldn't take long for the news to travel through the precinct. I just hoped it would be Eddie or Carl who showed up and not Joe.
"What the hell, Cupcake?" The voice right behind me startled me and I gave a little shriek. Damn it! It's like just thinking his name conjured him up.
"Hi, Joe." I replied, turning to face him through the bars. I decided to go for casual. "What's up?"
He stood hands on hips, shaking his head in disgust. "I'm not surprised to find you and Lula locked up; probably should've happened years ago. But you've managed to get your poor mother arrested, too? Oh wait, let me guess, it wasn't your fault."
I really didn't appreciate his tone. "Not that it is any of your business, but, no. As a matter of fact, it wasn't. Now, if you're done, goodbye Joe."
"You should be nice, Steph. I can help you, you know. Maybe even get the charges dropped, if you play nice." His voice dropped and he reached through the bars and took my hand. "Bob misses you."
"I hope I didn't just hear you offer to use your position to influence a police investigation, Morelli," Ranger said, rounding the corner followed by a uniformed officer with a set of keys in his hand..
"I heard him," my grandmother said, stepping out from behind Ranger.
My mother moved to stand beside me. "Joseph Morelli, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Stephanie did nothing wrong. This is all my fault. My daughter and Lula tried to stop me but I wouldn't listen. And now look. What will people think?"
Grandma Mazur gave Joe a death glare. "Unless you're here to unlock that door, I suggest you skedaddle and let this nice young man do his job. Don't look like anyone wants you around here anyway."
Joe gave another shake of his head and muttered something about crazy women before stalking off down the hall. My grandmother turned back and was grinning from ear to ear. "I told you I'd bail you out. Only when Carla Mayhew called to say she saw you gettin' cuffed and stuffed, I didn't know what to do. I figured I'd need to get to the police station, so I called Rangeman and asked if one of the boys could give me a ride and help me get you girls sprung from the pokie."
"When Mrs. Mazur called, she got Vince on the switchboard. He thought he was being pranked at first. But my men know you get into some interesting predicaments, so he called me," Ranger said.
The uniformed officer unlocked the door and I followed my mother and Lula out the door and into the hallway. "Thank you, Mr. Manoso," my mother said, extending her hand. "I don't know what came over me. It was like I was possessed by some crazed, bounty hunter alter ego. All I could think about was getting the man who hurt my daughter."
"I understand the compulsion to look after your daughter, Mrs. Plum," Ranger said, shaking her hand. "I'm just glad you were there to help her."
I rolled my eyes. What a suck up!
Ranger checked out the knot on the front of my head before wrapping an arm around my shoulder and kissing me on the side of the head. "I always said you come from a long line of scary women, Babe," he whispered in my ear as we followed the uniform, my mother, Lula, and Grandma Mazur down the hall.
Hal was waiting in front of the station to take Lula back to the office to pick up her car. Grandma called shotgun and climbed into the passenger seat of Ranger's Cayenne. My mother and I settled ourselves in the back of the Porsche and buckled up.
"What time should I pick you up in the morning?" my mother asked.
"Pick me up for what?" I couldn't imagine why she would be picking me up. She always sent my father to pick me up when I didn't have a car.
"For work, Stephanie. We still need to bring in that rat fink, Myron Dombrowski," she replied.
I locked eyes with Ranger in the rearview mirror. I could see the laughter in his, just as he could see the horror in mine.
"You don't need to pick me up. I can borrow Big Blue until the police find my car," I said, panicking at the thought of spending another day with Helen Plum, BEA.
"That won't be necessary. I'll pick you up at 7:00 am sharp. I thought we could catch him before he starts his day. Besides, your father always gets breakfast at McDonald's on Thursday because he has to leave early to get Samuel Spanner to the station on time to catch his train." My father retired after 30 years from the post office and now he drives a cab part time. He has his usual pick-ups each morning during the work week, and then he spends the rest of his day either sitting in his recliner or at the lodge playing pinochle and whatever else it is they do.
Ranger was full on grinning at this point. He knew what I was like at 7:00 am and it wasn't pretty. The problem was, I had brought this on myself. I had pretty much double-dog dared my mother and she had responded with "Challenge accepted," right before the proverbial mic drop.
Ranger waited at the curb until my mother and grandmother were in the house. Once they were safely inside, he pulled away from the curb and headed for my apartment.
"I need to get Dombrowski tonight," I said. "There is no way I can take my mother out on an apprehension again tomorrow."
"Sounds like she's taking you out on the apprehension, Babe."
"I'm glad you're finding so much humor in this," I fumed, giving him a death glare. Unfortunately, my glowering was completely lost on him, since he never bothered to look my way.
