Finger Lickin' Fifteen (Stephanie Plum 15)

“I can see that,” Ranger said. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a swamp fire.”

My sneakers were soaked, my jeans had wicked water up to my knees, and I was head-to-toe soot.

“The Chipotle killers firebombed my apartment. I saw them in the parking lot. I think they were after

Lula.”

“Is Morelli making any progress?”

“He’s got a name for one of them.” I went to the fridge and found a beer. “I thought you’d be on patrol.”

“My route took me through town, so I decided to take a break and get something to eat.” Ranger finished his sandwich and washed it down with a bottle of water. “I’m going back out.”

I walked him to the door and watched him take a key from the silver server on the breakfront. Ranger always kept three cars for his personal use. The Porsche Turbo, a Mercedes sedan, and a Porsche Cayenne. He used to have a truck that he loved, but it went to truck heaven and was never replaced. The key he chose tonight was for a Cayenne.

“Replaced already?” I asked him.

“It would have been here sooner, but they had to install the lockbox under the seat.”

“I guess you’re all about instant gratification.”

Ranger grabbed me and kissed me. “If I was all about instant gratification, you’d be naked and in bed.”

And he left.

FIFTEEN

I OPENED MY eyes and looked at the bedside clock. Almost six in the morning. I heard keys clink onto the silver server in the hall, and I knew Ranger was home. I vacated the bed and sleepwalked into the dressing room. Not a lot of variety to my clothing choices. Black everything. Life was simple at Rangeman, and this was a good thing at this hour because I wasn’t capable of complicated thoughts, such as red shirt or blue shirt.

I grabbed some clothes and hustled into the bathroom. When I came out, Ranger was eating breakfast at the small dining room table.

“It looks like Ella’s been here,” I said to him.

“She brought you coffee and an omelet.”

There was also a breadbasket, plus a fresh fruit platter with raspberries, blackberries, and kiwi. Ranger had a bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon.

“How was your night?” I asked him.

“Uneventful. And yours?”

“Uneventful once I got here,” I said.

Ranger pushed back from the table and stood.

“What are your plans for today?”

“I want to take another stab at capturing Myron Kaplan. I’m hoping to get into my apartment to at least look around. And we have to sign in for the barbecue cook-off this afternoon. Tomorrow is the big day.”

“I hate to point out the obvious, but so far as I know, you can’t cook.”

“It’s about barbecue sauce,” I said. “You take some ketchup and add pepper, and you’ve got sauce.”

Ranger grinned down at me. “And this is why I love you.” He kissed me on the top of my head. “I need to get some sleep. Take whatever car you want.”

I finished my omelet, had a second cup of coffee, and headed out, grabbing the keys to the new Cayenne. It would be fun to drive the Turbo, but it wasn’t practical for hauling felons back to jail. I stepped into the elevator, pushed the button for garage level, and waved at the little camera in the corner up by the ceiling, knowing someone was manning a monitor, looking at me. And that’s when it hit me. The camera.

I got to the garage and hit the button to go back to the seventh floor. I let myself into Ranger’s apartment and yelled out to him. “I’ve got it!”