Round Robin

Chapter 2 (SiennaS)

STEPHANIE

The incident at the corner store made it through the Burg grapevine and ultimately, to my mother before I'd finished my walk home. The resulting phone call culminated with a litany of Why me whines and a reminder that Emily Restler's daughter, despite working at a bank, had never been caught up in a robbery or hostage situation.

I'd half-listened while I rooted through my freezer looking for my emergency pint of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia. Eventually, the call ended with me promising not to ever allow a situation like that to happen again. I rolled my eyes as I disconnected. She acted like I'd wanted it to happen in the first place.

Thankfully, the days immediately following the incident were calm and uneventful and it didn't take long for my life to return to its normal state of boredom. I mean, there were a few occasions, usually while watching the news, when my mind would wander back to that moment in the corner store, and I'd replay the events in my head. Even now, I still couldn't quite believe it had really happened, or that I'd involved myself without fully thinking about the consequences.

While I hoped Arnold was okay and considering ways to turn his life around once he was out of prison, my thoughts mostly settled on the handsome and mysterious Carlos Manoso. At that moment, I'd been too focused on keeping Arnold from injuring or killing all of us to really appreciate the man who called himself Ranger. Now though, as I once again thought back to the scene and the aftermath, I could picture him perfectly, in all his black-clad handsomeness.

He was tall. Well, taller than me anyway and he had the most gorgeous silky black hair I'd ever seen. I knew women who would have killed for his hair and had many who ended up in my salon chair paying big bucks for me to give them that same glorious sleek look. My fingers itched to slide through his satiny strands, for no other reason than to see if it really was as soft as it appeared. Hair wasn't the only spectacular feature Carlos 'Ranger' Manoso possessed though.

His eyes were a deep chocolate color. Like an expensive imported candy or a cup of warm cocoa and projected a pearl of wisdom that went well beyond his thirty-some years on this planet. Yet, there was a hint of sadness hidden in their umber depths. As if they'd seen way more pain and ugliness than they should have during his life.

Even under the fluorescent lights, it was easy to identify his classically Latino features and lovely mocha-latte skin. While the rippling muscles in his arms alone could easily make a girl drool.

Despite the almost calm control he'd appeared to project, at that moment, there had been an underlying edginess which spoke of strength and violence. Yet, when it was over, he'd been gracious, caring, and extremely thankful for what I'd done. Even now I still don't think I did anything that others wouldn't have done if presented with the same situation.

Still, the man was an enigma wrapped in a sexy black-clad package and I couldn't help but wonder who was the real Ranger Manoso?

I was considering that question as I opened the salon door and stepped inside. I had a full schedule and really should have been focusing on what I would need to do today. Mrs. Kowalski would be in at ten for her six-week cut and color touch-up. I swear to God if she asked me to change her color again….

"Oh, Stephanie," my boss Shelly called out from where she sat behind the scheduling desk, interrupting my ruminating. "Something came for you."

My brow knit as I hung my bag on the hook next to my station then turned and headed toward Shelly. I couldn't remember ordering anything and even if I had, I certainly wouldn't have had it shipped to my work. "Something came for me?"

She motioned to the single red rose sitting in a clear bud vase on the ledge. "A delivery driver dropped this off for you a little while ago."

What the hell? Confused, I picked up the vase to inspect it, then turned my attention back to Shelly. "Was there a card or anything?"

She'd already shifted her attention back to the scheduling computer as she typed in a name. "Nope," she said. "The driver said he had a delivery for Stephanie Plum. When I told him you weren't in yet, he asked if I could accept the delivery for you. So, I did." She paused and frowned up at me. "You mean you don't know who it's from?"

I shook my head. My track record with men wasn't very impressive and right now I was going through a dry spell that would make the Sahara look like an oasis. Shelly's frown quickly tipped into a grin and her eyes danced with excitement. "Oh…maybe you have a secret admirer."

"Maybe," I replied as I stared at the single red rose. The thought was both intriguing and just a little scary.

"Well, if you find out who sent it, you'll have to let me know because now I'm really curious," she replied. "In the meantime, you should probably get ready. Marge Dombrowski is due at any moment for a wash and set. She called first thing this morning in a panic. Apparently, she has some big luncheon today and she needs to look her best." Shelly lifted her hand to flip her hair back, doing an almost perfect impersonation of my mother's friend.

Her parody would have been funny if it had been about anyone else. Instead of laughing, I cringed. "Great," I murmured. "I get to listen to her blather on for the next hour about how I need to stop embarrassing my mother with my single status, settle down and marry that nice Morelli boy."

It was Shelly's turn to wince. "I can't believe your mother would want you anywhere near him after what he did to you in high school."

"Believe me, I know," I replied.

