Lean Mean Thirteen (Stephanie Plum 13)

Yuk. What would that mean for my meeting? I thought Smullen wanted to talk to me about kidnapping and murder. It would be horrible if it turned out he wanted to talk about sex. Maybe he didn't notice the bug. Maybe he noticed the cleavage.

The rest of the list looked benign. I took the prin

ted copy from Connie and shoved it into my bag.

“Gotta go,” I said to Connie.

Connie reached into her top drawer, took out a box of rounds for my Smith & Wesson, and tossed them to me. “Just in case.”

I left the bonds office, settled myself in the Cayenne, and called Ranger.

“Yo,” Ranger said.

“I took your advice and went to talk to Joyce, and I learned there's a Smith Barney account that has Dickies social security number as an access code. It has a zero balance and the last withdrawal was forty million dollars.”

“Joyce shared that with you?”

“More or less. When you went through Dickie's house, did you search his home office?”

“No. I wanted to see the crime scene, and I didn't have time for much else. I slid in between police investigations.”

“Maybe it would be a good idea to poke around in Dickie's office and see what turns up. I'd like to prowl through his law office too, but that feels more complicated.”

“Where are you now?”

“I'm at the bonds office.”

“Pick me up at RangeMan.”

RangeMan is located on a quiet side street in downtown Trenton. It's a relatively small, unobtrusive seven-story building sandwiched between other commercial properties. There's a number on the front door and a small brass plaque, but no sign announcing RangeMan. Parking is underground in a gated garage. Ranger's private apartment is located on the top floor. The whole operation is very high-tech and secure.

Ranger was waiting outside for me. I pulled to the curb and placed his hat on the console. He got in and put the hat on.

“Do you feel better now?” I asked him.

“A friend gave this hat to me just before he died. It's a reminder to stay alert.”

I glanced over at him. “I thought you wore it because it looked hot.”

That got a smile from him. “Do you think I look hot in this hat?”

I thought he looked hot in everything. “It's a pretty good hat,” I told him.

When I reached Dickie's house, I did a slow drive-by. The crime scene tape had been taken down, and the house no longer felt ominous. No cars in the driveway. No lights shining from windows.

“Park in front of the house,” Ranger said. “We're going in like we belong here.”

We walked to the door, and Ranger tried the handle. Locked. He took a small tool from his jacket pocket, and in twenty seconds the door was open. I suspected the tool was for show, and if I hadn't been watching he'd say abracadabra and the door would unlock.

I followed Ranger in and the ominous feeling returned. There were still bloodstains on the floor, and the house had been tossed.

“Did it look like this when you were here?” I asked.

“No. Someone's been here looking for something, and they weren't subtle.”

We went room by room, not disturbing the mess that had been made. Drawers were open, contents thrown onto the floor. Cushions were on the floor too, and some of them were slashed. Mattresses ditto. His office was more orderly only because it had clearly been carefully picked over. His computer was missing. His files were also missing. No way to know if they'd been taken by the police or by whoever ransacked the house. All messages on the answering machine were from Joyce.

“Time's up,” Ranger said. “We need to get out of here.”