Eleven on Top (Stephanie Plum 11)

“Okay, so Lula and I went through the apartment and there was no Spiro. So we went back to the box, and I opened it.”

“You weren't worried that it was a bomb?”

“It would have been a little bomb.”

Ranger looked like he was trying hard not to grimace. “What happened after you opened it?”

“I threw up.”

“Babe,” Ranger said.

“Anyway, I gave the mole to Morelli. I figured he'd know what to do with it.”

“Good thinking. Anything else you want to share?”

“Maybe later.”

“You're flirting again,” Ranger said.

And he left.

I saw him stop to talk to Tank on his way out. Tank nodded and looked my way. I gave Tank a little finger wave and both men smiled.

The cubby walls were corkboard. Good for deadening sound, and also good for posting notes. I could see holes where Silvio had tacked messages and whatever, but the messages had all been removed, and only the pushpins remained. I had a workstation desk, a comfy-looking leather desk chair, a computer that could probably e-mail Mars, a phone that had too many buttons, a headset to go with the phone, file cabinets, in/out baskets that were empty, a second chair for guests, and a printer.

I sat in my chair and swiveled around. If I leaned back I could see out of the cubby, into the control room. The computer was different from the one I had at home. I hadn't a clue how to work the darn thing. Ditto the multiline phone. Maybe I shouldn't throw the personal products plant application away.

Maybe overseeing the boxing machine was more my speed. I looked in the desk drawers. Pens, sticky-note pads, tape, stapler, lined pads, Advil. The Advil might not be a good sign. I was dying to go to the kitchen for coffee, but I didn't want to leave my cubby. It felt safe in the cubby. I didn't have to make eye contact with any of the guys. Some of Ranger's men looked like they should be wearing orange jumpsuits and ankle monitors. Five minutes after Ranger left, Tank came into my cubicle with a small box. He set the box on my desk and removed the contents. Key fob for the garage and Rangers apartment, Sig Sauer 9 with extra mag, stun gun, cell phone, laminated photo ID on a neck chain identifying me as a Rangeman employee. I hadn't posed for the photo and decided not to ask how it was obtained.

“I don't know how to work this kind of gun,” I told Tank. “I use a revolver.”

“Ranger has practice time reserved for you tomorrow at ten a.m. You're required to carry the gun, the phone, and the ID with you at all times. You don't have to wear the ID. It's for fieldwork. It's a good idea to keep it on you in case you're questioned about the gun.”

Silvio arrived with a cup of coffee, and Tank disappeared. “I brought you cream, no sugar,” he said, setting the coffee on the desk in front of me.

“If you want sugar

there are some packets in the left-hand drawer.” He pulled the extra chair next to mine. “Okay,” he said. “Let's see what you know about computers.”

Oh boy.

By noon I had the phone figured out, and I could navigate the Net. I was already familiar with most of the search programs used by Rangeman. I'd used them from time to time on Connie's computer. Beyond the standard search programs that Connie used, Rangeman had a few extra that were frighteningly invasive.

Just for the heck of it, I typed my name in on one of the super searchers and blanched at what appeared on my screen. I had no secrets. The file stopped just short of a Webcam view of my last gyn exam.

I followed Silvio to the kitchen and took a food survey. Fresh fruit and vegetables, cut and washed. Turkey, roast beef, tuna sandwiches on seven-grain bread. Low-fat yogurt. Energy bars. Juice. Skim milk. Bottles of water.

“No Tastykakes,” I said to Silvio.

“Ella used to set out trays of cookies and brownie bars, but we started to get fat so Ranger banned them.”

“He's a hard man.”

“Tell me about it,” Silvio said. “He scares the crap out of me.”

I took a turkey sandwich and a bottle of water and returned to my cubicle.

Hal, Woody, and Vince were watching their screens. Silvio went off to clean out his locker. So I was now officially Miz Computer Wiz. Three requests for security searches were sitting in my in-box. Mental note. Never leave cubby.