To The Nines

CHAPTER 12

VALERIE WAS SITTING on the couch in the living room when I arrived. She was doing her breathing exercises and rubbing her stomach. My mother and grandmother were standing beside her, watching. The two girls were on the floor, staring bug-eyed at Valerie. My father was in his chair in front of the television, channel surfing.

"So," I said. "What's up?"

The front door crashed open behind me and Albert stumbled in. "Am I too late? Did I miss anything? What's going on?"

"Mommy's having a baby," Angie said.

Mary Alice nodded her head in agreement.

Albert looked terrible. His shirt was un-tucked and his eyes were glassy. His face was chalk white with red spots high on his cheeks.

"You don't look so good," Grandma said to Albert. "How about a ham sandwich?"

"I've never had a baby before," Albert said. "I'm a little flub-a-dubbed."

"I'm having another contraction," Valerie said. "Is anyone timing? Aren't these coming awful close together?"

I didn't know anything about having a baby, but I knew it worked better if you delivered it in the hospital. "Maybe we should go to St. Francis," I said. "Do you have a suitcase ready?"

Valerie went into the breathing and rubbing mode again and my mom ran upstairs for the suitcase.

"So what do you think, Valerie," I asked when she stopped rubbing and puffing. "You've done this before. Are you ready to go to the hospital?"

"I was ready weeks ago," Valerie said. "Someone help me get up."

Albert and I each took an arm and pulled Valerie up.

She looked down. "I can't see my feet. Do I have shoes on?"

"Yep," I said. "Sneakers."

She felt around. "And I've got pants on, right?"

"Black stretchy shorts." Stretched to within an inch of their lives.

My mother came down the stairs with the overnight bag. "Are you sure you don't want to get married?" she asked Valerie. "I could call Father Gabriel. He could meet you at the hospital. People get married in the hospital all the time."

"Contraction!" Valerie said, huffing and puffing, holding Kloughn's hand in a death grip.

Kloughn went down to one knee. "Yow! You're breaking my hand!"

Valerie kept huffing.

"Okay," Kloughn said. "Okay, okay. It's not so bad now that the hand's gone numb. Besides, I got another one, right? And probably this one's not actually broken. It's just mashed. It'll be fine, right? Mashed isn't so bad. Mashed. Squished. Smushed. That's all okay. That's not like broken, right?"

The contraction passed and we propelled Valerie out the door, down the sidewalk to the driveway. While the rest of us were flub-a-dubbed, my father had slipped outside and started the car. Sometimes my father knocks me out. On the surface he's all meat and potatoes and television, but the truth is, he doesn't miss much.

We put Valerie in the front seat. Albert, my mom, and I got in the backseat. Grandma and the girls stayed behind, waving. The trip was only several blocks long. St. Francis was walking distance from my parents' house, if you wanted to take a good long walk. I called Morelli from the car and told him I wouldn't be home for dinner. Morelli said that was cool since there didn't seem to be any dinner anyway.

Even with our combined abilities, Morelli and I as a single entity didn't equal a bad housewife. Bob ate regularly because we scooped his food out of a big bag. After that it was all downhill to take-out.

Albert and I walked Valerie in through the emergency entrance and my mom and dad took off to park the car.

A nurse came forward. "Omigod!" she said. "Valerie Plum? I haven't seen you in years. It's Julie Singer. I'm Julie Wisneski now."

Valerie blinked at her. "You married Whiskey? I had a big crush on him when I was in high school."

This caught me by surprise. I was just a couple years behind Valerie, but I had no idea she'd had a crush on Whiskey. Whiskey was drop-dead cute but not a lot upstairs. If you talked cars with Whiskey you were on solid ground. Any topic other than cars, furgeddaboudit. Last I heard he was working in a garage in Ewing. Probably happy as a clam at high tide.

"Big contraction," Valerie said, her face turning red, her hands on her belly.

"So what do you think?" I asked Julie. "I don't know a lot about this stuff, but she looks like she's going to have a baby, right?"

"Yeah," Julie said. "Either that or forty-two puppies. What have you been feeding her?"

"Everything."

My mom and dad hustled in and went to Valerie.

"Julie Wisneski!" my mom said. "I didn't know you were working here."

"Two years now," Julie said. "I moved from Helene Field."

"How are the boys? And Whiskey?" my mom wanted to know.

Big smile from Julie. "Driving me nuts."

My dad was looking around. He didn't care about Whiskey and the boys. He was scoping out televisions and vending machines. Good to know where the essentials are in a new environment.

Julie wedged Valerie into a wheelchair and took her away. My parents went with Valerie. Kloughn and I were left to complete the admission ritual. From the corner of my eye I caught site of a black hulking mass, positioned against a wall. Steroidasaurus was still watching over me.

When we satisfied admissions that the bill would be paid, I sent Albert upstairs to be with Valerie and I went over to talk to Cal.

"It's not necessary for you to stay," I said. "I'm going to be here for a while. When I'm done at the hospital I'm going back to Morelli's house. I don't think I'm in any danger."

Cal didn't move. Didn't say anything.

I slipped out the emergency room door and called Ranger and filled him in. "So I thought it didn't make sense for Cal to stay here all night while I'm with Valerie."

"Hospitals don't screen for killers," Ranger said. "Keep Cal with you."

"He's scaring people."

"Yeah," Ranger said. "He's good at that."

I disconnected, returned to the emergency room lobby, and went upstairs to look for Valerie. Cal followed close at my heels.

We found Valerie on a gurney, in a hospital gown under a sheet, her stomach a huge swollen mound on top of her. My mother and father were at her head. Albert was holding her hand. Julie was attaching an ID bracelet onto Valerie's wrist.

"Omigod," Valerie said. "Unh!" And her water broke.

It was an explosion of water. A tidal wave. We're talking Hoover Dam quantity water. Water everywhere… but mostly on Cal. Cal had been standing at the bottom of the gurney. Cal was totally slimed from the top of his head to his knees. It dripped off the end of his nose and ran in rivulets down his bald head.

Valerie drew her legs up, the sheet fell away, and Cal gaped at the sight in front of him.

Julie stuck her head around for a look. "Uh-oh," Julie said, "there's a foot sticking out. Guess this is going to be a breech baby."

That was when Cal fainted. CRASH. Cal went over like he was a giant redwood cut down by Paul Bunyan. Windows rattled and the building shook.

Everyone clustered around Cal.

"Hey," Valerie yelled. "I'm having a baby here!"

Julie went back to Valerie.

"Is it a girl or a boy?" Valerie wanted to know.

"I don't know," Julie said, "but it's got big feet. And it's not a puppy."

A doctor appeared and took charge of Valerie, wheeling her down the hall. Kloughn and my mom followed after Val and the doctor. My father wandered into a room that had a ball game going. And I watched a couple nurses pop ammonia capsules under Cal's snout.

Cal opened his eyes but it didn't look like anyone was home.

"He hit his head pretty hard when he fell," one of the nurses said. "We should get him checked out."

Good thing it was his head, I thought. Not a big loss there if it's broken.

It took six people to get Cal onto a stretcher and then they rolled him away in the opposite direction they'd gone with Valerie.

One of the nurses asked if I knew him. I said his name was Cal. That was about it. That was what I knew. I wasn't allowed to use my cell phone in that part of the hospital, so I went outside to call Ranger.

"About Cal…" I said. "He's sort of out of commission."

"Used to be you destroyed my cars," Ranger said.

"Yeah, those were the good old days."

"How bad is it?"

"Valerie's water sort of broke on him and he fainted. Bounced his head on the floor a couple times when he went down. Lucky, he was in the hospital when it happened. He was looking a little dopey, so they took him somewhere for testing."

"St. Francis?"

"Yep."

Disconnect.

I WAS MAKING a shambles of the Merry Men. I suspected Tank was somewhere in the hospital, too. I'd stop in to say hello, but I only knew him as Tank. Probably Tank wasn't the name listed on the chart.

Morelli called while I was still outside. "So?"

"I'm at the hospital with Valerie," I told him. "It's been pretty uneventful except for the birth and the concussion."

"What, no fires or explosions? No shoot-outs?"

"Like I said, it's been quiet, but it's still early."

"I hate to ruin my tough-guy image, but to tell you the truth, I don't even like to kid about this stuff anymore."

I didn't know how to tell him… I wasn't kidding. "I should get back to Valerie," I said.

"Television sucks tonight. Maybe I'll come over to the hospital."

"That would be nice."

The sky was overcast and a fine mist was settling around me. Streetlights popped on in the gloom. A block away, headlights glowed golden on cars cruising Hamilton. I'd exited the emergency entrance on Bert Avenue to make the call. I'd walked toward the back of the building, going just far enough to avoid activity. I had my back pressed to the brick wall of the hospital while I talked, trying to stay dry, trying to keep my hair from frizzing. Used to be there were houses across the street, but several years ago the houses were torn down and a parking lot was created.

A kid walked out of emergency and turned toward me, moving with his head down against the light rain, hugging a small gym bag to his chest. From the brief look I'd caught of his face I'd put him somewhere in his late teens to early twenties. Not really a kid, I guess, but he dressed like a kid. Low-slung baggy homeboy pants, gym shoes, short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned over a black T-shirt, spikey green hair. Probably had multiple piercings and tattoos, but I couldn't see any from this distance.

I dropped my phone into my purse and headed back to emergency. The green-haired kid got a couple feet from me and staggered a little, bumping against me. He picked his head up, looked me in the eye, and raised a gun level with my nose.

"Turn and walk," he said, "I'm really good with this gun. I'll shoot you dead if you make a single false move."

Usually there were people hanging out around emergency, but the rain had driven everyone inside. The street was deserted. Not even car traffic. "Is this about money?" I asked him. "Just take my bag."

"Hah, you wish, sweetie pie. This is The Game and I'm the winner. Just me and the Web Master left. I get to go on to the next game after I do you."

I turned and gaped at him.

"What?" he asked. "You didn't know it was me? You didn't think the hunter had green hair?"

"Who are you?"

He jumped and slashed at the air. "I'm the Fisher Cat."

I'd never heard of a fisher cat. I was pretty sure we didn't have any in Trenton. "Is that a real animal or did you make it up?"

"It's a member of the weasel family. It moves along real quiet. You hardly know it's around. It's real sneaky. And it's ferocious."

"Have you ever seen one?"

"Well, no, not exactly. You know, like, in a book."

"If I was going to name myself after an animal I'd want to see it first."

"That's because you have no imagination. Gamers have imagination. We create stuff."

"What stuff?"

"The Game, stupid. And then we transcend the game. The game becomes the reality. Is that total whack, or what?"

"Yeah, total whack." It had been a long day with a lot of adrenaline expended. For that matter, it had been a long week that had brought a lot of terror and death. This kid was right about one thing. I hadn't expected the bearer of that terror and death to have green hair and a tongue stud. "So this is a game," I said. "With a Web Master?"

"Pretty cool, huh?"

"Did you pull wings off butterflies when you were a kid?"

"No. I was a total wimp kid. I was a wimp until I found the Web Master and got into The Game."

"Are there rules to The Game or do you just go around randomly killing people?"

"The Web Master runs The Game. He's the one who decides who can play. Not everyone gets to play, you know. There are always five players and a prize. This time you're the prize. I know you've been getting messages from the Web Master. That's part of his job. He's the one who keeps the rabbit running while the players are in the elimination stage. This is my second game. The first game was a couple years ago. I was last man standing on that one, too. I got to hunt a cop that time."

"What's with the flowers?"

"That's The Game designation. If you play the Web Master's game, you're a Red Roses and White Carnations player."

I couldn't believe I was standing on the sidewalk, talking to this kid who looked more like the Green Goblin than a Fisher Cat and was holding me at gunpoint… and not a car drove by. No one strolled through the emergency room doors, looking for a place to sneak a smoke. No emergency vehicles barreled down the street with lights flashing.

"You look kind of young to be killing people," I said. As if age mattered when you were insane.

"Yeah, so far as I know, I'm the youngest player. I was seventeen when I killed Lillian Paressi. I got so excited I did the deed on her after she was dead."

"That's sick and disgusting."

Fisher Cat giggled. "Maybe I'll do it on you, too, after I blow your head apart. I should have done it on Singh. The Web Master sent me to Vegas to get Singh. Really nice of you to find the little jerk for us. You don't just walk out on a Game. The Game is everything."

I thought I was sounding pretty comfortable. My voice wasn't wobbling. My breathing appeared normal. I was asking questions. Deep inside there was bone-jarring fear. This was a seriously sick person. He had a gun. And it was going to ruin his night if he didn't kill me.

"The Fisher Cat has a real good sense of smell," he said. "I can smell your fear."

"I don't think that's fear you smell," I said. "My sisters water broke on me."

"Don't joke about it," he yelled. "This is serious. This is the Game."

Oh boy. Good going, Stephanie. Now he's mad.

He waved the gun at me. "Walk toward the garage."

I hesitated and he shoved the gun in my face. "I swear to God, I'll kill you right here if you don't start walking," he said, still agitated.

So maybe it was fear he smelled. I was putting out a lot of it. I walked toward the garage, thinking the garage might be helpful. It looked empty, but visiting hours were still going on and I knew there had to be people around. I'd never paid attention before, but there had to be security cameras. Whether they were working or anyone was watching was a whole other thing.

We were still on the sidewalk, almost to the back of the garage. I assumed we were going in through the rear exit and once we were inside I would make my move. My plan was to jump behind a car and then run like the wind, screaming my lungs out. Not real sophisticated, but it was all I had.

