“I’m thinking about marrying a woman who gets rockets launched into her living room,” Morelli said. “What’s wrong with this picture?”
“You’re thinking about marrying me?”
“I’ve been thinking about marrying you for ten years,” Morelli said. “Do you want to explain this latest terrorist attack to me?”
“It’s all a misunderstanding. Some nutcase guy thinks I’m in a relationship with Ranger.”
“Are you?”
“In a relationship with Ranger? No! I’m working for him.”
“And this is why the nutcase guy just fired off a rocket into your living room?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know him by name?”
“Not exactly. Ranger’s working on it.”
Emergency vehicles were pouring into my parking lot. Fire trucks, EMTs, police cars.
“I suppose I should go downstairs and explain this to them,” Morelli said.
“What will you say?”
“I’ll say I haven’t a clue. And I’m absolutely not going to tell anyone I picked it up and chucked it out your window.” He turned when he got to the door. “I want you to call Ranger and tell him I’m not happy.”
Bob and I watched the circus in the parking lot for a while and I called Ranger.
“Morelli wants me to tell you he’s not happy,” I said to Ranger.
“I already talked to Morelli.”
“Was he happy?”
“No.”
“Your guy shot a missile into my living room.”
“Yeah, he hit Amanda Olesen’s townhouse too. He shot it into her front window.”
&
nbsp; “Was anyone hurt?”
“No, but the townhouse was destroyed. Amanda and Kinsey were in the back of the house when the explosion occurred.”
“Where are they now?”
“I have them in a safe house.”
“Are they going through with the wedding?” I asked.
“They’re trying to decide.”
“They should cancel. It’s too dangerous.”
“Babe, you just want to get out of wearing the pink dress.”