One for the Money (Stephanie Plum 1)

Morelli sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.” He took my pocketbook from the counter, turned it upside down, and let the contents fall to the floor. He picked the cuffs out of the mess and took a step forward. “Give my your wrist.”

“Pervert.”

“You wish.” He flicked the cuff out and clicked it onto my right wrist.

I yanked my right arm back hard and kicked at him, but it was difficult to maneuver in the tub. He sidestepped my kick and locked the remaining steel bracelet onto the shower curtain rod. I gasped and froze, unable to believe what had just happened.

Morelli stepped back and looked at me, doing a slow whole-body scan. “You want to tell me where the cap is?”

I was incapable of speech, bereft of bravado. I could feel the flush of apprehension and embarrassment staining my cheeks, constricting my throat.

“Wonderful,” Morelli said. “Do the silent thing. You can hang there forever for all I care.”

He rummaged through the vanity drawers, emptied the wastebasket, and took the lid off the toilet tank. He stormed out of the bathroom without giving me so much as a backward glance. I could hear him methodically, professionally moving through my apartment, searching every square inch. Silverware clanked, drawers slammed, closet doors were wrenched open. There were sporadic patches of quiet, followed by mutterings.

I tried hanging my full weight on the bar, hoping to bend it, but the rod was industrial strength, built to endure.

At last Morelli appeared in the bathroom doorway.

“Well?” I snapped. “Now what?”

He indolently leaned against the frame. “Just came back to take another look.” A grin surfaced at the corners of his mouth as his eyes locked halfway down my chest. “Cold?”

When I got loose I was going to track him down like

a dog. I didn't care if he was innocent or guilty. And I didn't care if it took the rest of my life. I was going to get Morelli. “Go to hell.”

The grin widened. “You're lucky I'm a gentleman. There are individuals out there who'd take advantage of a woman in your situation.”

“Spare me.”

He shifted off the doorjamb. “It's been a pleasure.”

“Wait a minute! You're not leaving, are you?”

“Afraid so.”

“What about me? What about the handcuffs?”

He debated his options for a moment. He stepped off into the kitchen and returned with the portable phone. “I'm going to lock the front door when I leave, so make sure whoever you call has a key.”

“Nobody has a key!”

“I'm sure you'll think of something,” Morelli said. “Call the police. Call the fire department. Call the fucking Marines.”

“I'm naked!”

He smiled and winked and walked out the door.

I heard the front door to my apartment close and lock. I didn't expect an answer, but I felt compelled to call out to Morelli as a test. I waited a few moments, holding my breath, listening to the silence. Morelli seemed to be gone. My fingers curled tighter around the phone. God help the phone company if they'd reneged on their promise to resume my service. I climbed onto the edge of the tub to bring myself up to the height of my secured hand. I carefully extended the antenna, pushed the on button, and put my ear to the handset. The dial tone sang out loud and clear. I was so relieved I almost burst into tears.

Now I was faced with a new problem. Who to call? The police and the fire company were out. They'd roar into my parking lot with their lights flashing, and by the time they got to my door, forty senior citizens would be standing in my hall in their jammies, waiting to see what all the excitement was about, waiting for an explanation.

I'd come to realize there were certain peculiarities about the seniors in my building. They were vicious when it came to parking, and they had a fascination for emergencies that bordered on the ghoulish. At the first hint of a flashing light, every senior in my building had their nose pressed to the window glass.

I also could do without four or five of the city's finest leering at me chained naked to my shower curtain rod.

If I called my mother, I'd have to move out of state because she'd never let up. And besides, she'd send my father, and then my father would see me naked. Being naked and handcuffed in front of my father wasn't something I could visualize.