"Stop here," he said. "This is my truck."

It was a dark blue pickup parked at the curb. The paint was faded and there was rust showing around the tail pipe. The bed was covered with an old white fiberglass cap. So much for escape plan A.

"Get in the back," Fisher Cat said. "We're going for a ride."

No way was I getting into the truck. The gun was scary. The truck was death. I rolled out and jerked away from him. He fired off a shot and I felt the bullet bite into my arm. I turned and ran and he ran after me, snagging the back of my shirt, throwing me off balance. I went down to one knee, pulling him down with me, and the gun dropped out of his hand.

And that's when I snapped. I was suddenly really pissed off. I whacked him with my purse, a good solid whump on the side of his head that jarred his mouth open and had his vision unfocused. I probably should have hit him with my bag again, but I wanted to get my hands on him. I wanted to gouge his stupid eyes out. This little creep killed people for a game. And one of them was a cop. My sister was in the hospital having a baby and this jerk-off was trying to kill me. How tacky is that?

I grabbed him by his ridiculous green hair and banged his head into the truck a couple times. He was flailing out with his arms, kicking at my legs. We both went down to the ground and rolled around, locked together like a couple squirrels, scratching and clawing and hissing. We weren't bitch slapping, trying to make a statement like Lula and Mrs. Apusenja. This was real life-or-death combat. Luckily, while we were rolling around, my knee connected with Fisher Cat's crotch and I shoved his gonads halfway up his throat.

Fisher Cat went dead still and, almost in slow motion, somebody's fist smashed Fisher Cat's nose. Looking back on it, I suppose it was my fist. At the time, the fist didn't seem to be connected to my brain. The nose gave with a sickening crunch and blood spurted out, killing my outrage.

"Oh crap!" I said. "I'm really sorry." I don't know why I said it because I wasn't all that sorry. It was one of those female reflex things.

His right hand blindly struck out at me, he made contact with my arm, and lights exploded behind my eyes.

WHEN I CAME around I was on my back on the sidewalk. The misting rain felt good on my face. It was dark, but there were lights everywhere. Red and blue and white. The lights were haloed in the rain, giving them a surreal quality. The fog cleared from my head. I blinked and Ranger and Morelli swam into my field of vision. There were a lot of other people behind them. A lot of noise. Cops. Yellow crime scene tape, slick with rain.

"What happened?" I asked.

"It looks like you took a few volts," Morelli said. His lips were tight and his eyes were hard.

It took a beat for me to remember… Fisher Cat's arm reaching out to me. "Stun gun," I said. "I didn't see it until it was too late."

Morelli and Ranger each got a hand under an armpit and hauled me up to my feet. The first thing I saw was Fisher Cat motionless on the grass beside his truck. A couple cops were in the process of setting lights to illuminate the body.

"Holy cow," I said. "He looks dead." I had a moment of panic that I'd killed him. Now that he'd zapped me, it was sort of satisfying to know I'd broken his nose, but I wasn't crazy about the idea that I might have beat him to death. I looked closer and saw the two bullet holes in his forehead. I let out a whoosh of relief. I was almost certain I didn't shoot him.

"Those aren't my bullet holes, are they?" I asked Morelli.

"No. We checked your gun. It hasn't been fired."

Ranger was grinning. "Somebody beat the shit out of this guy before he got shot."

"That would be me," I said.

"Babe," Ranger said, the grin widening.

My arm felt like it was on fire. The entire upper half was wrapped in gauze and a fine line of blood had begun to seep through the gauze. "I'm missing a chunk of time," I said. "What happened after I went lights out?"

"Ranger and I pulled in minutes apart and we got worried when we couldn't find you," Morelli said. "We knew you went outside to make some calls, so we went looking for you."

"And you found me laying here unconscious and the green-haired guy dead?"

"Yeah." Again, the tight lips and flat voice.

Morelli didn't like finding me unconscious. Morelli loved me. Ranger loved me, too, but Ranger was programmed differently.

"Your turn," Morelli said.

I told them everything I knew. I told them about the game. About Fisher Cat. About the webmaster. About the cop.

"We need to do this downtown," Morelli said. "We need to get this recorded."

It was raining harder. My hair was soaked. The bandage on my arm was soaked. I was streaked with mud and blood, my legs and arms were scratched from the scuffle. "How's Valerie?" I asked. "Is she okay? Did she have the baby?"

"I don't know," Morelli said. "We haven't checked on her."

The ME angled his truck into the curb just in front of the blue pickup. He got out and walked toward the body. He looked over and nodded to Morelli.

"I need to talk to him," Morelli said to me. "And you need to go inside and get your arm looked at. Its not serious. The bullet just grazed you, but it probably needs stitches." He looked over at Ranger. "If anyone in her family sees her like this, they'll freak."

"No sweat," Ranger said. "I'll get her cleaned up before I get her stitched up."

Ranger loaded me into his truck and drove me to Morelli's house. He opened the front door, switched a light on, and Bob came running. Bob stopped when he saw Ranger and eyed him suspiciously.

"I can see this dog's a killer," Ranger said.

"Ferocious," I told him.

"I'm assuming you have clothes here," Ranger said. "Do you need any help?"

"I can manage."

His eyes darkened. "I'm good in the shower."

My temperature went up a couple notches. "I know. If I need help, I'll yell for you." Our eyes held. We both knew I'd jump out the bathroom window if I heard Ranger on the stairs.

I took a boiling hot shower, scrubbing away the dirt and blood and horror, being careful not to soak my slashed arm any more than was necessary. I toweled off and gasped when I looked in the mirror and saw my hair. A huge chunk of hair was missing. The left side was four inches shorter than the right side! How the hell did that happen? It had to have been Fisher Cat. Okay, that does it. I was glad I broke his nose. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sorry he was dead, either.

I got dressed in clean jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers. I tucked my wet hair behind my ears, covered it with a ball cap I found in Morelli's closet, and went downstairs.

Ranger was slouched on the couch, watching a ball game. Bob was beside him, his big shaggy orange Bob head resting on Ranger's leg.

"Looks like male bonding going on here," I said.

Ranger stood and clicked the television off. "Dogs love me." He slid an arm around my shoulders and herded me to the front door. "I called the hospital. Valerie had a baby girl. They're both doing great."

Happiness and relief rushed from the center of my chest clear to my fingertips, and there was a terrifying moment when I was afraid I was going to cry in front of Ranger. I ordered myself to get a grip and I steadied my voice. "What about Cal and Tank?" I asked.

"They've both been discharged. Tank's got his leg in a cast. Cal has a concussion. Not serious enough to keep him in the hospital."

Ranger drove me to the hospital and walked me into the emergency room. He waited while my arm was cleaned and stitched. Then he called Morelli.

"She's done," Ranger said. "Do you want to take over?"

Morelli arrived a couple minutes later and Ranger disappeared into the night. Some day when I had more time and emotional energy I was going to have to think about the odd dynamic that existed between Morelli and Ranger and me. Morelli and Ranger were able to work as a team when necessary, all hostility seemingly put aside. And at the same time, in an entirely different area of the brain, rivalry existed.

Morelli and I found our way to maternity and located Valerie. My parents were gone, but Kloughn was still there, sitting on the edge of a chair at bedside.

"Sorry I missed the big event," I said to Valerie. "I had a mishap with my arm here."

"She was great," Kloughn said. "She was amazing. I don't know how she did it. I've never seen anything like it. I don't know how she got that baby out of there. It was magic." Kloughn's face was still flushed and his surgical gown was sweat stained. He looked dazed and a little disbelieving. "I'm a father," he said. "I'm a father." His eyes filled and his smile wobbled. He swiped at his eyes and his nose. "I think I'm still flub-a-dubbed," he said.

Valerie smiled at Kloughn. "My hero," she said.

"I was good, wasn't I? I helped you, right?"

"You were very good," Valerie told him.

The baby was in the room with Valerie. She was wrapped in a blanket and she had a little knit cap on her head. She seemed impossibly small and at the same time too large to have exited through a vagina. When I was in school I'd taken all the usual courses in human reproduction and I knew the process… the uterine dilation, the flexibility of the pelvic bones, the muscle contractions. So I knew some of the biology, but it still looked to me like this was a case of threading a walrus through the eye of a needle. There were days when I wasn't sure how Morelli fit. I didn't want to contemplate trying to pass a baby.

"We've named her Lisa," Valerie said.

"Was it hard to pick out a name?" I asked.

"No," Valerie said. "We both agreed on Lisa. It's the family name that's giving us problems."

Valerie looked tired, so I gave her a hug and a kiss. And then I gave Kloughn a hug and a kiss. And then we left. I'm not a huggy-kissy person, but this was a huggy-kissy occasion.

Morelli and I left the hospital and went straight to Pino's. We ordered takeout and ten minutes later we walked into Morelli's house carrying a six-pack of Corona and a bag full of meatball subs. Bob was real happy to see us. Bob can smell a sub a quarter mile away.

I dragged myself into the living room, flopped onto the couch, opened the sub bag, and handed them out. One for me. One for Morelli. And two for Bob. Morelli cracked open two beers. We each took a long pull and dug into the subs. Morelli channel surfed while he ate, finally settling on wrestling.

"I'm tired," Morelli said. "You scare the hell out of me and it makes me tired."

I was way beyond tired. I was numb. I had a lot of questions for Morelli, but I didn't want the answers tonight. I wasn't up to thinking. I could barely chew and swallow.

Tomorrow morning I had to go to the station and tell a recording machine everything I knew about Fisher Cat and the game. Tomorrow would be a big questions-and-answers day. Hopefully when I woke up my brain would be back in thinking mode.

Good thing wrestling was on. You don't need a brain to enjoy wrestling. Lance Storm was kicking the beejeezus out of some new guy who looked like King Kong's mutant brother. Storm was wearing little bright red panties that made him easy to find in my befuddled state. I opened a second beer and silently toasted Storm's panties.

CHAPTER 13

MORELLI NUDGED ME awake. "Rise and shine," he said. "I need to get to work and you need to come with me."

"There's something poking me in my back."

He slid his arms around me. "Actually we have a couple minutes to spare."

"How many minutes?"

"Enough to get the job done."

"Are we talking about your job or mine?"

His hand skimmed the length of my belly and settled between my legs. "We're wasting valuable time."

Okay, here's the real difference between men and women. I wake up thinking about coffee and doughnuts and Morelli wakes up thinking about sex. Morelli kissed the back of my neck, did some really clever things with his fingers down there, and the thoughts of coffee drifted away. Truth is, the magic fingers had my full attention and the coffee thoughts were replaced by a fear that the fingers might stop.

The fear was groundless, of course. Morelli had learned a lot since our first time behind the eclair case in the Tasty Pastry bakery.

"So," Morelli said when we were done, "do you want to be first in the shower?"

I was face down on the bed, my heart rate was around twelve beats per minute, and I was in a state of euphoric slobbering contentment. In fact, I think I might have been purring. "You go first," I said. "Take your time."

Morelli went downstairs and got the coffee going before taking his turn in the bathroom. After a couple minutes the coffee fumes penetrated my after-sex glow. I rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and followed the fumes to the kitchen. I poured out a mug of coffee and padded to the front door to get the morning paper.

I opened the door and found a red rose and a white carnation wrapped in cellophane, sitting on the paper. So much for euphoria. I brought everything inside and locked the door behind me. I left the flowers on the sideboard and opened the small square white envelope that had accompanied the flowers. The envelope held a note written on card stock.

Are you pleased that I saved you for myself? Do you get hot when you think about me and all I've done for you? I could have killed you last night just as I could have killed you when I took you down with the dart, but that would have been too easy. Your death must be worthy of a hunter. It was signed, Lovingly yours.

And tucked into the envelope was a lock of my hair, tied together with a slim pink satin ribbon.

I got goose bumps on my arm and a chill ripped through my stomach. The shock was short-lived and I went back into bravado mode. Okay, I told myself, so that solves the mystery of the missing hair.

I was sitting in the living room with my coffee and the note when Morelli came down the stairs. He was freshly shaved and his hair was still damp. He was dressed in jeans and boots and a black T-shirt, and if I hadn't just had the mother of all orgasms I would have attacked him and lured him back to bed.

"I saw the flowers on the sideboard," Morelli said.

I handed him the card. "They were left on the porch this morning. They were on top of the paper, so the webmaster stopped around when it was daylight. Maybe someone saw him."

"He's taking chances," Morelli said. "He's glorying in his success and that's going to make him careless."

"Something to look forward to."

"I'll have the neighborhood canvassed." Morelli read the note. "Sick," he said.

I took a shower and did the best I could with my hair, pushing it behind my ears, lacquering it up with hair spray. I'd get a cut as soon as possible, but I hadn't a clue what could possibly be done with it. I looked close in the mirror. Extensions, maybe? Hairweave?

Morelli was on the phone when I came downstairs. He glanced at his watch and ended his conversation when he saw me. Morelli was ready to roll. The day had started without him. That's what happens when you're a sex fiend.

"I was talking to Ed Silver," Morelli said. "We just got the report back from the state techs. They were able to recover some email from Singh's computer. And the email corroborates what you learned last night. There were five players and the webmaster. We know Fisher Cat was last man standing, so we're missing a dead player."

"Do you know any more about how the game is played?"

"One of the emails spelled out the rules. The webmaster conducts the game. Players only use their game names and can communicate with each other only through the webmaster. So the webmaster always knows all. The webmaster gives out clues about the players' identities and the hunt begins. All players know from the beginning that there will only be one man standing at the end of the game. All players know there's no pulling out once the game has begun. Pulling out marks a player for assassination."