We pulled into my parking lot and Ranger killed the engine and turned to me. "You know I'll help you in any way you need; all you have to do is ask."
I blew out a sigh. "I know," I said. "But I shouldn't need help on this one. The guy is eighty-one years old for cripes sake. I'm such a complete loser!"
"You're not a loser, Babe. Just having a bit of bad luck. You'll get him tomorrow and your mother will see that, while unorthodox, you get the job done."
Ranger slipped his hand under my hair at the nape of my neck and urged me closer. His mouth descended on mine and my lips parted of their own volition. Our tongues touched and I felt his fingers flex in my hair as my hands cupped his face. An involuntary moan escaped from somewhere deep in my chest as the kiss grew more heated and his other hand slipped up under my shirt to my lace covered breast.
Since my break up with Joe, Ranger and I had been warily circling around each other, engaging in the occasional make-out session, but never taking it past kissing and some above the waist groping. My Hungarian hormones had had enough foreplay, and were about to call him out on his long ago assertion that he'd be in my bed if Morelli was out of it long enough.
"Maybe you should walk me up and make sure there are no bad guys under my bed," I whispered against his mouth.
"If you are inviting me up for what I think you are, I can promise you the only bad guy in your apartment will be in your bed, Babe." His hand was now inside my bra, cupping my breast while gently flicking my puckered nipple with his thumb nail.
Before my brain could process what he said, the hand slipped out of my shirt and he was gone. I blinked, befuddled by the sudden chill in front of me. Then, the door behind me opened. Ranger unbuckled my seat belt and helped me from the car. I heard the alarm on the Cayenne chirp as he pulled me quickly across the lot and into the lobby of my apartment building. Mrs. Bestler was standing in the open elevator and called out "Going up."
"Too slow," Ranger growled, tugging me toward the stairs.
I was breathing hard, but it was more from anticipation than exertion. We reached my apartment door and I realized my keys were still in my purse, and my purse was somewhere with my stolen car. Thankfully, Ranger doesn't let a little thing like a locked door stand in his way. He had the door unlocked in less time than it would have taken me to dig my keys out of the bottom of my bag.
Ranger opened the door and flipped on the light, scanning for danger and I followed him in. I pushed the door shut behind me and moved up against Ranger's back. My arms snaked around his waist, one hand headed up to his chest and the other headed down to the waistband of his black cargos. It had been way too long since I'd had a social orgasm and I was determined to remedy that tonight with what I knew would be the mother of all orgasms.
Ranger turned and pushed me back against the door. His leg slipped between mine and our bodies molded together as our mouths devoured each other, driven by a mutual hunger that was no longer going to be denied. Desperate hands clawed at the clothing that was preventing skin to skin contact. Distantly, I heard the sound of fabric ripping and then I felt the heat of his bare chest touching mine. I made a small sound of displeasure when his mouth left mine, only to moan in satisfaction as it closed over my nipple. He teased me with his lips, teeth, and tongue until I was practically panting. "Please," I begged. "I need more. I need you."
With a primal growl, he scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom. The rest of our clothes disappeared, as if by magic. There's a reason we called him the Wizard, after all. He moved down my body, kissing, nipping, and licking me as I squirmed beneath him. "Now!" I said with a force that surprised us both.
Ranger moved over me and positioned himself at my entrance, giving me one last chance to change my mind. That was so not happening. I reached around with both hands, grabbed his perfect ass and tried to pull him into me. He locked eyes with me and I swear I saw the corners of his mouth twitch as he held himself back.
I wasn't about to be denied, so I shifted my hips, brought my legs up and around his waist, and used my heels to finally drive him down into my aching body. The sensation of his length suddenly filling me was incredible. Ranger groaned, moved his mouth over mine and started kissing me as his hips began moving in a sensual rhythm. It wasn't long before I felt the muscles in my lower body tense, anticipating my release. As the waves started crashing over me, Ranger pumped hard and fast into me and I felt his throbbing release.
We lay there for a few moments, basking in the afterglow and catching our breath. Ranger kissed me, shifted his weight to move off me, and pulled me against his side. I was content to lay in his arms, lazily running my fingers across his muscular chest and abdomen. If I were a cat, I'd probably be purring right now.
I was contemplating round two when my phone started ringing. If it were my cell phone, I would have let it go to voicemail but my cell phone was in my stolen purse. This was my landline. My mother was the only person who still called me on my landline and I was afraid she might be having a delayed reaction to the day's events. I reached across Ranger and grabbed the extension beside the bed.
"Hello? Mom?"
"Stephanie, this is your mother," she said in a stage whisper.
"Mom, what's wrong? Why are you whispering?" I asked, already moving off the bed and searching for my clothes. I knew this wasn't going to be good.
