Takedown Twenty (Stephanie Plum 20)

We left the Senior Center, piled into Lula’s car, and sat there for a moment.

“I kind of like being a slut,” Grandma said. “It beats the heck out of being an old lady.”

“Now what?” Lula asked. “Are we going home now?”

“I’d like to check on Uncle Sunny,” I said. “I want to see if he’s in Hamilton Township.”

“I’m on it,” Lula said. “I’m in a mood to kick some butt.”

“I wasn’t thinking of kicking butt tonight,” I said. “I mostly wanted to confirm that Sunny spends his nights with Rita. And that Tweedledum and Tweedledee don’t stand watch.”

Lula found Rita’s street and drove by her house. Lights were on in the front room. No car in the driveway. No thugs hanging out on the front porch. Lula made a U-turn and parked across the street.

“Stay here,” I said to Lula and Grandma. “I’m going to take a quick look around the house.”

I crossed the street and quietly ran to the side of the house that was shadowed by a large maple tree. I crept up to a window and peeked in at the dining room. The room was dark, but I could see light spilling out of the living room and I could hear television noise. I worked my way around to the back of the house, looking in windows, mentally cataloging the interior. I turned a corner and saw Grandma and Lula with their noses pressed against Rita’s kitchen window.

“I told you to stay in the car!” I stage-whispered.

“That wasn’t no fun,” Grandma said. “We’re here watching Rita fix Sunny a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“Uh-oh,” Lula said. “I think they see us.”

Lula and Grandma jumped away from the window, there was shouting inside the house, and the back door crashed open. Lula grabbed Grandma by the hand and yanked her at a flat-out run around the side of the house. Lula was in four-inch spike-heel ’ho boots, and Grandma was in red and white Vans, and all things considered they were making good progress at beating a retreat.

Sunny came through the door first with a gun in his hand. I tackled him from the side, knocking the gun away, taking us both to the ground.

“Step away or I’ll shoot,” Rita said.

“You can’t shoot,” I told her. “This isn’t a home invasion. I’m in your yard.”

“Easier to clean up the blood,” Rita said.

I heard the ratchet of a shotgun, and I rolled away from Sunny. I scrambled to my feet and was about to take off when Sunny came at me. He barreled into me, there was a shotgun blast, and Sunny yelped and went down to one knee.

“You fucking idiot,” he yelled at Rita. “You shot me!”

“You got in the way,” Rita said. “Stay down.”

I saw her shoulder the shotgun, and I ran around the corner. I was halfway across the street when Rita’s front door burst open and she squeezed off her second shot. A bunch of pellets pinged against the Firebird, but I didn’t get hit. I dove into the backseat, and Lula took off.

“Boy, that was something,” Grandma said. “That was way better than Bingo.”

NINE

I WAS ON the couch, in front of the television, enjoying a glass of wine, when Ranger knocked once and walked in. Every part of Ranger is perfectly hinged and in perfect proportion. When he walks into a room his stride is fluid and self-assured. His athleticism is unconscious. He relaxed back into the overstuffed chair opposite me.

“Pretty,” he said.

“The wine?”

“You.”

I was wearing a white T-shirt and striped pajama bottoms with a drawstring waist. My feet were bare and my hair was down and disorderly.

“This would be perfect if we were in my apartment and not yours, and you were spending the night,” he said.

“I didn’t know you were interested in that.”