Finger Lickin' Fifteen (Stephanie Plum 15)

“Storeroom on the second floor.”

“Will it be open at this time of the night?” I asked him.

“It’s always open.”

This was like talking to a rock. “I don’t suppose I could borrow your stapler?”

Diaz so looked like he wanted me to go away that I almost felt sorry for him.

“I don’t have a stapler,” he said.

“Would you like me to get one for you from the storeroom?”

“No. I don’t need one. I haven’t got anything to staple.”

“Yeah, but what if suddenly you had to staple something and you didn’t have a stapler? Then it would be a stapling emergency.”

“Somebody put you up to this, right? Martin? Ramon?”

“No! Cross my heart and hope to die. I came in to catch up on my work, and I had this stapler issue.”

Diaz looked at me. Not saying anything.

“Jeez,” I said. And I went back to my cubicle.

I fiddled around for ten or fifteen minutes, drawing doodles in the margins of the report I’d just done, and Ranger called.

“This guy isn’t human,” I said to Ranger. “Does he ever talk to anyone?”

“No more than necessary to be a team member.”

“I get the feeling he’s been the brunt of some practical jokes.”

“I’m not supposed to know, but I think there’s a lottery going to see who’s the first to get him to crack a smile.”

“Why did your cousin divorce him?”

“She found someone she liked better.”

“Gee, hard to believe there’s someone better than Mr. Charming here.”

“He’s a good man,” Ranger said. “He’s steady.”

“He’s emotionally closed.”

“There are worse things,” Ranger said. And he disconnected.

Truth is, Ranger was every bit as silent and unemotional as Diaz. Always in control. Always on guard. What made the difference was an animal intelligence and sexuality that made Ranger mysterious and compelling, while Diaz was simply annoying.

I ambled down to the second floor and prowled through the stockroom in search of a stapler. I finally found them and selected a small handheld. I took it ba

ck to the fifth floor and showed it to Diaz on the way to my desk.

“Got my stapler,” I said. “Thanks.”

Diaz nodded and resumed staring at his collection of monitors. I walked around his desk and looked over his shoulder. He was watching multiple locations in the building. No activity at any of them.

“I thought for sure one of these would be tuned to the Cartoon Network,” I said.