One for the Money (Stephanie Plum 1)

His expression narrowed. “Yeah. Almost as surprising as when you nailed me with your father's car.”

In the interest of avoiding confrontation, I felt compelled to explain. I didn't feel obliged to do it convincingly. “It was an accident. My foot slipped.”

“That was no accident. You jumped the goddamn curb and followed me down the sidewalk. You could have killed me.” He leaned beyond the doorjamb and looked the length of the hallway. “So what are you really doing here? You read about me in the papers and decide my life wasn't fucked up enough?”

My plan evaporated in a rush of pique. “I could care less about your fucked-up life,” I snapped. “I'm working for my cousin Vinnie. You're in violation of your bond agreement.”

Good going, Stephanie. Wonderful control.

He grinned. “Vinnie sent you to bring me in?”

“You think that's funny?”

“Yeah, I do. And I have to tell you, I really enjoy a good joke these days, because I haven't had much to laugh about lately.”

I could appreciate his point of view. If I was looking at twenty years to life, I wouldn't be laughing either. “We need to talk.”

“Talk fast. I'm in a hurry.”

I figured I had about forty seconds to convince him to give himself up. Hit him with the heavy stuff right off, I thought. Appeal to his familial guilt. “What about your mother?”

“What about her?”

“She signed the bond agreement. She's going to be responsible for $100,000. She'll have to mortgage her house. And what will she say to everyone, that her son Joe was too cowardly to stand trial?”

The contours of his face hardened. “You're wasting your time. I have no intention of going back into custody. They'll lock me up and throw away the key, and in the process I stand an excellent chance of getting dead. You know what happens to cops in prison. It's not nice. And if you want to know more of the ugly truth, you'd be the last person I'd let collect the bounty money. You're a lunatic. You ran me over with a goddamn Buick.”

I'd been telling myself I didn't give a hoot about Morelli and his opinion of me, but in all honesty, his animosity hurt. Deep down inside, I'd wanted him to hold a tender feeling for me. I wanted to ask him why he'd never called after he'd seduced me in the bakery. Instead, I yelled at him. “You deserved to get run over. And besides, I barely tapped you. The only reason you broke your leg was because you panicked and tripped over your own feet.”

“You're lucky I didn't sue you.”

“You're lucky I didn't put the car into reverse and back over you three or four times.”

Morelli rolled his eyes and threw his hands into the air. “I gotta go. I'd love to stand around and try to understand female logic . . .”

“Female logic? Excuse me?”

Morelli turned from the door, shrugged into a lightweight sports coat, and grabbed the black nylon duffel from the floor. “I've got to get out of here.”

“Where are you going?”

He nudged me aside, shoved an ugly black gun under the waistband of his Levis, locked his door, and pocketed the key. “None of your business.”

“Listen.” I said, following him down the stairs. “I may be new at this apprehension stuff, but I'm not stupid, and I'm not a quitter. I told Vinnie I'd bring you in and that's exactly what I intend to do. You can run if you want, but I'll track you down and find you, and I'll do whatever is necessary to apprehend you.”

What a load of bull! I couldn't believe I was saying it. I'd been lucky to find him this first time, and the only way I was ever going to apprehend him was if I stumbled upon him already bound, gagged, and knocked unconscious. Even then, I wasn't sure how far I could drag him.

He left through a back entrance and headed for a latemodel car parked close to the building. “Don't bother tracing the plate,” he said. “The car is borrowed. I'll have a different one an hour from now. And, don't waste your energy following me. I'll lose you. I guarantee it.”

He dumped the duffel onto the front seat, started to get into the car, and stopped. He turned and straightened, hooked an elbow over the door frame, and for the first time since I'd popped up on his doorstep he took a few moments to actually look at me. The first rush of angry emotion was gone, and in its place was quiet assessment. This was the cop, I thought. The Morelli I didn't know. The grownup Morelli, if such an animal existed. Or maybe it was just the old Morelli, looking for a new angle.

“I like the way you've let your hair go curly,” he finally said. “Suits your personality. Lots of energy, not much control, sexy as hell.”

“You know nothing about my personality.”

“I know about the sexy as hell part.”

I felt my face burn. “Tactless of you to remind me.”