I took a deep breath. I didn't want to die. And I didn't want someone to hate me. And I absolutely did not want to cry.
“Don't worry about a thing,” I said to Rex. “This will all work out. We've had bad times before, right?”
I took Hamilton to Chambers and followed Chambers to Slater. Two blocks down Slater I found the house I was looking for. It was a modest brown-?shingled row house. All lights were off. I closed my eyes. I was dog tired, and I didn't want to do this.
“Maybe we should sleep in the car tonight,” I said to Rex. “Then tomorrow we can get something more permanent.”
Rex was doing a four-?minute mile on the wheel. He blinked at me once, and that was it. The mental message was, You're on your own, kid.
Truth is, I didn't want to stay in my car. The crazy person could come a
nd get me while I slept. He could jimmy the window, and he could cut off all my fingers. I looked at the house again. This was the one place I could feel safe and not be completely freaked out if the house was destroyed. This house belonged to Joe Morelli.
I hauled my cell phone out of my bag and dialed.
The phone rang six times before Joe answered with a mumbled hello.
“Joe?” I said. “It's Stephanie.”
“Does this involve death?”
“Not yet.”
“Does it involve sex?”
“Not yet.”
“I can't imagine why else you'd be calling me.”
“Someone firebombed my apartment tonight, and I need a place to stay.”
“Where are you?”
“In front of your house.”
An upstairs curtain was pulled aside.
“I'll be right down,” Joe said. “Don't get out of your car until I open my door.”
Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score
Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score
Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score
8
I HAULED Rex's cage off the front seat. “Now remember,” I said, “no sniveling over the fact that our life is sucky. And no getting all mushy because Morelli is so hot. And no crying. We don't want Morelli thinking we're losers.”
Morelli was on his small cement front porch. The door was open behind him, and I could see light from the upstairs hall. He was barefoot, dressed in cut-?offs that rode his hips. His hair was tousled from sleep, and he had a gun in his hand, hanging loose at his side. “You talking to someone?”
“Rex. He's a little nervous about all this.”
Morelli took the cage from me, kicked his door shut and carried Rex into the kitchen. He put the cage on the counter and flipped the overhead light on. It was an old-?fashioned kitchen with dated appliances and Formica counters. Cupboards had been recently painted with cream enamel, and there was new linoleum on the floor. A pot sat soaking in the sink. Looked like Morelli'd had spaghetti for supper.
Morelli put a quart of cold milk and a bag of Oreos on the small wood table that pressed against one kitchen wall. He took two glasses from the dish drain, sat down at the table and poured out two glasses of milk.
“So,” he said, “you want to talk about it?”