Eleven on Top (Stephanie Plum 11)

“I'm not that good,” Ranger said.

“So I'm in trouble?”

“Big time.”

“You told Ella to get me this short shirt, didn't you?”

Ranger's fingers were slowly creeping up my breast. “No. I told her to get you something that didn't look like it was made for Tank. She probably didn't realize it was cut off at the waist.”

“The hand,” I said. “You have to remove the hand. You're poaching.”

Ranger smiled and kissed me. Light. No tongue. The appetizer on Ranger's dinner menu. “Don't count on my help with the overactive sex drive,” he said. “You're on your own with this one.”

I looked up at the security camera focused on us. “Do you think Hal will sell this tape to the evening news?”

“Not if he wants to live.” Ranger took a step back and opened the passenger-side door to the truck for me.

Ranger took the wheel, drove out of the garage, and headed for the patch of scrub woods east of center city where the four men had been found. Neither of us spoke. Understandable since there wasn't a lot to say after I explained my jelly doughnut dilemma, and Ranger'd declared open season on Stephanie. Still, it was good to have cleared the air, and now if I accidentally ripped his clothes off he'd understand it was one of those odd chemical things.

The crime-scene tape blocked the dirt road leading back to the crime site and covered a couple acres along the road and into the woods. Ranger parked the truck, and we got out and scooted under the yellow tape. I could see a van through the trees, and snatches of conversation carried to me. Men's voices.

Two or three.

We walked the dirt road through the scrubby field and into the woods. The graves weren't far in. There was an area about the size of a two-car garage where the vegetation had been trampled over the years, leaving hard-packed dirt and some hardscrabble grass. This was the end of the road, the turnaround point.

This was the place where drug deals were made, sex was sold, and kids got drunk, stoned, pregnant.

The van belonged to the state lab. The side door was open. One guy stood by the open door, writing on a pad. Two guys in shirtsleeves were working at the grave site. They were wearing disposable gloves and carrying evidence bags. They looked our way and nodded, recognizing Ranger.

“Your FTA's long gone,” the guy at the van said.

“Just curious,” Ranger told him. “Wanted to see what the scene looked like.”

“Looks like you got a new partner. What happened to Tank?”

“It's Tank's day off,” Ranger said.

“Hey, wait a minute,” the guy said, smiling at me. “Aren't you Stephanie Plum?”

“Yes,” I said. “And whatever you've heard ... it isn't true.”

“You two are kind of cute together,” the guy said to Ranger. “I like the matching clothes. Does Celia know about this?”

“This is business,” Ranger said. “Stephanie's working for Rangeman. Are you finding anything interesting?”

“Hard to say. There was a lot of trash here. Everything from left-behind panties to crack cookers. A lot of used condoms and needles. You want to watch where you walk. Be best if you stay on the road. The road's clean.”

“How deep was the grave?”

“A couple feet. I'm surprised they weren't found sooner. It's on the far perimeter of the cleared area so maybe it wasn't noticed. Or maybe no one cared. From the way the ground's settled I'd say they were here for a while. Couple weeks at least. Looks to me like they were shot here. Won't know for sure until the lab tests come back.”

“Did he leave the shells?”

“Took the shells.”

Ranger nodded. “Later.”

“Later. Give Celia a hug for me.”