Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum 24)

“No zombie?”

“Doubtful,” Ranger said.

“Then who?”

Ranger’s attention went back to the T-shirt. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “You owe me some time.”

Oh boy.

The smile returned. “Don’t panic. It’s just a game. You’re the one who decides when we play.”

That did me no good at all. Ranger was totally desirable. Being in a semi-committed relationship wasn’t enough for me not to want Ranger. I would have to be dead. And even dead might not do it.

“Why isn’t Diesel protecting you?” Ranger asked. “He’s still in town.”

“I never see him. He’s looking for someone.”

And that was the way I liked it. My biggest fear was that Diesel would drag Slick into my apartment by the scruff of his neck, and I’d have to pay up on our deal and strip down.

“Diesel works for a little-known international organization that attempts to control exceptional people who go rogue,” Ranger said. “Chances are good that he’s looking for someone associated with the zombie drug. Maybe the chemist or biologist who developed it.”

“What happens if Diesel goes rogue?”

“That would be a problem.” Ranger took a bottle of water from the fridge. “I have to go downstairs. What are your plans for the day?”

“Simon Diggery is going before the judge today. I want to be there.”

“Take a fleet car. I’ll have Tank park it next to mine. He’ll leave the key on the dash.”

“Is this double or nothing again?”

“This one’s on the house.”

“Thanks. I’ll try not to destroy it.”

I took a shower, got dressed, and headed out. Tank had positioned a shiny black Honda CR-V next to Ranger’s Porsche 911 Turbo. It was pretty and new, and just looking at it had my stomach in a knot. With me at the wheel, the poor thing was doomed to have an ugly end. It was only a matter of days. Maybe a matter of minutes!

I carefully eased the car out of the garage and drove to the office. Lula was at Connie’s desk, shopping QVC on Connie’s computer.

“Connie went to the courthouse to bond out LeRoy,” Lula said. “After he gets sprung, me and LeRoy are gonna meet for lunch.”

“Diggery is in court today too. I called on my way here, and they said he’s up for eleven o’clock. I thought I’d go over and see if he needs a ride home.”

“You think he’s gonna get off?”

“I’m hoping. I don’t know why they keep arresting him. They can never make any of the charges stick.”

“Yeah, but it slows him down,” Lula said. “He stays clear of the cemetery for a while after he’s been harassed.”

• • •

Diggery saw me when he was led into the courtroom. It wasn’t hard for him to spot me. There were only a few people scattered around. Judge Judy wasn’t presiding, Bernie Madoff wasn’t on trial, and no zombies were in attendance.

The sad sack before Diggery got thirty days for destruction of personal property while under the influence. He looked like he was under the influence a lot. The sad sack left, head down, and Diggery was called.

Diggery approached the bench, pleaded not guilty to the charges, and the judge looked like he wanted to hit himself in the head with his gavel. Probably this wasn’t his first rodeo with Diggery.

Diggery went on to explain how he was doing volunteer gardening at the cemetery as part of a civic beautification campaign. And while he was digging so he could plant some geraniums he came upon a ring.