"Singh."

"Yeah. It looks like Singh was assassinated. The game began a full month before you got involved. You might have been the prize from the very beginning. Or the webmaster might have changed the prize midway. Or maybe the webmaster didn't feel any rush to designate a prize until the game was under way."

"And I happened along."

Morelli shrugged. "No way to know. You're a good prize. Bounty hunter. The webmaster had to come up with something to top the cop. The prize isn't mentioned in any of the emails to Singh. The rules were that the webmaster only gave up the prize to the last man standing."

"And the webmaster?"

"That's the bad news. No clue to the webmaster. His emails are, so far, untraceable. And he hasn't given away anything of himself. There were some messages to Singh about his disappearance, requesting that he return to finish the game, warning of the consequences. And there were a couple earlier messages that got the game going. Player names and hunt clues."

"Is Bart Cone still a suspect?"

"Everyone's a suspect. Cone is high up on the list."

"What about the other victims' computers?"

"We were never able to find Rosens or Howie's computer."

"Fisher Cat's?"

"Fisher Cat's name is Steven Klein. Nineteen years old. Worked at Larry's video rental and lived with his parents. The state has a team going through the parents' house, but so far as I know the computer hasn't turned up yet."

I glanced at the newspaper I'd dropped onto the coffee table. Kleins picture was on the front page. To be more precise, Kleins sneakers were on the front page because the rest of him was hidden behind a couple cops and a back shot of me, standing hands on hips, head down. My hair didn't look good.

"Crap," I said.

Morelli looked down at the photo. He raised his eyes and looked over at me. "Did you get a new haircut?"

"Yeah. Somewhere between getting shot and posing for this newspaper picture. I guess you didn't look in the envelope."

Morelli took the envelope off the coffee table and looked inside. Morelli's usually pretty good at hiding emotion, but the lock of hair pushed a button that was beyond his range of control. Color rose in his cheeks and he slashed out at a table lamp, hitting it with his closed fist, sending it flying across the room to smash against the wall.

Bob was curled into a big Bob ball at the end of the couch, sound asleep. He levitated six inches off the couch when the lamp crashed and he ran for the kitchen.

"Feel better?" I asked Morelli.

"No."

"Do you have anything else for me?"

"Klein, Rosen, Singh, Paressi were all shot at fairly close range. Howie was shot across a parking lot. Even using a laser scope, there's still a skill level required to put a twenty-two between someone's eyes at a distance. Someone in the carnations and roses group is a very good shot. I'm guessing it's the webmaster. A possible scenario is that you discovered Howie's identity and the webmaster had to take him out or risk having the game blown. And then maybe the webmaster discovered he liked killing and decided to insert himself into the game as a player."

"Was Bart Cone in the military? Does he belong to a gun club?"

"Never in the military. No gun club that we know of." Morelli did another watch check. "We have to roll."

I did a fast scan for Ranger's man when I got outside, but I couldn't spot any shiny new black cars.

Morelli beeped his truck unlocked. "If you're looking for your rent-a-thug, I told Ranger you'd be with me this morning."

"Did he make you take a blood oath that you'd protect me?"

"He asked me if I had adequate health insurance."

THE RAIN HAD stopped and Jersey was steaming. Grass was growing and oil-slicked puddles were evaporating. Another hour and the sun would be bright in the sky, shimmering in the ozone haze.

It was a terrific day for sandals, but I was wearing sneakers because it's hard to run fast in sandals. And I thought there was a good possibility that I might have to run fast today. I wasn't sure if I would be running from the webmaster or running after the webmaster. No matter which, I was prepared.

Ranger wore the eye of the tiger. He was always in the zone. I felt like I was in the zone today. Of course, there was the possibility that I was just delusional after the phenomenal sex, but what the hell, whatever the reason, I felt okay. And I was hardly thinking about the lock of hair. Well, all right, maybe I was thinking about it a little.

The Trenton cop shop is located on Perry Street and will never be mistaken for Beverly Hills PD. No potted palms or stylish mauve carpet. Mauve carpet doesn't hold up under pepper spray-induced snot.

Morelli brought me into a small room with a table and two chairs. He plugged in a tape recorder and punched the on button. I looked around and was ready to confess to anything. Just being in the grim little room, under the flickering fluorescent lights, made me feel guilty.

I walked my way through the conversation with Steven Klein, giving as much detail as I could recall. When we got to the part where I was zapped unconscious, Morelli shut the machine off and called Ranger. "She's all yours," Morelli said to Ranger. Morelli disconnected and looked over at me. "That was a figure of speech."

RANGER WAS DRIVING a black Porsche Carrera. He was wearing black cargo pants, a black T-shirt that looked like it was painted onto his biceps, black Bates boots, and a Glock in full view on his hip. Ranger was in bodyguard mode.

"Couldn't coerce any of your men into baby-sitting me?" I asked him.

He cut his eyes to me and he didn't exactly smile, but he didn't look unhappy, either. "You're all mine today, babe."

It sounded different when Ranger said it.

"I don't know what your plans are for the day," I said to Ranger, "but my plan is to go to the mall and beg for hair help. I'm finding it hard to maintain the eye of the tiger when my hair is lopsided."

On the way to the mall, I filled Ranger in on the game. "It has to be Bart Cone," I said. "Someone sent Steven Klein to Vegas to eliminate Singh. And there were only a couple people who knew Singh was in Vegas. Cone was one of them."

"It could also be someone Cone's talking to," Ranger said. "There are three brothers and they all have friends and associates. I'm sure the police have cast a wide net around them, but it wouldn't hurt for you to talk to the Cones. Sometimes a man will share information with a woman that he wouldn't think to give to a cop."

Ranger parked at a mall entrance and we walked through the mall to the salon. We passed a Victoria's Secret along the way and I couldn't resist giving Ranger the test.

"Suppose I wanted to look for a thong," I said to Ranger. "Would you come into the store with me?"

Ranger did the almost smile. "Are we cutting a deal?"

"Everything's a deal with you."

"I'm a mercenary," Ranger said. "What's your point?"

For a couple years now I've been getting my hair cut by Mr. Alexander. The guy's name is Alexander Dubkowski, but no one calls him Al or Alex or even Alexander. It's Mr. Alexander if you want a decent cut.

We walked into the salon and Mr. Alexander looked our way and sucked in some air. Not only did I have a hair disaster of biblical proportions, I was with the Man from SWAT. And the Man from SWAT made people nervous.

"I had a hair accident," I said to Mr. Alexander. "Do you have time to fix it?"

Mr. Alexander went pale under his tanning salon tan. Probably afraid Ranger would shoot up the place if I didn't get an immediate appointment. "I have a few minutes between clients," he said, motioning me into a chair, draping a cape around me. He did some hair fluffing with his fingers, he bit his lower lip. "I'm going to have to cut," he said.

Panic. "It's not going to be real short, is it? How about a weave, or something."

"I'm good, but I'm not God," he said. "It's going to have to get cut."

I blew out a sigh of resignation. "Fine. Cut."

"Close your eyes," he said. "I'll tell you when it's done."

I opened an eye halfway through and he quickly turned the chair so I wasn't facing the mirror. "No cheating," he said. When he was done, he spun me around and we both stopped breathing.

It was short. Longer in the back, curling along the nape of my neck. Short enough on the sides to have my ear show. A few wispy bangs over my forehead. And the whole thing looking slightly mussed and wind tossed.

Ranger came and stood behind me, checking me out. "Cute," he said.

"Last time my hair was this short I was four years old."

When we were back in the car I turned to Ranger. "Is it really cute or were you just trying to keep me from shrieking?"

He ran a hand through my hair. "It's sexy," he said. And he kissed me. Tongue and everything.

"Hey" I said. "We're not supposed to be doing that." A smile hovered at the edges of his mouth. "Morelli told me you were all mine today."

"That was a figure of speech. He trusts us."

Ranger turned the key in the ignition. "He trusts you. I haven't signed on to the trust me program."

"How about me? Can I trust you?"

"Are we talking about your life or your body?"

I already knew the answer so I moved on. "Where are we going?"

"TriBro."

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Ranger was in the industrial park where TriBro was located. He pulled into a parking lot for a moving and storage company and cut the engine.

I looked over. "What's up?"

He reached behind me and snagged a black molded-plastic box with a snap closure. "I'm going to wire you. I want to make sure you're safe in there."

"You're not going in?"

"No one will talk to you if I'm along."

I raised an eyebrow.

Ranger did the almost grin thing again. "Sometimes people find me to be a little scary."

"No! Shocking. You ever think about losing the gun? Or dressing normal?"

He opened the box and removed a matchbook-size recorder. "I have an image to maintain."

I was wearing a black tank top and jeans. The jeans were hot, but they covered the bruises and scratches on my legs. Not much I could do to hide the bandage on my arm. My heart did a once over, knowing where the wire was going to get taped. "I don't think I need a wire," I said.

Ranger pulled my shirt out of my jeans and slid his hands under the shirt. "You're not going to ruin this for me, are you? I've been looking forward to this." He secured the recorder against my breastbone, just below my bra, with two crisscrossed pieces of surgical tape. The wire with the pin-head microphone ran between my breasts. "Ready to rock 'n' roll," Ranger said. He spun the Porsche out of the moving and storage lot and into the TriBro lot.

Let's take stock here. I've got my go fast, feet sneakers on and I'm wired for sound. I've got pepper spray and a stun gun in my purse. And I'm cloaked in an invisible invincible protective shield. Okay, so I lied about the shield. Still, four out of five isn't too bad, right?

I crossed the lot and entered the building. I gave a big smile and hello to the receptionist and got waved through to Andrew.

Andrew gave me the hero's welcome. "Way to go! You found him. The office called about an hour ago."

"Yeah, but he was dead."

"Dead or alive makes no difference to me. All right, I know that's heartless, but I didn't really know him. And you saved me a lot of money. I would have been out the bond if it wasn't for you."

"Unfortunately, your problems aren't over. Singh was involved in a killing game. All game members are dead now with the exception of the game organizer. And I'm pretty sure the game organizer works at TriBro."

Andrew went perfectly still and the color drained from his face. "You're kidding, right?"

I shook my head. "I'm serious."

"The police have been around talking to us, but no one ever said anything about a killing game."

I shrugged.

Andrew got up and shut his office door. "Are you sure about this? This isn't another witch hunt like the one Bart went through? That was a nightmare and nothing ever came of it."

"Lillian Paressi was a player in a previous killing game."

"What?" Color was returning to his face, the shock morphing to disbelief and anger. "That's ridiculous. That's the most insane thing I've ever heard. Why wasn't any of this brought out by the police?"

"They didn't know at the time."

"But they know now?"

"Yes."

"Then why aren't they here?" he asked.

I did a palms-up. "Guess I got here first."

"When you say you suspect the organizer of this game works at TriBro, does that include me and my brothers in your list of suspects?"

Up to this point I hadn't considered the possibility that Andrew or Clyde might be involved, but what the hell, cast a wide net, right? I took a shallow breath and jumped in with both feet. "Yeah."

Even as I was saying this I was thinking to myself that I had a lot of nerve making such an accusation. There was a really good chance that the webmaster was Bart Cone. There was also a chance that the webmaster was someone entirely out of the loop. And there was pretty much no chance that the webmaster was Andrew or Clyde. "So," I said, doing some mental knuckle cracking. "It isn't you, is it?"

He was back in his chair and he was stunned. His mouth was open, his eyes were wide and blank, and a red scald rose up his neck into his cheeks. "Are you crazy?" he shouted. "Do I look like a killer?"

I had a vision of Ranger listening to this in the Porsche, laughing his ass off. "Just asking," I said. "No reason to get huffy."

"Get out. Get out now!"

I jumped out of my chair. "Okay, but you have my card and you'll give me a call if you want to talk, right?"

"I have your card. Here it is." He held the card up and tore it into tiny pieces. "That's what I think of your card."

I left Andrew and I scurried down the hall to Bart. The door to his office was open so I peeked inside. Bart was at his desk, eating lunch.

"Can we talk?"

"Is it important?"

"Life and death."

He had a sandwich, a bag of chips, and a can of Coke in front of him. He took a chip and watched me while he ate.

"And?" he asked.

I gave him the same suave spiel. "I know about Lillian Paressi," I said. "I know she was part of a killing game."

"Do you have proof of this?"

"Yes." Sort of. "I also know about the current game. And I think the game organizer works in this building."

Bart didn't say anything. His face showed no emotion. He selected another chip and chewed thoughtfully. "That's a serious accusation."

"It's you, isn't it? You're the webmaster."

"Sorry to disappoint. I have no knowledge of any of this. I'm not a webmaster. And I'm not involved in a killing game. You're going to have to leave now. And you can talk to my lawyer if you want to continue this conversation."

"All righty then. You have my card?"

"I do."

I backed out of Bart's office, turned, and was almost knocked off my feet by Clyde.

"Oh jeez," he said, grabbing for me. "I heard you were here and I came looking for you. I guess I wasn't watching where I was going. Shit." He clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry. I meant to say shoot!"

I took a step back. "No problem. I'm fine."

"Have you had lunch? Would you want to go to lunch with me? I'd buy. It'd be my treat."

"Gee, thanks, but my partner's waiting for me."

"Maybe some other time," Clyde said, not looking the least discouraged.

"Yeah. Some other time."

