Eleven on Top (Stephanie Plum 11)

I returned to my desk, and I ignored the search requests piling up in my in-box. I picked up where I left off with the Dix search, reading the front pages. By five o'clock I had a list of crimes that I thought had potential.

Nothing sensational. Just good solid crimes like a rash of unsolved burglaries, an unsolved murder, an unsolved hijacking. None of the crimes really grabbed me, and I still had lots of front pages to read, so I decided to keep searching.

I called Morelli and told him I was working late.

“How late?” he said.

“I don't know. Does it matter?”

“Only if you come home with your underwear on backwards.”

I could go him one better than that. How about no underwear at all?

“Dial yourself some food,” I said. “And tie Bob out back. I need to finish this project. How was your day? Is your leg okay?”

“The leg is okay. The day was long. I don't like being stuck in the building.”

“Anything on Barroni and the three other guys?”

“They've all been positively identified. You were right about all of them. They were killed on-site. That's it so far.”

“No one's seen Spiro?”

“No, but the pizza kid gave a good description, and it matches yours.”

I struggled up from a deep sleep and opened my eyes to Ranger.

“Babe,” he said softly. “You need to wake up. You need to go home.”

I had my arms crossed on my desk and my head on my arms. The screen saver was up on my computer. “What time is it?”

“It's a little after eleven. I just came back from a breakin on one of the Rangeman accounts and saw you were still here.”

“I was looking for a crime.”

“Did you call Morelli?”

“Earlier. He knows I'm working late.”

Ranger looked down at my feet. "Have you heard anything about your shoes?

Ella was going to wash them."

“Haven't heard anything.”

Ranger punched Ella's extension on my phone. “Sorry to call so late,” he said. “What's happening with Stephanie's shoes?”

Ranger smiled at Ella's answer. He disconnected and slung an arm around my

shoulder. “Bad news on the shoes. They melted in the dryer. Looks like you're going home in your socks.” He pulled me to my feet. “I'll drive you. You can't ride the bike like this.”

We took the elevator to the garage, and Ranger went to the Porsche. Of all his cars, this was my favorite. I loved the sound of the engine, and I loved the way the seat cradled me. At night, the dash looked like controls on a jet, and the car felt intimate.

I was groggy from sleep and exhausted from the events of the day. And I suspected the last two nights were catching up with me. I closed my eyes and melted into the cushy leather seat. I felt Ranger reach across and buckle my seat belt. I heard the Porsche growl to life and move up the ramp to exit the garage.

I dozed on the way home and came awake when the car stopped. I looked out at the darkened neighborhood. Not a lot of lights shining in windows at this time of the night. These were hardworking people who rose early and went to bed early. We were stopped half a block from Morelli's house.

“Why are we stopped here?” I asked Ranger.