Everyone has those times in their lives that they'd rather forget. While I have quite a few, there were three I really wanted to bury forever. The first was in middle school when I used Kool-Aid to dye my hair bright red and ended up looking like a bad version of Strawberry Shortcake. The second was in high school when I lost control of my baton during a football pre-game performance, and it hit me in the head in front of a packed crowd. The third and by far the worst, was when I allowed Joseph Morelli to sweet talk me out of my virginity on the floor of the Tasty Pastry.

Unfortunately, for reasons I can't being to fathom, my mother had it in her crazy head that because Joe and I have a history, rocky as it is, we were somehow meant to be together. She couldn't be more wrong.

Marge Dembrowski arrived right on time and just as I predicted, she lectured me for the next hour about my age, my waning fertility, and how I was taking years off my mother's life with my refusal to settle down and get married.

By the time my last appointment left, nearly eight hours later, I was dead on my feet and mentally exhausted. Note to self. Try not to schedule the burg busybodies with back-to-back appointments.

Deciding I was too tired to do much more than go home and crash, I packed up my bag, grabbed my mystery rose, and headed home.

Once there, I dropped my bag by the front door, kicked off my shoes, and walked into the kitchen. I set the vase with the rose on the counter, then, deciding I was too tired to even heat something up in the microwave, I grabbed a beer and the leftover pizza from my fridge walked into my tiny living room, and plopped onto the well-worn couch. I set my beer down, picked up the remote and turned on the television. After the day I'd had, a little mindless comedy was certainly in order.

A week after I'd received the single red rose, a box containing a dozen Boston Cream donuts mysteriously appeared at my work. The note simply read, for Stephanie. They weren't from the Tasty Pastry and had arrived via third-party courier in a simple white box. With no idea from which bakery they'd been purchased, and with no way to identify the courier, it had been impossible to pinpoint my admirer.

The following week, a dozen long stem red roses arrived, and I was seriously starting to worry. Much to my mother's dismay, I hadn't dated in over a year. So, who was sending me these gifts?

For the next month, the trend continued, with various gifts being delivered to the salon and each one seemed to get a bit bigger and more expensive. One week I received a plum scented candle. The next was a home spa kit.

The gift that came the following week gave my boss and co-workers pause and sent a chill shimmying up my spine. The diamond and silver necklace sat atop a card with a title calling it a love knot. The remaining wording on the card made my skin crawl.

To my favorite

My favorite pair of eyes to look into.

My favorite name to see appear on my phone.

My favorite way to spend an afternoon.

To my everything.

Shelly's eyes were wide with concern as she looked from the necklace to me and back. "You know, this has been kind of cute and fun, but I think it's starting to get out of hand."

My co-worker Amanda nodded her agreement. "I think maybe it's time you called the police."

"And say what?" I asked as I angled my hands on my hips. "That some person I don't know is sending me gifts? What exactly are they supposed to do about it?"

Silence met my question. They knew I was right.

The next Monday had me totally re-evaluating my decision not to call the police. I arrived at work with a knot in my stomach. It only got worse when I spotted Shelly waving a manila envelope at me. I let out a sigh. "Let me guess…."

She nodded. "I found it taped to the front door when I arrived."

I went through the routine of hanging up my bag and removing my light jacket before I walked over to take the envelope. This time, instead of a gift, it was pictures of me at various places I'd visited over the course of the last week. Me behind my salon chair, cutting Mrs. Crandle's hair. Me walking out of the same corner store where I'd managed to disarm Arnold Bass. Me in the lobby of my apartment building, checking my mailbox and a half dozen others of me on my parent's front step, having lunch with my best friend Mary Lou, and walking to various places.

Mixed in with the pictures was a small card that appeared to be handmade. A set of angry-looking eyes stared up from the front of it with the words, I'm watching you, written in block letters beneath it. With shaky hands, I flipped open the card to see the printed words inside.

I'm disappointed in you, Stephanie. I went to a lot of trouble to pick out the perfect necklace and yet I see you're not wearing it. Do you not like my gifts? Maybe you'll like the one I have planned next.

My gasp had Shelly ripping the card from my fingers. She read it, then immediately reached for the phone. "What are you doing," I asked even as I struggled to calm my nerves.

"This is no longer cute and fun," she said. "I'm calling the police."

"No!" My shout had her fingers pausing over the buttons.

"No?" She frowned. "Why the hell not?"

"I know this might seem trivial to you," I began, "but if I get TPD involved, this will make it back through the Burg to my mother." I paused and drew in a deep breath as I fought against my rising panic. The only thing that scared me worse than my admirer turned stalker, was listening to my mother lament about how if I'd only agreed to marry the nice Morelli boy, I wouldn't have a stalker. "I haven't told her yet and I don't want or need the hassle that will come with her finding out."

Shelly's frown deepened and she set the phone down. "You can't just let this go when it's an obvious threat."

She was right, of course. "Let me call a friend of mine," I replied. "He's a patrolman for TPD."

"Well, okay," she replied. "So, long as you do. Everyone here likes you, Steph and nobody wants to see anything bad happen to you."