I hustled out of the building, forcing myself to walk not run across the lot to the Porsche.

"Very smooth," Ranger said, smiling.

I ripped the wire off and threw it on the dash. "I'm never wearing one of these again. You make me nervous!"

"I wanted to make sure you didn't get abducted into the broom closet and snuffed with a toilet brush," Ranger said. "One of these days we should talk about interrogation methods."

"It sort of went in the wrong direction. I don't know how that happened." I slumped in my seat. "I need lunch. A bag of doughnuts would be good."

"Would you settle for pizza?"

"No! Last time you took me for pizza in this neighborhood there were bloodstains on the table."

Ranger rolled the engine over and cruised out of the lot. "You didn't talk to Clyde."

"I talked more than I wanted. I'm afraid I'm going to open the door for the paper some morning and find Clyde sleeping on the doormat."

We compromised and went to Pino's for pizza. We were on our way out when my cell phone rang.

"I have a problem here," Connie said. "The police notified the Apusenjas about Singh's death over the weekend and now I have them sitting in the office. They want to talk to you."

"Why me? You were in Vegas. Why can't they talk to you?"

"Mrs. Apusenja doesn't want to talk to me."

"Tell them I'm out of town. No, better yet, tell them I'm dead. Very tragic. Car crash. No wait, that would be in the paper. Flesh-eating virus! That's always a good one."

"How long will it take you to get here?"

"Couple minutes. We're at Pino's."

Five minutes later, Ranger parked in front of the office. "You're on your own with this one, babe."

"Coward."

"Calling me names isn't going to get me in there."

I looked through the large plate-glass window. Mrs. Apusenja and Nonnie were sitting on the couch, bodies rigid. "What would get you in there?"

Ranger leaned an elbow on the steering wheel and turned in my direction. And there it was… the eye of the tiger, focused on me.

I blew out a sigh and shoved my door open. "Wait here."

Both women stood when I walked into the office.

"I'm very sorry," I said.

"I want to know everything," Mrs. Apusenja said. "I demand to know."

Connie rolled her eyes and I heard the lock click on Vinnie's inner sanctum.

I decided it was best to give everyone the abbreviated version. "We had a tip that Samuel was in Vegas," I said. "So Lula and Connie and I flew out."

"A tip. Who would tell you about Samuel?" Mrs. Apusenja wanted to know.

"He applied for a job and his previous employer was checked as a reference."

"This makes no sense," Mrs. Apusenja said.

"Samuel was living with a woman he met on a business trip," I said. "I spoke to the woman, but not to Samuel."

Nonnie and Mrs. Apusenja went perfectly still.

"What do you mean, living with a woman?" Nonnie asked.

"He listed her house as his residence. And he was living there. I can't be more specific than that."

"I never liked him," Mrs. Apusenja said, narrowing her eyes. "I always knew he was a little pisser."

Nonnie turned on her mother. "You were the one who thought he was wonderful. You were the one who arranged the engagement. I told you these things were not done in this country. I told you young women were allowed to choose their husbands here."

"At your age you can no longer be choosy," Mrs. Apusenja said. "You were lucky to have an arranged engagement."

Nonnie slid me a look under lowered lashes. "Lucky to have him disappear and die," she murmured.

Yikes. "Okay, then, moving along," I said. "We learned from the police that Samuel had been shot and killed at the airport, so we went back and got Boo." Okay, so I rearranged it a little. It made for easier telling.

"Boo!" Nonnie shouted. "Where is he?"

"We didn't want to put him on a plane, so he's driving back with Lula. I think they might be here tomorrow or maybe Thursday."

"Samuel Singh should rot in hell," Mrs. Apusenja said. "He is a dognapper and a philanderer. After all we did for him. Can you imagine such a terrible person?"

I turned and looked through the window at Ranger. He was in the car, watching with a bemused expression. Ranger found me amusing. He enjoyed watching The Stephanie Plum Show. I didn't usually mind. I'd decided his interest was a mixture of raw lust, curious disbelief, and affection. All good things. And all things that were mutual. Still, every now and then I felt his enjoyment required some payback. And this was one of those times. If I had to deal with Mrs. Apusenja, so did he. Okay, so I was escalating the game, and Ranger would probably take this as a challenge issued, but I deserved to have some fun, too right?

"Do you see that man in the black Porsche?" I asked the women.

They squinted out at Ranger.

"Yes," they said. "Your partner."

"He's homeless. He's looking for a place to stay and he might be interested in renting Singh's room."

Mrs. Apusenja's eyes widened. "We could use the income." She looked at Nonnie and then back at Ranger. "Is he married?"

"Nope. He's single. He's a real catch."

Connie did something between a gasp and a snort and buried her head back behind the computer.

"Thank you for everything," Mrs. Apusenja said. "I suppose you are not such a bad slut. I will go talk to your partner."

"Omigod," Connie said, when the door closed behind the Apusenjas. "Ranger's going to kill you."

The Apusenjas stood beside the Porsche, talking to Ranger for a few long minutes, giving him the big sales pitch. The pitch wound down, Ranger responded, and Mrs. Apusenja looked disappointed. The two women crossed the road and got into the burgundy Escort and quickly drove away.

Ranger turned his head in my direction and our eyes met. His expression was still bemused, but this time it was the sort of bemused expression a kid has when he's pulling the wings off a fly.

"Uh-oh," Connie said.

I whipped around and faced Connie. "Quick, give me an FTA. You're backed up, right? For God's sake, give me something fast. I need a reason to stand here until he calms down!"

Connie shoved a pile of folders at me. "Pick one. Any one! Oh shit, he's getting out of his car."

Connie looked like she was going to bolt for the bathroom. "You lift your ass out of that chair and I'll shoot you," I said.

"That's a bluff," Connie said. "Your gun's home in Morelli's cookie jar."

"Morelli doesn't have a cookie jar. And okay, maybe I won't shoot you, but I'll tell everyone you shave your mustache."

Connie's fingers flew to her upper lip. "Sometimes I wax," she said. "Hey, give me a break. I'm Italian. What am I supposed to do?"

I heard the front door open and my heart started tap dancing. It wasn't exactly that I was afraid of Ranger. Okay, maybe at some level I was afraid of Ranger, but the fear wasn't that he'd hurt me. The fear was that he'd get even. I knew from past experience that Ranger was better at getting even than I was.

I grabbed a bond agreement and tried to force myself to read it. I wasn't making much sense of the words and it was only dumb luck that I wasn't holding the bond agreement upside down when I felt Ranger's hand on my neck. His touch was light and his hand was warm. I'd been expecting it. I'd steeled myself not to react. But I yelped and gave a startled jump anyway.

He leaned into me and his lips brushed the shell of my ear. "Feeling playful?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Watch your back, babe. I will get even."

CHAPTER 14

RANGER REACHED AROUND me and took the bond agreement I'd been holding. "Roger Pitch," Ranger read aloud. "Charged with assault with a deadly weapon and attempted robbery. Tried to hold up a convenience store. Attempted to shoot the clerk. Fortunately for the clerk, Pitch's gun misfired and Pitch took out his own thumb."

I could feel Ranger laughing behind me as he turned to the second page. Connie and I were smiling, too. We all knew Roger Pitch. He deserved to have one less thumb.

"Vinnie wrote a five-figure bond that wasn't totally secured because there seemed to be a low risk of flight," Ranger said.

"Pitch was a local guy with only one thumb. What could go wrong?" Vinnie yelled from his inner office, his words muffled behind his closed door.

"Goddamnit," Connie said, opening drawers, looking under her desk. "He's got me wired again. I hate when he does that." She found the bug and dumped it into a cup of coffee.

"Pitch didn't flee," Connie said. "He's just refusing to show up for court. He's at home, watching television, beating on his wife when things get boring."

"He's only a couple blocks from here," Ranger said. "We can pick him up and I'll call someone in to shuttle him over to the station."

Roger Pitch was mean as a snake and twice as stupid. Not someone I wanted to tangle with. "Yeah, but Connie has other files. Maybe there's something more fun."

"Pitch is a fun guy," Ranger said.

"He's a shooter."

"Not anymore," Connie said. "He blew this thumb clear to Connecticut. His hand's going to be bandaged."

CONNIE WAS RIGHT about Pitch's hand being bandaged. The incident happened three weeks ago, but the hand was still wrapped in big wads of gauze.

Pitch answered the door when Ranger and I knocked and he calmly accepted that we were bond enforcement. "I guess I forgot my date," he said. "It's all these pain pills they got me on. Can't remember a damn thing. Lucky I don't put my pants on my head in the morning."

Ranger and I were both dressed for the visit in full Super Hero Utility Belts. Sidearms strapped to our legs, handcuffs tucked into the belt, pepper spray and stun gun at the ready. Plus Ranger had a two-pound Maglite, just in case we needed to see in the dark. The lite could also crack a head open like a walnut, but walnut cracking was a little illegal, so Ranger saved it for special occasions.

"Let me just shut the television off," Pitch said. And then he whirled around, slammed the door shut, and threw the lock.

"Fuck," Ranger said.

Ranger didn't often curse and he rarely raised his voice. The fuck had been entirely conversational. Like he was now mildly inconvenienced. He put his Bates boot to the door and the door popped open to reveal Pitch at the end of the hall with a gun in his left hand.

"You're just a couple amateur pussies," Pitch yelled.

Ranger gave me a hard shove to the shoulder that knocked me off the small front stoop into a scraggly hydrangea bush. Then he stepped to the side of the door and drew his gun.

Pitch squeezed one off, but he was shooting with his left hand and clearly he wasn't ambidextrous because the round hit the hall ceiling. The second round bit into the wall.

"Goddamn," Pitch shrieked. "Piece of shit gun!"

Pitch had destroyed his thumb with a semiautomatic. And I guess one misfire was enough for him because he was now holding a revolver. The revolver held six rounds and Pitch fired them all off at us.

Ranger and I were counting shots. I was counting while I was trying to disengage from the hydrangea. There was silence after the sixth shot. Ranger stepped into the doorway, gun drawn, and told Pitch to drop his weapon. I climbed onto the porch and saw that Pitch was trying to get another round into the chamber. Problem was, he couldn't do it with the bandaged hand, so he had the gun rammed between his legs and he was fumbling with his left hand.

Ranger gave his head a small disbelieving shake. Like Pitch was so pathetic he was an embarrassment to felons the world over.

Pitch gave up on the gun, threw it at Ranger, and ran into the kitchen.

Ranger turned to me and smiled. "And you said he wasn't going to be fun."

"Maybe you should shoot him or something," I said.

Ranger ambled into the kitchen where Pitch was rummaging in a junk drawer, presumably looking for a weapon. Pitch came up with a screwdriver and lunged at Ranger. Ranger grabbed Pitch by the front of his shirt and threw him about twelve feet across the room. Pitch hit the wall and slid to the floor like a glob of slime.

Ranger cuffed Pitch to the refrigerator and called Tank. "Send someone over," Ranger said. "I have a delivery."

We stayed to watch Pitch get taken away by yet another of the Merry Men, we secured the house, and we walked out to the car.

"You could have told me to move instead of dumping me in the bushes," I said to Ranger.

"It was one of those instinct things. Keeping you out of harm's way."

"Yeah, right. Maybe more like getting even with me for sending the Apusenjas out to talk to you."

Ranger opened the passenger side door for me. "When I get even it's going to be something much more rewarding than dumping you in the bushes."

I buckled myself in and looked at my watch. "My sister came home today with the baby. I should stop around and see how she's doing."

"Tank's going to be glad he broke his leg when he finds out how I spent my afternoon."

"You don't like babies?"

"I come from a big family. I'm used to babies."

"Well then?"

"My grandmother is a little Cuban woman who cooks all day and speaks Spanish. Your grandmother watches pay-per-view porn."

"She used to watch the Weather Channel, but she said there wasn't enough action."

"Maybe you should check the dose on her hormone replacement. Last time I saw her she was trying to imagine me naked."

I burst out laughing. "That's what happens when you're a hottie. Women imagine you naked. Lula imagines you naked. Connie imagines you naked. Two-hundred-year-old Mrs. Bestler imagines you naked."

"How about you?"

"I don't have to imagine. I've seen you naked. Your naked body's burned into my brain."

Ranger turned onto my parents' street. "I'm going to wait in the car. And if you send your grandma out to harass me, I swear…"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know what I swear. I can't think of anything awful enough to do to you that wouldn't leave you maimed or psychologically scarred."

"Nice to know there are boundaries."

Ranger parked in front of my parents' house and got out of the car.

"I thought you weren't coming in," I said.

"I'm not. I'm going to stay out here. I can't see the entire street if I sit in the car."

Grandma Mazur opened the front door for me. "Is that Ranger with you? Isn't he coming in?"

"He thinks he's coming down with a cold. Doesn't want to infect everyone."

"Isn't that thoughtful! He's such a nice young man. Lots of times men aren't nice like that when they're hot-looking. Maybe I'll bring him something from the kitchen."

"No! He just ate. He's not hungry. And you can't take a chance on getting infected. What if you got sick and gave the cold to the baby?"

"Oh yeah. Well, you tell him I was asking about him."

"You bet."

Valerie was on the couch, nursing the baby. The girls were watching Valerie. My father was in his chair, concentrating on CNN.

My mother came in from the kitchen, took a look at me, and made the sign of the cross. "Your arm is bandaged, you have grass stains on your pants, and pieces of some sort of bush are stuck in your hair. And Ranger is outside, wearing a gun." She looked more closely. "Is that a wig?"

