Eleven on Top (Stephanie Plum 11)

He was right. And I was sufficiently freaked out by Spiro to tolerate the intrusion.

“This isn't personal leave time,” Ranger said. “This is work. You should have run it by me. We had to scramble to coordinate this.”

“Sorry. It was a last-minute decision ... as you can see from my clothes. My mother will need a pill after she starts getting the reports back on my cemetery appearance.”

“We're wearing black,” Ranger said. “We're in the ballpark. Just keep your sweatshirt zipped, so the men don't accidentally fall into the grave.”

Cars were moving around in front of the church, jockeying for position. The hearse pulled into the street and the procession followed, single file, lights on. Ranger waited for the last car to go by before he fell into line. There'd been no sign of Spiro, but then I hadn't expected him to show up at church, shaking hands and chatting. I'd expected him to do another drive-by or maybe hang in a shadow somewhere. Or maybe he'd be hidden at some distance, waiting for the graveside ceremony, using binoculars to see the results of his insanity.

“Tank's already at the cemetery,” Ranger said. "He's watching the perimeter.

He's got Slick and Eddie working with him."

It was a slow drive to Mama Macs final resting place. Ranger wasn't famous for making small talk, so it was also a quiet drive. We parked and got out of the Cayenne. The sky was overcast, and the air was unusually cool for the time of year. I was happy to have the sweatshirt. We'd been the last to arrive, and that meant we had the longest walk. By the time we made it to the grave site, the principals were seated and the large crowd had closed around them.

This was perfect for our purpose. We were able to stand at a distance and keep watch.

Ranger and I were shoulder to shoulder. Two professionals, doing a job. Problem was, one of the professionals didn't do well at funerals. I was a funeral basket case. Possibly the only thing I hated more than a gun was a funeral. They made me sad. Really sad. And the sadness had nothing to do with the deceased.

I got weepy over perfect strangers.

The priest stood and repeated the Lord's Prayer and I felt my eyes well with tears. I concentrated on counting blades of grass at my feet, but the words intruded. I blinked the tears back and swung my thoughts to Bob. I tried to envision Bob hunching. He was going to hock up a sock. The tears ran down my cheeks. It was no good. Bob thoughts couldn't compete with the smell of fresh-turned earth and funeral flowers. “Shit,” I whispered. And I sniffed back some snot.

Ranger turned to me. His brown eyes were curious and the corners of his mouth were tipped up ever so slightly. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I found a tissue in one of the sweatshirt pockets, and I blew my nose. “I'm fine. I just have this reaction to funerals!”

Several people on the outermost ring of mourners glanced our way.

Ranger put his arm around me. “You didn't like Mama Mac. You hardly knew her.”

“It doesn't m-m-matter,” I sobbed.

Ranger drew me closer. “Babe, we're starting to attract a lot of attention. Could you drop the sobbing down a level?”

“Ashes to ashes ...” the priest said.

And I totally lost it. I slumped against Ranger and cried. He was wearing a windbreaker, and he wrapped me in the open windbreaker, hugging me in to him, his face pressed to the side of my head, shielding me as best he could from people turning to see the sobbing idiot. I was burrowed into him, trying to muffle the sobs, and I could feel him shaking with silent laughter.

“You're despicable,” I hissed, giving him a punch in the chest. “Stop laughing. This is s-sssad.”

Several people turned and shushed me.

“It's okay,” Ranger said, still silently laughing, arms wrapped tight around me. “Don't pay any attention to them. Just let it all out.”

I hiccupped back a couple small sobs, and I wiped my nose with my sleeve.

“This is nothing. You should see me at a parade when the drums and the flag go by.”

Ranger cradled my face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from my eyes. “The ceremony is over. Can you make it back to the car?”

I nodded. “I'm okay now. Am I red and blotchy from crying?”

“Yes,” Ranger said, brushing a kiss across my forehead. “I love you anyway.”

“There's all kinds of love,” I said.

Ranger took me by the hand and led me back to the SUV. “This is the kind that doesn't call for a ring. But a condom might come in handy.”