"I've got him!" She whispered excitedly. "I've got Dombrowski cornered. Except, I don't know what to do next."
"Where are you?" I was trying to hold the phone against my shoulder while I tugged up my jeans. My panties were nowhere in sight, so I was going to have to go commando.
"I'm at your father's lodge. After you dropped me off I remembered that Dombrowski belonged to your father's lodge so I came down and BINGO! Found him. But I don't have any handcuffs or anything and I don't even know what to do with him once I have him handcuffed, so I ducked out of sight in the kitchen and called you."
"Stay in the kitchen but keep an eye on him," I said. "We'll be right there."
"We?" my mother asked.
"Ranger is with me. I'll ask him to drive me over. Just stay put and stay out of sight." I hung up the phone and pulled on a black Rangeman sweatshirt.
Ranger was out of bed and dressed by the time I hung up the phone. "Let's go," he said.
As we walked across the lot to the Cayenne, Ranger pulled a set of cuffs from one of the many pockets in his cargo pants. "I'm assuming your cuffs were in your stolen car as well," he said, tucking the cuffs into my back pocket.
Traffic was light, and we were back in the Burg and parked outside my father's lodge in sixteen minutes. I saw my POS parked at the edge of the small lot. At least now I'd be able to get my car and, hopefully, my purse back. I hadn't had a chance to cancel my credit cards yet and now maybe I wouldn't have to.
"I'll be right back," I said, opening my door. "It would be great if you could check my car and see if my purse is still in there."
I went around to the back of the building where I knew there was a door to the kitchen. I could see my mother standing to one side of the open door that led to the main area, peeking furtively around the corner. I opened the door and whispered "Mom."
My mother let out a small shriek and turned, hand over heart. "Stephanie Plum, you just about gave me a heart attack," she exclaimed.
Voices were raised in the front room and my father came storming into the kitchen. "What in the Sam Hill is going on here? What are you doing here, Helen? Stephanie?"
Behind my parents, I saw Myron moving toward the front door of the lodge. "Bond enforcement," I called moving forward.
My mother was faster. She turned and took off across the room in what can only be described as a full-on sprint. As Myron moved to pass the buffet table, my mother sprang. They crashed into the tables before falling to the floor. They were tangled up in the plastic table covers and the remains of the buffet dinner rained down on top of both of them. Myron was on his back and my mother was perched triumphantly atop him. I handed her the cuffs and let her do the honors.
Ranger met us at the door with my purse and the right to apprehend papers for Myron. My mother was behind me, pushing Dombrowski out ahead of her. My father followed behind, picking bits of food out of my mother's hair and off the back of her shirt.
"What the hell got into you, woman? Gordon Connor's wife spends time with their daughter at the mall, not chasing criminals around the city. Stanley Trebisky's wife doesn't tackle people on the buffet table. Why does my wife have to make a spectacle of herself in front of all my friends?" he whined.
My mother stopped and stared at my father, then turned to me. "I'm so sorry, Stephanie. I never realized what I sounded like." She pushed Myron towards me. "I'm tendering my resignation," she said. "From now on, I'll leave the fugitive apprehensions to the professionals." She looked at Ranger. "Thank you again for your assistance today at the jailhouse, Mr. Manoso. Have a lovely evening."
"Jailhouse?" my father asked, his voice raising to near shriek level.
My mother turned to my father. "Come on Frank, you're taking me home." She walked off toward his cab, leaving him with his mouth agape to stare after her retreating figure.
I put Myron into the back of my SUV and turned to Ranger. "Yes, thanks for your help today," I said awkwardly. Probably be even more awkward to thank him for the mind blowing orgasm.
"You're welcome, for both," he said with a grin.
My face flushed red. "Aloud?"
"We have unfinished business, Babe." He moved toward me, backing me against the side of my car. His hands rested lightly on my hips and, even though he wasn't pressed against me, I couldn't have moved if I had wanted to.
"Unfinished business," I squeaked out.
"I think it's time you and I made a new deal," Ranger said, kissing the corner of my mouth, first on one side and then the other.
"What kind of deal?" I ask suspiciously.
Ranger moved back slightly to look into my eyes. "A long term deal. One where you agree to spend every night with me and, in exchange, I'll provide you with all the mind blowing orgasms you want."
"You're a jerk," I said, trying to move away.
His lips twitched. "Okay, here's the real deal. You agree to take a chance on a sick and twisted mercenary, and I'll make every effort to ensure you don't regret it."
I went completely still, staring into his eyes as if I could read his intent. "Are you serious?"
"Deadly serious," he replied.
And for probably the first time in my life, I thanked my impulsive and rash nature. "You've got a deal, Batman."