"It's my real hair. I got it cut."

With the exception of the baby, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me.

"Sometimes it's fun to change things," I said. "Right? What do you think?"

"It's… cute," Valerie said.

"I wouldn't mind wearing my hair like that," Grandma said. "I bet it'd look real good if it was pink."

The phone rang.

"It's Lois Kelner across the street," Grandma Mazur said. "She wants to know if we're being invaded. She said it looks to her like there's one of them terrorists in our driveway."

"It's just Ranger," I said.

"I know that," Grandma said, "but Lois is calling the army."

My mother did another sign of the cross.

"Maybe you should get Ranger out of the driveway," Valerie said. "Paratroopers landing on the roof would upset the baby."

Grandma's eyes lit. "Paratroopers! Wouldn't that be something."

"I'll try to get back later," I told everyone. I stopped in front of the hall mirror to pick the branches out of my hair and to take a close look at the cut. I'd never before thought of myself as cute. Sometimes I felt sexy. And sometimes I felt downright fat and stupid. Cute was a new one.

I opened the front door and waved at Ranger. "Visit's over."

"That was fast."

"The woman who lives across the street thinks you're a terrorist. She said she was calling the army."

"You have plenty of time then," Ranger said. "It'll take the army a while to mobilize."

Ranger drove me back to Morelli's house. We clipped Bob to his leash, I stuffed a couple plastic sandwich bags into my jeans pocket, and we ambled down the street after Bob. Me and the terrorist out for a stroll with the dog.

"I feel like I should be doing something to find the carnation killer," I said.

"You have state and local police working on it now. They have a lot of resources and they have some good stuff to trace back. The photos, the emails, the flowers. And now they have interrelated murders. They can reexamine them and look for commonality. And they'll go back through case histories to see if they can find other victims of the game. Your job right now is to stay alive."

I glanced over at Ranger. He'd gone through three of the victims' apartments. Plus Bart's townhouse. "Have you been through Klein's house?"

"I went through last night while the police were there."

"The police allowed you access?"

"I have friends."

"Morelli?"

"Juniak."

Joe Juniak used to be police chief. He was elected mayor of Trenton and now was running for governor.

"Klein lived with his parents," Ranger said. "His room was a typical kid's room. Messy, posters of rock bands, small arsenal under his bed, and a personal stash of pot in his underwear drawer."

"You think that's a typical kid's room?"

"It was in my neighborhood."

"What about a computer?"

"Klein had a laptop. His parents said he took it everywhere with him. It wasn't in his room and it wasn't in his truck.

Probably the webmaster took the computer after he shot Klein. Paressi's computer was missing. Rosen's computer was missing. By the time the police got to Howie's apartment, his computer was missing."

"Klein slipped up somehow when he took out Singh. He didn't get Singh's computer," I said.

"He was probably waiting for Lu to leave, but you and Connie and Lula were in place by then."

Bob stopped, hunched in front of old Mr. Galucci's house, and conversation was momentarily suspended while we watched Bob poop. How embarrassing is this? Poop is not something I feel comfortable sharing with Ranger. Actually, I'm not comfortable sharing poop with anyone. I'm not even comfortable with it when I'm alone.

When Bob was done I scooped the poop up in a sandwich bag. And now the horror continued because I had a bag of poop and no place to put it.

"Babe," Ranger said.

Hard to tell if he was horrified or impressed by my poop scooping. "I don't suppose you have a dog in the Bat Cave?" I asked him.

"The Bat Cave is dog free."

Bob pulled at the leash and we continued walking.

"Everyone involved had a laptop," I said. "Did they have anything else in common?"

"Singh, Howie, Rosen, and Klein were all computer geeks and loners. Paressi doesn't entirely fit the profile, but she became a computer junkie when she broke up with Scrugs. Probably there's a connection between her and Rosen. Maybe Paressi talked to Rosen about the game and Rosen came on board after Paressi was killed. They were all between the ages of nineteen and twenty-seven. Rosen was the oldest. None were especially successful."

"Bart Cone doesn't fit the profile, does he?"

Ranger was looking ahead at houses and cars. "Not entirely, but he fits better than Andrew." Ranger turned at the sound of a car a block behind us, traveling in our direction. He had his hand resting on his gun and his eyes stayed steady on the car. The car passed without incident and Ranger dropped his hand off the gun.

"Andrew lives in a nice midrange house with his wife. It's a stable relationship. They like to cook. They vacation at the Jersey shore. They have two kids.

"Clyde lives in a rental house on State Street. He shares the house with two other guys. I'm guessing he's known them forever. I found a photo of the three of them when they were in high school. The house is pretty much a wreck inside and out. Thrift shop furniture, broken blinds, refrigerator filled with beer and take-out boxes."

"So Andrew and Clyde aren't loner computer geeks."

"They aren't loners. I don't know how much time they spend on the computer."

We turned the corner and headed for home. "You've been busy using your breaking and entering skills," I said.

"I just enter. I don't usually break."

"You broke down Pitch's door."

"Lost my temper."

Bob hunched again.

"Oh, for crissake," I said.

MORELLI WAS SITTING on his front step when we got back with Bob. "Lucky you," he said. "A two-bag day."

"I think we should stop feeding him."

"Yeah," Morelli said. "That would work." He stood and took Bob's leash and looked over at Ranger.

"It's been quiet," Ranger said. "No shooting. No one tailing us. No death threats or poison darts."

Morelli nodded.

"Your watch," Ranger said to Morelli. And he left.

"The bodyguard thing is getting old," I told Morelli.

"Did you tell that to Ranger?"

"Would it do any good?"

Morelli followed me into the house. "I have some bad news and then I have some bad news," Morelli said.

"Let's start with the bad news first."

"I checked your email account this afternoon just before I left work. You have another carnation letter. It's on the sideboard. I printed it out for you."

I looked at the email.

It will happen soon. Nothing can stop it. Are you excited?

"This guy's turning out to be a real pain in the ass," I said. "Now what's the bad news?"

"Grandma Bella's on her way over."

"What?"

"She called just as you were coming down the street with Bob. She said she had another vision and she had to tell you."

"You're kidding!"

"I'm not kidding."

"Why didn't you tell her not to come? Why didn't you tell her I wasn't home?" All right, maybe I sounded a little whiney, but this was Grandma Bella we were expecting. And whiney was better than flat-out hysteria, right?

"She's coming with a dish of my mother's manicotti. Have you ever tasted my mother's manicotti?"

"You sold me out for manicotti!"

Morelli grinned and kissed me on the forehead. "You can have some, too. And by the way, your hair is cute."

I narrowed my eyes at him. I wasn't feeling cute. In fact, I'd decided I didn't like cute. Cute wasn't a word anyone would use to describe Morelli or Ranger. Cute implied a degree of helplessness. Kittens were cute.

A car stopped in front of the house and I took a deep breath. Calm down, I thought. Don't want to be rude. Don't want to let them sense fear. There was a knock at the door and Joe reached for the handle.

"Touch that handle and you die," I said. "She's coming here to see me. I'll let her in."

The grin returned. "Woman in charge," Morelli said.

I opened the door and smiled at the two women. "How nice to see you again," I said. "Come in."

"We can't stay," Joe's mother said. "We're on our way to church. We just wanted to drop this manicotti off."

I took the casserole and Grandma Bella fixed her scary eye on me.

"I had a vision," Bella said.

I looked down at her and screwed my face into an expression that I hoped conveyed mild interest. "Really?"

"It was you. You were dead. Just like the last time. You went into the ground."

"Uh-hunh."

"I saw you in the box."

"Mahogany? The model with the scroll work?"

"Top of the line," Bella said.

I turned to Joe. "Nice to know."

"A comfort," Joe said.

"So was there anything different about the vision this time?" I asked Bella.

"It was the same vision. But last time I forgot to tell you… you were old."

"How old?"

"Real old."

"We have to go now," Joe's mother said. "It wouldn't hurt you to come to church once in a while, Joseph."

Joe smiled and gave her and Bella a kiss on the cheek. "Be careful." He closed the door after them and took the manicotti from me. "Way to go. That was impressive."

"I'm fearless."

"Cupcake, you are not fearless. But you can bluff with the best of them."

"What gave me away?"

"You had a death grip on the manicotti. Your knuckles were turning white."

Bob and I followed Morelli into the kitchen.

"I was old in Bellas vision," I said to Morelli. "I guess I can stop worrying about the carnation killer now. And I definitely don't need a bodyguard."

"I can hardly wait for you to explain this to Ranger," Morelli said.

I WOKE UP to sun streaming in through Morelli's bedroom window. Morelli was long gone and Bob was asleep in his place, head on the pillow, one eye open and watching me.

I got up, went to the window, and looked out. There was a shiny black Ford Explorer parked two houses away on the opposite side of the street. Not Ranger. Ranger never drove the Explorer. Not Tank. Tank was sitting somewhere in the Bat Cave with his leg elevated. Probably Cal. Hard to tell at this distance.

I took a shower, dressed in a tank top, jeans, and sneakers and wrinkled my nose at my hair. I had a tube of hair gunk that was a combination of wallpaper paste and mustache wax. I pulled a big glob of it through my hair with my fingers and my curls stood up at attention. I was a couple inches taller with the gunk in my hair and I wasn't a real good judge, but I suspected I was no longer cute.

A half hour later, I rolled into the office.

"Whoa," Connie said at my hair. "What happened to you?"

"I got a haircut."

"I hope you didn't give him a tip."

"Am I cute?"

"That's not the first word that comes to mind."

Vinnie stuck his head out and grimaced at me. "Holy shit. What'd you do, tag yourself with the stun gun? I wouldn't show that hairdo to your mother if I was you." And he went back into his office.

"I didn't think it was that bad," I said to Connie.

"You look like you soaked your head in liquid starch and then stood in a wind tunnel."

Vinnie jumped out of his office. "I got it! I know who it is that you look like… Don King!" And Vinnie jumped back inside and slammed and locked his door.

I felt my hair. It was pretty stiff. Maybe I overdid the hair gunk.

"Omigod," Connie said, looking out the big front window. "Its Lula!"

Sure enough, the red Firebird was parked at the curb and Lula was at the door with Boo under her arm.

"What did I miss?" Lula wanted to know, coming over to the desk. "What's going on? Did I miss anything?"

I didn't know where to begin. There'd been death, birth, sex, and hair loss.

Lula shifted Boo on her hip. "Are you still looking for that carnation guy?"

"Yep," I said. "Haven't found him yet. I tried calling you, but your phone wasn't working."

"I stopped to take a break, got out of the car, the phone fell on the ground, and the dog peed on it."

"You made good time," Connie said.

"That is one motherfucker long trip," Lula said. "I was in the car for eight hours and my ass was asleep when I hit Little Rock and I said, "Stick a fork in me, 'cause I'm done." So I handed the rental car in and I hooked up with a couple truckers who drove day and night. And here I am. They dropped me off late last night."

Connie took a closer look at Lula. "Did you lose weight?"

"I lost ten pounds. Can you believe it? All you gotta do is eat meat all day. I've eaten so much meat in the last five days I can't remember ever eating anything else. I got meat oozing out my ears. And to tell you the truth, I'm starting to feel funny about all this meat. You don't think I could turn into like a meat vampire or something, do you?"

"I never heard of a meat vampire," I said.

"For the last couple days my teeth have been feeling funny. You know, like they're growing. Just these two ones in front. What do they call them… canines. And then I was looking at myself in the mirror this morning when I was brushing my teeth and I was thinking they looked bigger. Like vampire teeth. Like I'm eating so much meat I'm turning into a carnivore. And I'm getting dog teeth."

Connie and I were speechless.

"What happened to your hair?" Lula asked me. "You look like Don King."

"Yes, but I'm not cute," I said.

"Fuckin' A," Lula said.

Lula and I packed off in my car and headed for the Apusenjas. Boo was on Lula's lap, ears up, eyes bright.

"Look at him," Lula said. "He knows he's going home. Isn't it something the way dogs know these things? I tell you, I'm going to miss this little guy." Lula cut her eyes to the rearview mirror. "Looks like you still got a bodyguard."

I turned and squinted back at the Explorer. Cal was behind the wheel. And he had someone riding shotgun. Great. Now I had two baby-sitters.

I whipped out my cell phone and called Ranger.

"Lula's back," I told him. "So, thanks anyway, but I don't need Cal."

"He's staying," Ranger said.

"I can take care of myself. I want you to tell Cal to stop following me."

"The carnation killer isn't going to move on you when you're so obviously guarded. He doesn't want to shoot you in the head from a distance. He wants to play with you."

"Yeah, but this is really annoying and it could go on forever."

"Not forever," Ranger said. "Just long enough for the police to do their thing. They have some leads. Having Cal in place buys them some time."

"Grandma Bella said I wasn't going to die until I was real old."

"That makes me feel so much better," Ranger said. And he disconnected.

I parked in front of the Apusenjas' house. Lula leaned forward and adjusted the rearview mirror and checked out her teeth.

"You're starting to creep me out with this teeth stuff," I said.

"How do you think I feel? I'm the one turning into a… creature. I feel like Michael J. Fox in that werewolf movie. Remember when he started growing hair all over? It was like he was turning into Connie."

Lula gave up on the teeth and looked over at the house. "I'm bringing this dog back because that's the right thing to do, but the bride of Frankenstein better not start on me."

"The bride of Frankenstein likes us now. She said she guessed I wasn't such a bad slut."

