Lean Mean Thirteen (Stephanie Plum 13)

“No. Didn't even come close.”

I disconnected Morelli and called Ranger.

“Can we talk?” I asked him.

“Your place or mine?”

“Yours.”

“I'm parked behind you.”

I looked in my rearview mirror and locked eyes with him. He was in the Porsche Cayenne.

“Sometimes you freak me out,” I said to Ranger.

“Babe.”

I got out of my garbage-scow Crown Vic and into Rangers shiny, immaculate SUV.

“You involved me in a murder,” I said to Ranger.

“And you have no alibi,” Ranger said.

“Is there anything you don't know?”

“I don't know what happened to Dickie.”

“So I guess that means you didn't snatch him?”

“I don't leave bloodstains,” Ranger said.

Ranger was dressed in his usual black. Black Vibram-soled boots, black jeans, black shirt, black wool pea coat, and his black Navy SEAL ball cap. Ranger was a shadow. A mystery man. A man who had no time or desire to mix and match colors.

“Those bugs I planted on Dickie… what was that about?” I asked him.

“You don't want to know.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You don't.”

I stared him down. “I do.”

Ranger did what for him was a sigh. The barest whisper of expelled breath. I was being a pain in the keester.

“I'm looking for a guy named Ziggy Zabar. His brother, Zip, works for me and came to me for help when Ziggy disappeared last week. Ziggy's a CPA with a firm downtown. They prepare the tax reports for Petiak, Smullen, Gorvich, and Orr. Every Monday, the partners hold a meeting off-site, and Ziggy had the meeting on his calendar. He was seen getting into his car to go to the meeting, and then he disappeared. The four partners swear Zabar never showed up, but I don't believe it. There's something not right about the firm. Dickie has legitimate credentials and has passed the Jersey bar. His partners have law degrees from Panama. Right now, I can't tell if Dickie is dumb or dirty.”

“Did the bugs work?”

“The meeting was canceled. We listened until a little after ten and packed up when Dickie went to bed.”

“So you weren't listening when shots were fired.”

“No, but I was in his house after the police sealed it, and it looks to me like Dickie left the house wearing the same clothes he had on all day. We've tried scanning to pick up a bug, but haven't had any luck. Either he's out of range, or the bugs have been found and destroyed.”

“Now what?”

Ranger took a little plastic bag from his pocket. It contained another bug. “Do you think you can plant this on Peter Smullen?”