She wasn't the only one. I gave her statement a nod, scooped up the pictures and card, then returned them to the envelope and headed back to my station. I only had a few minutes before my first appointment was due in, so I fished my phone out of my bag and called Eddie Gazzara. I've known Eddie since elementary school and was sort of related to him since he'd married my cousin Shirley the Whiner.

He answered on the second ring. "Hey, Steph."

"Hey, Eddie. Are you working today?"

"No. Why?"

"I need a favor." I went on to explain to him about the gift, the photos, and the card I just received.

"Jesus, Steph. Why didn't you call me sooner?" he asked.

"I didn't think it was anything serious," I replied.

"What you mean is you didn't want your mother finding out," he replied then let out a sigh. "Okay. How about I meet you for lunch and we'll go over everything?"

"Pino's?" I asked

"Sounds good," he said. "Make sure you bring the envelope with you."

"I will," I replied. "Just make sure you don't tell Shirley." If she found out, my mother would know with her next breath.

"I won't," he replied.

It was everything I could do to keep my mind focused as I worked my way through my morning clients. A little after one o'clock I met Eddie for lunch, showed him the pictures, and endured the resulting lecture. In the end, he admitted there wasn't much he or TPD could do. Especially since Shelly and I had handled the envelope, photos, and card and most likely, compromised any fingerprints from my stalker.

That of course was assuming TPD would have even been willing to run fingerprints. Right now, there simply wasn't enough to go on to warrant any type of real investigation.

He'd sent me back to work with a full belly and a warning to be extra vigilant and to call him if anything else happened.

I returned to work with an anxious feeling. What in the world had I done to deserve this? I work hard, keep to myself, and tried to always do the right thing.

Unfortunately, Mondays were my long shift at work and by the time I'd left, the sun was setting, leaving darkness to mix with my unease.

Over the years I've honed my ability for being able to read people and my surroundings. Because of that, I'm rarely afraid to walk anywhere. Yet, tonight, as the last light of the day gave way to the pitch of night, I had this strange feeling I was being followed. The longer I walked, the stronger the feeling grew until my Spidey senses were working overtime. Every corner, every alley and empty building entrance set my nerves on edge until I was sure I was about to be kidnapped.

I let out a relieved breath as I stepped into the lobby of my apartment building, then proceeded to chastise myself for acting like such a scaredy-cat. I really needed to get a grip and stop allowing my imagination to run amuck.

As I made my way through the lobby, I spotted the Out of order sign on the elevator and heaved out another sigh. It figures. I swear, the damn thing was broken more than it wasn't.

With no choice but to use the stairs, I headed for the access door. Thankfully, the stairwell was well lit. When I got upstairs, I was going to draw myself a nice bubble bath, put on some music, light a candle, and sink into the bubbles with a beer in my hand. After the day I'd had, I deserve to indulge myself.

I pushed through the access door to my floor and ambled down the hallway. As I neared the entrance to my apartment, my pulse began to speed up at the sight before me. My front door stood ever so slightly ajar. My mind reeled with about a dozen scenarios before I could reign it back. It was possible I simply didn't get the door completely closed when I left this morning. I was kind of in a hurry.

I thought back to the envelope currently in my bag and the unspoken threat written on the card. What if my stalker had broken into my apartment? What if he was still inside? My forward motion stopped a few feet away as I struggled to keep my thoughts straight.

Eddie made me promise to call him if anything else happened. If my apartment had been broken into, it would result in an investigation. The details of that investigation would rip through the burg like a fast-moving forest fire and the resulting fallout would be just as catastrophic.

First things, first. I needed to put some distance between myself and my apartment. I turned on my heel and headed back the way I came until once again, I stood in the lobby. My heart was threatening to pound out of my chest, so I leaned against the wall, while I tried to get my wits about me. What do I do? It was at that moment when I remembered the offer made by a certain mysterious and sexy man dressed in black nearly two months ago.

If you ever need anything, anything at all, call me. It would be my pleasure to repay the favor.

At the time, I didn't think I'd ever have a need to call him. Even now as I rooted through my bag for his card, I wasn't sure if there really was anything he could do. What did I do with his card? I crossed to the tiny sitting area near the mailboxes, eased onto the tattered and stained couch, then opened my bag and dumped the contents onto the cushions.

It took me a minute to find the now tattered business card. I held it in my shaking fingers as second thoughts coursed through me. Did I really want to call him and have him see my tiny apartment sparsely decorated with second-hand furniture and postcards taped to the walls? What if I was wrong and I really had accidentally left my door unlatched? The last thing I wanted was to look like a fool in front of him.

You're not wrong. My instincts screamed. You didn't leave the door unlatched. Someone broke in and they could be waiting for you right now.

Without giving myself a chance to second guess my decision, I picked up my phone and dialed the number.

"RangeMan, Manny speaking."

"Um, hello. Can I please speak with Carlos Manoso?"

"I'll have to see if he's available. Who's calling?"

"My name is Stephanie Plum."