"Bet you got all excited over that." Lula levered herself out of the Escape, holding tight to Boo. She set him down on the ground. Boo ran to the Apusenjas' front door and started yapping to be let in.

Mrs. Apusenja opened the door and let out a shriek. She scooped up Boo and held him close and got a lot of sloppy Boo kisses.

"Isn't that nice," Lula said. "A family reunited. It almost makes me want to get a dog. Except for the peeing and pooping part."

Tell me about it.

CHAPTER 15

I WAS ON my way back to the office when Grandma Mazur called.

"We got a situation here," she said. "I don't suppose you're in the neighborhood?"

"What kind of a situation?"

"Valerie decided she's going to marry Albert."

"That's great."

"Yeah, except Albert's been living with his mom and his mom isn't happy that Albert's not marrying in his faith. Albert's mom wants him to marry a Jewish girl and so she's kicked him out of the house. That means everyone's going to be living here. Albert just showed up with a couple boxes of his stuff and he's moving it into that little room upstairs with Valerie and the girls."

"Oh boy."

"Exactly. We need to put rubber walls on this house. We don't all fit in it anymore. Your father says he's moving in with Harry Farnsworth. He's upstairs packing and your mothers all upset."

"My dad's moving out?"

"I can sort of see his point on this. He had to drive to the gas station on Hamilton to use the bathroom this morning. So I don't exactly blame him, but what's your mother going to do if your father moves out permanent? Where's she going to find another man? It's not like she's a live wire."

I did a large mental sigh. "I'll be right there."

"Don't tell nobody I called you," Grandma said.

I made a U-turn on Hamilton and smiled, knowing Cal was scrambling to follow me in the big Explorer.

Lula leaned over the seat, watching him. "Good to keep a man on his toes," Lula said. "I bet he's all worried back there, cursing you out. He can't find a place to wheel that SUV around. Uh-oh, he just jumped the curb and knocked over a garbage can. Ranger won't be happy to see a scratch on that shiny new car."

I pulled into the driveway, blocking my father's car so he couldn't make a getaway. Then I ran back to Cal, who was parking in front of the house. His face was red and a trickle of sweat traced a path down his temple.

"It's okay if you park here," I said to Cal and Junior, "but don't get out of the car. Both of you stay here and try to look normal." Even as I said it, I knew it was an impossible request. "And don't worry about that big gash in the right front fender. It's really not all that bad," I said.

The red in Cal's face kicked up a notch.

Lula was waiting for me on my parents' front porch. "You are so evil," she said. "There's no gash in the right front fender."

Grandma Mazur opened the door to me. "What a surprise," she said, real loud. "Look everyone, Stephanie's here."

Mary Alice was back to being a horse, galloping around the house, making horse sounds. The baby was screaming surprisingly loud for a newborn and Valerie was furiously rocking it in the rocking chair. Angie was drawing on a pad in the dining room. She had cotton wads stuck in her ears and she was singing, trying to drown out the noise. Albert Kloughn was pacing in front of Valerie.

"Maybe there's something wrong with her," Kloughn said to Valerie. "Maybe we should take her back to the hospital. Maybe she's hungry. Maybe she's wet."

"Maybe she's got gas," Grandma Mazur said. "I know I do. This family's getting on my nerves. I can't stand all this noise and commotion. It gives me indigestion. I gotta get some Maalox."

"I'm outta here," Lula said. "Nice seeing you all, but I'm going to wait in the car. I'm not good with crying babies. I've been locked in a truck cab with a dog and two horny truck drivers for the last couple days and on top of that I'm worried I'm turning into a carnivore."

"I wouldn't mind hearing about the two horny truck drivers," Grandma said.

I went into the kitchen where my mother was ironing. She always irons when she's upset. Ordinarily no one would approach my mother when she's got an iron in her hand, but I thought I should say something. "This house is bedlam," I said to her.

"I got a nice almond ring from the bakery," my mother said. "Help yourself. And there's fresh coffee."

Even when my mother was in a state, she was still a mother.

"What do you think of my hair?" I asked her.

She looked at me and made the sign of the cross. "Holy Mary, mother of God," she said. Then she smiled. "I can always count on you to top anything we have going on here."

"I hear Val's getting married."

"Thank goodness."

"And I hear they're all going to live here."

"What can I do?" my mother said. "They have to live someplace. Am I going to turn my daughter out on the street? They're going to buy a house as soon as Albert gets a little more established."

There were heavy footsteps on the stairs.

"Your father," my mother said. "He's moving out. We've been married for over thirty years and now he's moving out."

Only if he pushed my car out of the driveway.

I went back to Val in the living room and shouted over the baby. "I'm living with Morelli these days," I said. "Why don't you and the kids and Albert move into my apartment?" This was right up there with poking myself in the eye with a hot stick. I didn't really want to turn my apartment over to Valerie, but it was the only way I could immediately get her out of my parents' house.

"It would just be temporary," Kloughn said. "Just until we find a place of our own. Boy, that's really nice of you. Valerie, isn't that nice of Stephanie?"

"It is," Valerie said, shifting the baby so it could nurse.

Lisa stopped crying and Valerie looked like she was morphing back to the serene Saint Valerie. I was thinking that there was probably a lot of my mother in Valerie.

"There's nothing like a baby," Grandma said.

Mary Alice galloped by and stopped to look. "I'd rather have a horse," she said.

"When she gets older you'll be able to help feed her," Valerie said. "And she'll be as much fun as a horse."

"Horses have nice silky tails," Mary Alice said.

"Maybe we'll let Lisa grow her hair long into a ponytail," Valerie said. "Would you like to take the little cap off her head so you can see her hair?"

Mary Alice took the cap off Lisa's head and we were all transfixed by the wispy dark hair that swirled from Lisa's crown and framed her face. Lisa's tiny hands were balled into fists, her eyes were open, and fixed on Valerie.

And just like that, as of that instant, I wanted a baby. I didn't care if it had to come out of my vagina.

"I'll tell your father about the apartment," Kloughn said. "I don't think he really wanted to move in with Harry Farnsworth."

"I'll go over and box my stuff so you have room in the closet. You can move in anytime. Only thing, if there are any flower deliveries you should be sure to call me right away."

"Thanks," Valerie said. "You're a good sister. I'll make it up to you. And we'll start looking for a place of our own right away."

I yelled good-bye to my mom and I went out to Lula.

Lula was in the car, looking antsy. "I don't know what's wrong with me," Lula said. "I just feel all jumpy. I'm just not myself."

"You're not still worried about your teeth, are you?"

"I know they're growing. I can feel it. It's unnatural. And I got these cravings. I want to bite down on something. I want to feel it crunch in my mouth."

"Jeez. You mean like a bone?"

"Like an apple. Or a Cheez Doodle. Nothing crunches on this diet. Meat doesn't crunch. I'm crunch deprived."

***

I WAS A baton twirler when I was in high school. And that's how I felt now… like I was leading a parade. I pulled away from the curb and Cal pulled away from the curb. I drove to my apartment building. Cal followed me to my apartment building. We all parked in the lot. We all got out of our cars. We all took the elevator to the second floor. Then everyone followed me down the hall to my apartment. First Lula, then Cal, and then Junior. Junior was a clone of Cal, except for the tattoo. Junior was tattoo free. At least what I could see of him was tattoo free, and that was more than enough for me.

Cal opened the door to my apartment and took a look inside. Nothing out of the ordinary popped up, so we all trooped in. I filled a laundry basket with clothes and personal stuff and moved some things around to free up space for Valerie. While I was freeing space I could hear Lula trying to make conversation with Cal.

"Hey," Lula said, "what's going on?"

"What do you mean?" Cal asked.

"I don't mean anything," Lula said. "That's one of those things you say when you're trying to be friendly. That's an opening line."

"Oh."

"I heard you hit your head when you fainted in the hospital," Lula said.

"Yeah."

"Are you okay now?"

"Yeah."

"I could be wrong here," Lula said, "but I think you're dumb as a box of rocks."

"Sticks and stones," Cal said.

There was a moment of silence where I figured Lula was regrouping.

"So," Lula finally said to Cal. "Are you married?"

The whole packing process took less than ten minutes. I'd been moving clothes piece by piece to Morelli's house over the last couple days and there wasn't a lot left. I handed the laundry basket over to Junior and everyone marched out to the hall and waited while I locked up. I took a last look at the closed door and had to choke back a panic attack. I was turning my apartment over to my sister. I was homeless. What if I had a fight with Morelli? What then?

Junior put the laundry basket in the back of the Escape and we all got into our cars.

"Where are we going?" Lula wanted to know.

"We're going to TriBro. I'm not sure what I'm going to do once I get there. I guess I'll figure it out then."

I cut across town and picked up Route 1. It was the middle of the day and traffic was light. Cal had no problem following me. I took the off-ramp that led to the industrial park and wound through the park to TriBro. I parked toward the back of the lot and I sat there, watching.

"The killer's in that building," I said to Lula.

"You think it's Bart?"

"I don't know. I just know it has to be someone at TriBro."

After a half hour Lula was restless. "I gotta get something to eat," she said. "I gotta stretch my legs. I'm all cramped up in this car."

I was hungry, too. I didn't know what I was doing in the lot anyway. Waiting for divine intervention, I supposed. A message from God. A sign. A clue!

I put the car in gear and left the lot with the Steroidapods following close behind. I drove down Route 1 for a couple miles, took the turnoff to the mall, and parked at the Macy's entrance. This is always a good place to park because you hit the shoe department first thing while you still have lots of energy.

Lula pushed through the double glass doors and stood in the middle of the aisle. "They're having a sale!" she said. "Look at all those racks of shoes on sale."

I looked at the racks and for the first time in Plum history, I didn't want to shop. My mind wouldn't move off the carnation killer. I was thinking of Lillian Paressi and Fisher Cat and Singh and Howie. And probably there were a lot others. I knew of two games, but there might have been more. I was thinking of my sister's baby and the fact that I didn't have one. And maybe never would.

"Look at those sandals with the four-inch heels and rhinestones," Lula said. "You can't go wrong with rhinestones. And heels always make your legs look real shapely. I read that in a magazine."

Lula had her shoes off, looking for a pair of the sandals in her size. She was wearing a poison green spandex tube top and yellow stretch pants that matched my car and came to mid-calf. She found the sandals, slipped them on and paraded in front of the mirror.

Cal and Junior were at the edge of the aisle, looking uncomfortable. They probably had expected to follow me around and catch some scofflaws when they got their marching orders from Ranger. And here they were in the Macy's shoe department, gaping at Lula, who was all boobs and booty in the rhinestone shoes.

"What do you think?" Lula wanted to know. "Should I get these shoes?"

"Sure," I said. "They'll go with the pink outfit you got in Vegas."

What if Ranger's wrong, I thought. What if the carnation killer is tired of the game and doesn't want to play with me? What if he just wants to kill me? He could be watching me now. Lining me up in his sights.

Lula paid for the shoes and we hit the food court next. Lula got a chicken. I got a cheeseburger. Cal and Junior got nothing. Guess they didn't eat while working. Didn't want to have a burger in their hand if they had to go for their guns. That was fine by me. I was scanning the mall and my eyes were rolling around in my head so fast I was getting a headache.

I watched Lula tear into her food and I had a creepy thought that she might be right about her teeth. She could really rip apart a chicken.

"What are you staring at?" Lula wanted to know. "Are you staring at my teeth?"

"No! Swear to God. I was just… daydreaming."

After we ate we went back to the cars. I drove about a half mile down Route 1 and Lula and I turned our attention to the motel coming up on the right. It was the Morelli and Gilman motel.

"Probably I didn't see what I thought I saw that day," Lula said. "Probably I was just imagining…"

Lula stopped talking because Morelli's truck was parked in front of one of the units.

"Uh-oh," Lula said.

I'd been doing eighty and I was a quarter mile past the hotel by the time I screeched to a stop. Cal and Junior went flying past me, utter surprise and horror on their faces. I put the Escape into reverse, backed up on the shoulder at a modest fifty miles per hour, and turned into the motel parking lot. No sign of Cal and Junior.

"Suppose it's police business?" Lula wanted to know. "Like maybe it's a sting."

"He's not working vice anymore. And this isn't even in Trenton."

"You aren't going to do something stupid like beat down the door, are you?"

I parked at the far end of the lot, behind a tan van. "Do you have a better idea?"

"We could sneak around back and listen in. Then if we hear them doing the deed we can beat down the door."

I'd rather knock and have Morelli answer the door half-dressed than catch Morelli and Gilman in the act. I couldn't think of too many things that would be more depressing than hearing or seeing Morelli playing hide the salami with someone other than me. On the other hand, I didn't want to make a false accusation. "Okay," I said, "we'll go around back."

We walked around the side of the motel and began counting off units. Each unit had two windows on the back side. I was guessing one window was in the bathroom and one in the bedroom. There were twelve units in the first building. All were at ground level. A strip of grass hugged the back of the building. Beyond the grass was a chunk of overgrown woods filled with refuse. A plastic milk crate. Soda cans. A torn mattress. I had no idea what was on the other side of the wooded area.

Curtains were drawn on all the units. We listened briefly at each window, hearing nothing. We got to the seventh unit and heard voices. Lula and I pressed closer to the window. The voices were muted, difficult to hear. The back window was closed. The air-conditioner was running in the front window. There was a slight break in the curtain halfway up the back window. Lula tippytoed to the woods and got the milk crate. She put the milk crate under the window and motioned that I should get on the crate and look in the window.

