Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum 25)

“Suppose there’s some other miscreant out there, and he wants to rob me?”

“I’m wearing an earbud, talking to my surveillance people,” Ranger said. “They tell me there’s no one in the area. Probably this is a dud night, but we’ll try anyway.”

“And if this miscreant comes along out of the blue and demands to take possession of our garbage, you should give it to him,” Raymond said.

Ranger ordered everyone to stay behind in the kitchen, and I trudged to the back door with my garbage bag. Five minutes earlier I was stupefied tired. Now I was in adrenaline overload. My heart was beating hard, and my hand was sweaty on the doorknob. I opened the door and looked out. The small parking lot was well lit, but beyond it was blackness. Ranger?

?s men were out there somewhere, and Ranger was watching on the monitor. It was all good, I told myself. I’d be fine.

I stepped out and moved toward the dumpster. I could hear the faint drone of traffic from the cross street. All else was quiet. I tried to pace myself, walking not too fast and not too slow. I tried to look natural. Just another day at the deli. I reached the dumpster and paused. Still no footsteps. No flying saucer hovering overhead. I heaved the garbage into the dumpster and turned. No one lurking behind me.

It’s not over yet, I told myself. You still have to get back inside. I lingered for a moment so Ranger could see I was a brave soldier making an effort, and then I headed for the door.

I stepped in with a mix of emotions. Relief that nothing had happened, and disappointment that nothing had happened. Ranger closed and locked the door, slipped an arm around me, and my knees almost buckled.

“I’m okay,” I said.

He kissed me on my forehead. “Babe.”

“It says on the door that the deli opens at five o’clock on Sundays,” Lula said. “Hallelujah. I need a break from this nuthouse.”

“What about provisions?” I asked.

“No provisions on Sunday,” Stretch said. “We should be okay. Sunday night is light.”

“Saturday was also supposed to be light,” Raymond said. “How did that turn out?”

* * *

¦ ¦ ¦

I slumped in my seat in Ranger’s Porsche. “I’m exhausted,” I said. “I’m not waitress material. I’m glad this day is over.”

“It’s not over yet,” Ranger said. “I’m curious about the Wulf window exit.”

Ranger drove to the KitKat and parked one building away. It was an okay street. Mostly narrow, three-story residential row houses. Lots of graffiti but no gangbangers walking around shooting each other. There were lights on in the apartment above the bar. No lights on the third floor. The upstairs apartments were accessed through a door next to the bar. Ranger walked in, and I followed. We took the stairs to the third floor. There were two apartments up there. One facing front and one facing the rear.

Ranger knocked on the rear-facing apartment. No answer. The door was locked. Ranger took a pick from a pocket in his cargo pants and opened the door. We stood for a moment, letting our eyes adjust to the dark.

From what I could see it was an empty studio apartment. Small kitchenette on one side of the room. No furniture.

“It’s empty,” I said.

“Not empty,” Ranger said. “Look in the corner.”

“I can’t see in the corner. You have better night vision than I do.”

This was an understatement. Ranger had vision like a cat.

He flipped the light on, and I sucked in air. There were shoes in the corner. One of each kind. Ranger closed and locked the door behind us, and we walked to the corner with the shoes.

“There are two security cameras in here,” Ranger said. “One over the door and one on the wall opposite the door.”

“Infrared,” I said. “I saw the red eye when we walked in.”

Ranger went to the window. It was closed but not locked. He checked out the closet, the half fridge, the over-the-counter cabinets, and the bathroom.

“It’s empty,” he said. “I’m going to call it in to Trenton PD. The crime lab might be able to pick something up.”