Eleven on Top (Stephanie Plum 11)

“That's not love,” I told him. “That's lust.”

He was scanning the crowd as we walked and talked, watching for Spiro, watching for anything unusual. “In this case, there's some of both.”

“Just not the marrying type?”

We'd reached the car, and Ranger remoted it open. “Look at me, Babe. I'm carrying two guns and a knife. At this point in my life, I'm not exactly family material.”

“Do you think that will change?”

Ranger opened the door for me. “Not anytime soon.”

No surprise there. Still, it was a teeny, tiny bit of a downer. How scary is that?

“And there are things you don't know about me,” Ranger said.

“What kind of things?”

“Things you don't want to know.” Ranger rolled the engine over and called Tank. “We're heading back,” he said. “Anything on your end?”

The answer was obviously negative because Ranger disconnected and pulled into the stream of traffic. “Tank didn't see any bad guys, but it wasn't a total wash,” Ranger said, handing his cell phone over to me. “I managed to take a picture for you while you were tucked into my jacket.”

Ranger had a picture phone, exactly like the one I'd been issued. I went to the album option and brought up four photos of Anthony Barroni. The images were small. I chose one and waited while it filled the screen. Anthony appeared to be talking on his phone. Hold on, he wasn't talking... he was taking a picture.

“Anthony's taking photos with his phone,” I said. “Omigod, that's so creepy.”

“Yeah,” Ranger said. “Either Anthony's really into dead people or else he's sending photos to someone not fortunate enough to have a front-row seat.”

“Spiro.” Maybe.

Most of the cars left the cemetery and turned toward the Burg. The wake at Gina Macaroni's house would be packed. Anthony Barroni peeled away from the herd at Chambers Street. Ranger stuck to him, and we followed him to the store. He parked his Vette in the rear and sauntered inside.

“You should go talk to him,” Ranger said. “Ask him if he had a good time.”

“You're serious.”

“Time to stir things up,” Ranger said. "Let's raise the stakes for Anthony.

Let him know he's blown his cover. See if anything happens."

I chewed on my lower lip. I didn't want to face Anthony. I didn't want to do this stuff anymore. “I'm an office worker,” I said. “I think you should talk to him.”

Ranger parked the SUV in front of the store. “We'll both talk to Anthony. Last time I left you alone in my car someone stole you.”

It was early afternoon on a weekday, and there wasn't a lot of activity in the store. There was an old guy behind the counter, waiting on a woman who was buying a sponge mop. No other customers. Two of the Barroni brothers were working together, labeling a carton of nails in aisle four. Anthony was on his cell phone to the rear of the store. He was shuffling around, nodding his head and laughing.

I always enjoy watching Ranger stalk prey. He moves with single-minded purpose, his body relaxed, his gait even, his eyes unswerving and fixed on his quarry.

The eye of the tiger.

I was one step behind Ranger, and I was thinking this wasn't a good idea. We could be wrong and look like idiots. Ranger never worried about that, but I worried about it constantly. Or we could be right, and we could set Anthony and Spiro off on a killing spree.

Anthony saw us approaching. He closed his phone and slipped it into his pants pocket. He looked to Ranger and then to me.

“Stephanie,” he said, grinning. “Man, you were really bawling at the cemetery. Guess you got real broken up having Mama Melanoma blown to bits in your car.”

“It was a touching ceremony,” I said.

“Yeah,” Anthony said, snorting and laughing. “The Lord's Prayer always gets to me, too.”