No way was I going to look in the window. I didn't want to see what was going on inside. I whispered to Lula that she should look.

Lula got up on the milk crate, pressed her nose to the window… and her phone rang. Lula grabbed at the phone hooked onto her stretch pants and stopped the ringing, but it was too late. Everyone heard the phone.

Shouting erupted from inside the motel room. A gunshot rang out. And a large man in a tan suit crashed through the window and knocked Lula off the milk crate.

"What the hell?" Lula said, sprawled on the ground in a tangle of curtain, sprinkled with window glass.

I wasn't sure what any of this was about, but I'd heard the shot and the guy who came through the window wasn't Joe, so I roundhoused him with my purse and sent him to his knees. I had him at gunpoint when Morelli stuck his head out the broken window.

"Oh Christ," Morelli said when he saw me. And he ducked back inside.

Guys came running from either side of the building. Obviously cops, but I didn't know any of them. Two were in FBI T-shirts. Morelli joined them. I didn't see anything of Terry Gilman.

Morelli grabbed me by the arm and pulled me aside. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I saw your truck."

"And?"

"I thought I'd stop by to say hello."

"I'm working!"

I was getting annoyed. He was just a notch below yelling at me. "How was I to know? This isn't Trenton. You're not driving your crappy cop car. And a couple weeks ago Lula saw you coming out of this motel with Terry Gilman."

Morelli's eyes narrowed. "You went around back to spy on me and Gilman?"

"Actually, Lula was going to do the spying. I didn't want to look."

The guy in the suit was getting dragged away in bracelets.

"Isn't that Tommy Galucci?" I asked Morelli.

Tommy Galucci was famous in the Burg. Everyone knew he was a Mob boss, but the police had never been able to get anything to stick on him. Maybe because in the past the police never really cared all that much. Being a Mob boss in Trenton didn't get you on America's Most Wanted. Trenton was just a midsize pothole in the organized crime highway. And Galucci was a good citizen. He gave to the church. He kept his yard nice. He went out of town to cheat on his wife. But lately it was rumored Galucci was having a midlife crisis, wanting to make more of a name for himself, pushing his associates around.

"Yes, it's Tommy Galucci. Some of his business partners aren't happy with him and want to see him removed some way other than a one-way ticket to the landfill. They decided it would be a good thing for everyone if Tommy got to spend a couple years relaxing on a farm."

"Like a federal-run farm surrounded by razor wire?"

"Yeah, something like that. The business partners decided they wanted me to run the operation. Probably that was Uncle Spud's suggestion. And Gilman was acting as the go-between. People see me and Gilman together and the first thought isn't sting."

"It wasn't my first thought. Why this motel?"

"It's owned by Galucci's brother-in-law. Galucci did a lot of business here. Felt safe to him."

"Guess I screwed things up."

"I don't know what it is with you. You fall into a hole filled with shit and you come up smelling like a rose. Galucci wasn't cooperating. I wasn't getting anywhere with him. When he heard the phone he freaked, thinking he was set up. He shot the fed who was in the room with me and then he tried to escape by going out the window. The fed in the room with me just got a superficial flesh wound, but now we have Galucci on assault with a deadly weapon."

I looked beyond Morelli and saw two suits grilling Lula.

"You better rescue Lula," I said. "Probably it's not a good idea to let those guys look in her purse."

Morelli did some negotiating with the feds involved in the bust and it was suggested that Lula and I should leave the scene immediately and never return. Lula and I were happy to comply with the suggestion.

Cal and Junior had backtracked and found me and were parked two cars down in the motel lot. Their faces were red and they had deodorant failure. Ranger wouldn't have been happy if they'd lost me.

"See that," Lula said when we were all heading south on Route 1. "I told you Morelli was there on account of work. You should be more trusting of Morelli."

"If you'd been in my shoes, would you have trusted him?"

"Hell no," Lula said.

Truth is, I did trust Morelli. But there's a limit to trust. Even the most trusting woman who saw her boyfriend's truck at a motel in the middle of the day, twice, would have doubts. There's a difference between being trusting and being stupid.

***

TRAFFIC WAS HEAVY and slow going in and out of Trenton. It was coming up on rush hour. Drivers looked sweaty and impatient. Men drummed their fingers. Women chewed on their cheeks.

I was still feeling the pull from TriBro. I turned off Route 1 and found my place in the TriBro lot.

"I don't get it," Lula said. "What's with this parking thing? What are you waiting for?"

I didn't know. Instinct kept dragging me here today. I half expected to see ominous dark clouds boiling over the building. Ghostbuster clouds. Portents of danger.

We sat there for a while and employees started to leave. The lot was almost empty and my phone rang.

It was Clyde. "Hey, Stephanie Plum," he said. "Is that you out in the lot? I see a yellow car and it looks like you inside. I'm watching you with binoculars. Wave to me."

I waved to Clyde.

"What are you doing in the lot?" he wanted to know.

"Just sitting," I said. "Watching."

"Is that your partner with you?"

"Yeah. That's Lula."

"It's quitting time," he said. "Do you and Lula want to go to dinner? We could all get a burger someplace."

"I don't think so."

"Okay," Clyde said. "Call me if you change your mind."

"Pretty soon we're gonna be in this lot all by ourselves," Lula said. "You and me and the two big dummies over there. You aren't planning on breaking in, are you? Maybe see if Bart Cone left his computer on?"

"Bart's smarter than that. He's not going to leave anything incriminating on his computer. Even if he did, I'm not that good at computers to be able to find it. And I'm sure the building has an alarm system."

The idea was tempting, though. Just not practical. And it was out of my league. It was a Ranger escapade.

"Okay, then how about the guy who just called you? The goofy Cone brother that doesn't do anything and wants to be a junior G-man. He's always wanting to take you out, right? I bet you could get him to let you in. I bet he doesn't even like his brother."

"No. I'll never get rid of him. It would be like feeding a stray cat. Once you give it a bowl of food you're stuck with the cat for life. I don't even talk to Clyde Cone."

"Too bad," Lula said, "because I bet he'd let you in and you could go snooping through ol' Bart's files and drawers and everything. You couldn't get into his email, but you could take a look at the desktop on his computer."

Truth is, I didn't want to go into the building. Not even with Cal and Junior doing backup. There was something bad in the building. The monster was there. He was waiting for me.

I got a call from Morelli wondering where I was. I didn't know what to say. I was sitting in an empty parking lot. Waiting for the mystery to be resolved. "I'll be home soon," I told him. "Don't worry."

The don't worry message was insincere. I was worried. I was really, really worried.

"Steph," Lula finally said. "Maybe we should go home."

She was right, of course. So I cranked my yellow Escape over and drove out of the lot. I dropped Lula off at her car at the office and then I went home to Morelli.

I made peanut butter and olive sandwiches for supper and we ate in silence in front of the television. Probably we should have talked about the motel thing, but neither of us knew how to begin. Maybe it wasn't important anyway. We seemed to still like each other.

At nine o'clock Morelli was glued to the television and I was still fighting the fear or dread or whatever the hell it was that had its grip on me. I went to the kitchen and got a beer and took it out to the back porch. The air was soft and smelled nice, like fresh dirt and new grass. Joe didn't do much with his backyard, but his next-door neighbor, Mrs. Lukach, had flower beds and a dogwood tree. Joe and I had gardening skills that were almost as good as our housekeeping and cooking skills.

I finished my beer and stood. I turned toward the house and I felt a familiar piercing pain in my back. In my mind I called for Morelli, but either he didn't hear over the drone of the television or else it was only a mental plea for help, because the blackness came and there was no Morelli.

***

EVEN BEFORE I opened my eyes I knew I was in trouble. Fear filled every part of me. The fear was a hard knot in my chest. The fear clogged my throat. The fear slid in a greasy wave through my stomach. I forced my eyes open and I looked around. I was on the floor, in the dark. I didn't seem to be hurt. I wasn't restrained. I moved my leg and realized I had a chain padlocked around my ankle. There were jingle bells attached to the chain. The potential significance of the ankle chain took my breath away.

I had a dull throbbing ache behind my eyes. It was from the drug, I thought. Like last time, when I was shot with a dart in the parking lot.

The only source of light was a single candle burning on a desk to my right. The light was dim, but I knew where I was. I was at TriBro. I was in Clyde's office. I could make out the action figures in the bookcase to my left.

I pushed myself up so I was sitting and realized someone was slouched in a chair, lost in shadow, watching me from across the room. The shadowed figure leaned forward into the candlelight and I saw that it was Clyde.

"You're awake," he said. "And you look scared. Sometimes when I get scared I get sexually excited. Do you get excited when you get scared? Are you hot?"

The words sent a new rush of cold fear into my chest. I looked into Clyde's eyes and I saw the monster emerging.

"Get up," Clyde said. "Go around the desk and open the drawer. I have a surprise for you."

I steadied myself on the desk and got to my feet, swallowing back nausea from the drug. I inched around the desk, carefully opened the drawer, and looked down at another lock of my hair, tied with the slim pink ribbon.

I looked up and my eyes met Clyde's. "Now you know," Clyde said. "You're surprised, right? I bet you never thought it was me."

Everything fell into place. Web Master wasn't a computer term as we'd all assumed. It was a Spider-Man reference. Days ago, I asked Clyde what he wanted to do, and he said he wanted to be Spider-Man. Spider-Man was known as the webslinger and Clyde's game name was the Web Master.

"Spider-Man didn't kill innocent people," I said. "Spider-Man was a good guy."

"I'm not the webslinger," Clyde said. "I'm the Web Master. There's a difference. And I don't kill innocent people. I run a game so people can kill each other. How cool is that?"

"What about the prey? Aren't they innocent?"

"I pick the prey out real careful. And they're never innocent. The cop killed a guy in the line of duty. And so have you. As soon as I saw you at the plant that day I knew you had to be the next prize. Bart tried to warn you away, but you wouldn't listen. It wouldn't have mattered. I had my mind made up right away."

"Bart knows about the game?"

Clyde was smiling, rocking back on his heels, enjoying his moment. "Bart's confused. I got careless with the game two years ago and Bart got to read an email. Paressi and Fisher Cat were left in the game and I was giving them the kill clue. Bart didn't know it was a game. He thought I was involved with Paressi and he went to the kill spot to stop me from a crime of passion. Problem was, he got there too late. Paressi was dead and Fisher Cat was gone."

"And Bart was accused of the crime."

"Yeah. And he was being a hero, protecting me. What a moron. Then when the DNA came back he was totally confused. It wasn't his DNA, of course. And Bart knows enough science to know that the DNA couldn't have been mine, either. It had the wrong structure. It was Fisher Cat's DNA."

"Didn't Bart ask you about the email?"

"Yeah. I gave him some bullshit story about unrequited love. And he wanted to believe it. He wasn't warning you off because of the game. He was worried I'd go gonzo for you and write another nutcase letter."

"What about Andrew? Did Andrew know about the game?"

"Andrew? You gotta be kidding. Andrews got his perfect office, and his perfect family, and his freaking perfect house. Andrew doesn't see bad things. Doesn't allow them into his life. Doesn't ask questions that might have troubling answers. Andrew lives in Denial Land.

"Everyone always thinks Andrew's so perfect and everyone always underestimates me. Silly, lazy Clyde. Poor, dumb Clyde."

"And?"

"I'm not dumb. I'm smarter than everybody. Ask any of the people who play my game."

"They're all dead," I said.

"Oh yeah," Clyde said on a giggle. "I forgot."

"Why did Singh take off?"

"He was scared. He went after Bag Man, who you know as Howie. Somehow, Singh managed to screw up the kill and then his cover was blown. He turned chicken and ran."

"Now what?"

"Now we play. I've got a new game I thought up just for you. It's sort of a treasure hunt. And the grand prize is death. It's going to be a real good death, too. Scary and sexy and bloody."

This guy was so crazy. He'd been letting the insanity leak out little by little over the years and no one had noticed. Or maybe his family had noticed and chose not to recognize it for what it was.

"Okay, here we go," Clyde said. "I'm going to tell you about the game."

Morelli would have discovered I was gone by now. He'd call Ranger and they'd be out looking for me. If I dragged this on long enough, they might find me in time.

"I can't think," I said. "I have a headache and nausea from the drug."

"That should be passing. I gave you a small dose. Just enough to have you unconscious for the capture. Probably what you're experiencing is a blood pressure rise from the fear. You're scared, right?"

I looked at Clyde. I didn't say anything.

"Yeah," Clyde said. "You're scared big time. I can feel it. I'm very sensitive to these things."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I am," Clyde said. "I have heightened senses… like a superhero or a werewolf."

"I understand pigs have a superior sense of smell. Maybe you're part pig." I was relieved not to have stuttered. I was so scared my mouth felt detached from my face.

"Here's the game plan," Clyde said. "All the doors are locked. You can't get out. Your only hope is to find a weapon and eliminate me before I get tired of playing with you. I have a loaded gun, a stun gun, and a big sharp knife hidden somewhere in the plant. Plus, there are things you'd naturally find here… like acid and hammers and shit like that.

"I've got two of your buddies hanging out here, waiting for you to find them. If you die, they die, too. In fact, if you don't find them soon enough, they'll die. You have a half hour to find the first one."

"Who are they?"

"That's for you to discover. Oh yeah, and I forgot to tell you… you'll be doing this in the dark. You can take the candle if you want. Romantic, right?"

He was smiling again. I guess this was his idea of a date.

