Okay, maybe it wasn't so bad having Grandma here.
She stirred the pancake batter. “I thought we could get going early today, and then maybe you could take me out for a driving lesson.”
Thank God my car had burned to a cinder. “I don't have a car right now,” I said. “There was an accident.”
“Again? What happened this time. Torched? Bombed? Flattened?”
I poured myself a cup of coffee. “Torched. But it wasn't my fault.”
“You've got a pip of a life,” Grandma said. “Never a dull moment. Fast cars, fast men, fast food. I wouldn't mind having a life like that.”
She was right about the fast food.
“You didn't get a paper this morning,” Grandma said. “I went and looked in the hall and all your neighbors got papers but you didn't get one.”
“I don't have paper delivery,” I told her. “If I want a paper I buy one.” Or borrow one.
“Breakfast isn't gonna seem right without a paper to read,” Grandma said. “I gotta read the funnies and the obits, and this morning I wanted to look for an apartment.”
“I'll get you a paper,” I said, not wanting to slow down the apartment search.
I was wearing a green plaid flannel nightshirt, which went well with my bloodshot blue eyes. I covered it with a short denim Levi's jacket, stuffed myself into gray sweatpants, shoved my feet into boots, which I left unlaced, clapped a Navy SEALs ball cap onto my rat's nest of shoulder-length curly brown hair, and grabbed my car keys.
“I'll be back in a minute,” I yelled from the hall. “I'll just run out to the 7-Eleven.”
I punched the button for the elevator. The elevator doors opened and my mind went blank. Ranger was lounging against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes dark and assessing, the corners of his mouth hinting at a smile.
“Get in,” he said.
He'd abandoned his usual outfit of black rap clothes or GI Joe cammies. He was wearing a brown leather jacket, a cream-colored Henley, faded jeans, and work boots. His hair, which had always been slicked back in a ponytail, was cut short. He had a two-day beard, making his teeth seem whiter and his Latino complexion seem darker. A wolf in Gap clothing.
“Jeez,” I said, feeling a flutter of something I'd rather not admit to in the pit of my stomach. “You look different.”
“Just your average guy.”
Yeah, right.
He reached forward, grabbed the front of my jacket, and pulled me into the elevator. He pushed the button to close the doors and then hit Stop. “We need to talk.”
Stephanie Plum 6 - Hot Six
3
RANGER HAD BEEN Special Forces, and he still had the build and the carriage. He was standing close, forcing me to tip my head back ever so slightly to look into his eyes.
“Just get out of bed?” he asked.
I glanced down. “You mean the nightshirt?”
“The nightshirt, the hair . . . the stupor.”
“You're the reason for the stupor.”
“Yeah,” Ranger said. “I get that a lot. I cause stupor in women.”
“What happened?”
“I had a meeting with Homer Ramos, and someone killed him when I left.”