"I've disconnected the alarm system," he said. "If you trip the smoke detectors the signal won't get sent out anywhere. The sprinklers will go off and we'll all get wet, but nobody'll come to save you. That might be fun… seeing you in a wet T-shirt."

Clyde stood so I could see he was armed. "I have a twenty-two for the kill," he said. "And I have a paintball gun and a pellet gun for the rabbit in the shooting gallery. That's you. You're the rabbit. Oh yeah, and I have a taser. It's new. I always wanted to use a taser." He pointed the taser at me. "This is the start of playtime. I'm going to give you a chance to run. I'm gonna count to twenty and then I'm going to shoot you with the taser. Go!"

He started counting and I took off, forgetting the candle. Halfway down the hall I had to stop running. It was pitch black and I had no idea what was in front of me. I put my hand to the wall, feeling my way, jingling with every step. The hall led to the front foyer and I was prepared to crash through the glass door if necessary. I needed to get out of the building. Crazy Clyde was going to kill me and he wasn't going to spare his hostages. It didn't matter who I found. We were all going to die unless I could escape and get help.

Clyde wasn't going to leave witnesses.

I saw the ambient light from the foyer and broke into a run. I turned the corner, heard gunshot, and felt the sting of impact. I felt blood run down my side, down my leg. I cried out and put my hand to my side. Paint. I was hit with a paintball.

"I'm right behind you," Clyde said. "If you go toward the door I'll shoot you with the taser. I'm dying to use the taser. Sometimes they use these things for torture. The electric lead stays hooked into you with a barb and you can keep getting shocked. How cool is that?"

I was in the middle of the floor and I was breathing heavy. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to run, rabbit. Run away from the door."

I took a step and stumbled down to one knee. I was too scared to run. Too scared to think. Not good, I told myself. I had to try to stay calm. I managed to get myself to my feet and I ran in blind panic down the other side of the hall, toward Andrew's and Bart's offices.

There was a faint bar of light under a doorjamb in front of me. I pushed the door and it swung open. It was Bart's office. The office was lit by a single candle on the desk. Albert Kloughn was duct-taped to the desk chair behind the desk. He had duct tape across his mouth and wrapped around his ankles. His eyes were huge and tears rolled down his cheeks.

I ripped the tape off his mouth and was about to go for the tape around his torso when I saw the bomb.

"Don't touch me," he said. "I'm b-b-b-booby-trapped."

I snatched at the desk phone. No dial tone. I locked the door from the inside and pawed through the junk on Bart's desk, looking for something helpful. My hands were shaking and my heart was thundering in my chest. "I hate this," I said. "I hate this game. And I hate the pathetic excuse for a human being who's out there stalking me."

"You have to get help," Kloughn said. "This guy is crazy. He's going to kill us."

"There are just nuts and bolts on this desk," I said. "I need something I can use as a weapon."

"I know where there's a weapon," Kloughn said. "I can swivel myself in this chair and I was looking out the window into the warehouse when the crazy guy was hiding things. There's a room off to the side with glass windows all along."

"The quality control area."

"I don't know, but there's a workstation just by the door to that room. And he hid a gun there. It's right on top of the table part of the machine."

There was a knock on the door. "You're not allowed to lock yourself in Bart's office," Clyde said. "It doesn't matter anyway, I've got a key. But now you're gonna have to get punished before we can go on with the playtime."

I heard the key scrape in the lock and I grabbed a wooden crate half-filled with gears and threw it at the window that led to the warehouse. The glass shattered and I dove through the window. If I got cut it wasn't going to be any worse than what was going to happen to me at Clyde's hands.

I hit the ground and rolled. I'd seen the roll done in the movies and it seemed like a good idea. Problem was, in the movies they weren't usually landing on two thousand metal gears. Still, I wasn't decapitated from the glass shards when I pitched myself through the broken window, so that was a point in my favor. I scrambled to my feet, sliding on the debris, and ran for the first workstation. Beyond the first workstation the room blacked out and I was going to have to feel my way to the side room where the quality control people worked.

I was almost to the workstation when I was hit by another paintball. Thank God, I must have been beyond the reach of the taser. The paintball hit square in my upper back. If I lived to see another day, I'd be bruised. I dropped to the floor and put the workstation between me and Clyde. I heard Kloughn give an unearthly blood-curdling shriek, the candlelight went out, and then everything was quiet.

I was guessing that Clyde didn't want to chance going through the broken window. He was going to have to go back to the hall and enter the warehouse through the door at the end of the adjoining corridor. That gave me some time.

I crossed the room as fast as I could, creeping along low to the ground, my hands outstretched to keep from smashing into a workstation. I found the wall with the windows and knew I was in the right place. I followed the wall to the door and then paced off to the workstation. Sure enough, there was the gun just like Kloughn said. I couldn't see the gun even when I held it inches from my face, but I could feel that it was a six-shot revolver and it was loaded.

I backed myself into the test room and closed the door. I took up a position behind a desk, kneeling with my forearms resting on the desk, two-handing the gun to keep it from shaking. I was doing deep controlled breaths, telling myself to focus, to be a professional.

I heard the door open and I shouted for Clyde to stop. There was a gunshot and I felt the hit to my shoulder. And in that instant, I unloaded everything I had. I squeezed off all six rounds, shooting blind. The last shot was followed by silence. It was solid black in the office. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. Either Clyde was dead or else he'd retreated. I wasn't willing to leave the desk to find out. It was Dolly Freedman's desk. I reached into her top drawer and got her pepper spray. Then I ducked under the desk and waited.

I heard something scuff in the direction of the door and my heart stuttered. He wasn't dead! The monster wasn't dead. A sob caught in my throat and I blinked back tears. There was the rustle of clothing directly in front of me and I covered my face with my arm and hit the trigger on the pepper spray.

"Oh shit. Fuck!" A man's voice. Not Clyde.

The spray was knocked out of my grasp, a hand grabbed me by the front of my shirt, hauled me out from under the desk and dragged me to my feet, moving me out of the area, away from the spray.

I was told to hold still. I knew this voice. I was held tight to Ranger. He slid goggles over my head and I was able to see in the dark. Ranger had two men with him. Cal and Junior. And Junior was bent at the waist, gagging. That was the one I got with the spray.

"Sorry," I said.

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

I looked to the door and saw feet. Clyde's. The feet weren't moving. Clyde hadn't jumped away fast enough. Turned out Clyde wasn't as smart as he thought.

"Dead?" I asked.

"Looks that way. From what I can see, he took three in the upper body."

"I was shooting blind in the dark," I said. "I didn't know if I hit him."

"Anyone else in the building?"

"He has Albert Kloughn tied up with a bomb strapped to his chest in one of the offices. He said he had another hostage. I don't know who that is. I didn't find the other hostage." My knees gave out and I sort of sunk into Ranger and dissolved into tears. He had his arms tight around me, holding me to him. He sent Junior in search of the mechanical room to get the lights back on. He sent Cal to search for the second hostage. Then he called Morelli.

"I've got Stephanie," Ranger said. "She's safe, but there's a hostage unfound and a hostage potentially carrying a bomb. I haven't seen the bomb. I'm going to check it out now."

"Where's Joe?" I asked, wiping my nose with the back of my hand, trying to regain some control.

"We split up. I got the factory and he went to Clyde's house."

"How did you know it was Clyde?"

"Cal saw the truck tear past him. He didn't know what the truck driver was up to, but he thought it was suspicious enough to check with Morelli. Cal got part of the plate and Morelli ran it through the system, checking it against the principles."

The lights flickered and we took our goggles off. Every light flashed on at full power and we got a better look at Clyde. He was lying faceup. The monster was gone and Clyde looked very ordinary in death. In fact, he looked oddly peaceful. Maybe it had been a relief to give up the game.

"Help," Albert Kloughn said. His voice was barely a whisper.

We all turned and stared at him, strapped to his chair on the other side of the warehouse. His face was red and mottled and he looked like he wasn't going to live long enough for the bomb to explode.

Ranger jogged across the room. "Try not to move," Ranger said to Kloughn. "I'm coming around to take a closer look."

We all followed after Ranger, watching from the hall while Ranger went into the office.

"I think it's a dummy," Ranger said, "but I'm not an expert." He took out a pocketknife and cut the duct tape away from Kloughn's ankles. He sliced into the tape binding Kloughn to the chair. "I'm not going to touch the device you've got strapped to your chest," Ranger said. "Stay here in the chair until the police get here with a demolition team."

Rangers walkie-talkie chirped.

It was Cal. "You have to see this," he said. "I think I found the second hostage. I'm in the lunchroom."

We left Junior with Kloughn and we followed the hall to the lunchroom. Cal was standing hands on hips, smiling up at Lula. She was swinging like a giant pinata from a rope attached to a ceiling fan. She was still wearing the poison green top and the yellow stretch pants and her feet were treading air about fifteen feet off the ground. Her arms were duct-taped to her sides and she had duct tape across her mouth. A thick rope was wrapped around and threaded through the duct tape on her body and then looped around the fan. She had the beady little charging bull eyes, she was making angry mmmmrf mmrff sounds under the duct tape, and she was kicking her feet. Plaster dust was sifting down on her head from the ceiling fixture.

Rangers face creased into a smile. "I love my job," he said.

"He must have gotten her up there with a forklift," Cal said. "There's one parked down the hall. Do you want me to drive it down here?"

"Don't need it," Ranger said, shoving a table under Lula, climbing onto the table.

Her feet were still swinging in the air and she was still kicking.

"You kick me and I'm leaving you here," Ranger said.

"Hmmph," Lula said under the duct tape.

Ranger worked at the rope with his knife, the rope gave, and Lula dropped onto the table. Cal reached out to support her and the two of them went to the floor.

I ripped the tape off Lula's mouth and Ranger cut the tape that was binding her arms.

"I was drugged!" Lula said. "Do you believe it? I was taking the garbage out and he shot me in the ass with a dart. That little shit, Clyde. Next thing I know I'm swinging around from the ceiling. I'm beside myself. I'm in a state. I didn't know what to think. I saw some kinky shit when I was a ho, but I never did anything like this." She looked around, wild-eyed. "I need something to eat. This here's an eating situation." She spied the vending machine and stormed across the room. "I need money. I need quarters or dollars, or something. Omigod, they got Twinkies in here. I need a Twinkie real bad."

"What about the supermodel diet?" I asked Lula.

"Fuck that. I hate those boney-ass supermodels anyway. I don't know what I was thinking." Lula was shaking the vending machine. "Who's got a hammer?" she asked. "Somebody help me out here."

Ranger slid a dollar into the machine and Lula punched the button.

"Hello, Twinkie," she said. "I'm coming home. Lula's back in town."

***

IT WAS WAY after midnight when Morelli and I got back to his house. Morelli dragged me up the stairs, stripped my clothes off, and shoved me into the shower. I had paint everywhere. Yellow, red, blue.

"You're a disaster," Morelli said, standing to one side, watching me.

"Is it coming out of my hair?"

"It's out of your hair, but I think you might have a permanent blue stain down the back of your neck. You're not going to believe this," Morelli said, "but I'm too tired for sex. I'm beat. I'm not even forty and you've turned me into a burnout. I'm standing here, looking at you naked in the shower, and nothing's happening."

The soap slid from my fingers, I bent to retrieve it and Morelli changed his mind on the burnout.

"Move over," Morelli said, peeling his clothes off. "I can see you need help here."

I woke up feeling great. I opened my eyes and I knew it was over. No more red roses and white carnations. The sun was shining. Birds were chirping. Albert Kloughn didn't explode with the bomb. Morelli was beside me, still sleeping. Life was good. Okay, so I was slightly homeless and I had a blue stain down the back of my neck. Ranger was still at large, waiting to get even for the Apusenja event, but that was in the future. It could be worse. Eventually I'd get my apartment back. And in the meantime I was with Morelli. Who knows, maybe I'll just stay here. Then again…

The doorbell rang. I propped myself up on an elbow and looked at the bedside clock. Eight-thirty.

Joe put his hands to his face and groaned. "Was that the doorbell?"

I got out of bed and went to the window. Joe's mother and Grandmother Bella were on the front porch. They looked up at me and smiled.

Shit.

"It's your mom and Bella," I said. "You'd better go see what they want."

"I can't go," Joe said. "My mother would fall off the porch if she saw me like this."

I looked under the sheet. He was right. His mother would fall off the porch. "Fine!" I said, rolling my eyes. "I'll go. But you'd better throw some cold water on yourself and come down and rescue me."

I wrapped a robe around myself and ran a hand through my hair on the way down the stairs. I opened the door and tried my best to smile, but my mouth only partly cooperated.

"Coffee cake," Joe's mother said, handing me the bakery bag. "Fresh-made today. And Bella has something to tell you." Joe's mother elbowed Bella.

"It's about the vision," Bella said. "I was wrong about the dead blond wife and the babies. It wasn't Joseph in the vision. It was Bobby Bartalucci."

"That's a relief," I said. "But poor Mrs. Bartalucci."

"I could have been wrong about the dead part, too," Bella said. "Maybe she was just sleeping."

I heard Morelli on the stairs behind me. Felt his hand rest on my shoulder. "Morning," he said to his mother and grandmother.

"And one more thing," Bella said to me. "It's about your car. It's going to be blown up. Kaboom. There's going to be nothing left of it, but don't worry, you won't be in it. I had a vision."

Bella and Joe's mom drove away and Joe and I stood in the open doorway, staring at my car.

"Something to look forward to," Joe said. And then he kissed me and took the bakery bag into the kitchen.