Seven Up (Stephanie Plum 7)

Twenty minutes later, Ranger was at the door. He was dressed in black fatigues, with a full utility belt. God only knows what I'd dragged him away from. He looked at me and grinned. “Blond?”

“It was one of those impulse things.”

“Any other surprises?”

“Nothing I want to tell you about right now.”

He walked farther into the apartment and raised an eyebrow at DeChooch.

“I didn't do it,” I said.

“How bad is it?”

“I'll live,” DeChooch said, “but it hurts like hell.”

“Sophia showed up and shot his ear off,” I told Ranger.

“And she's where now?”

“Police custody.”

Ranger got an arm under DeChooch and pulled him to his feet. “I have Tank in the SUV outside. We'll take Chooch to the emergency room and have him admitted overnight. He'll be more comfortable there than in jail. They can lock him down at the hospital.”

DeChooch had been smart to hold out for Ranger. Ranger had ways of accomplishing the impossible.

I closed the door after Ranger and locked it. I zapped the television on and flipped through the channels. No wrestling or hockey. No movies of interest. Fifty-eight channels and nothing to watch.

I had a lot of things on my mind, and I didn't want to think about any of them. I prowled through the house, annoyed and at the same time relieved that Morelli hadn't called.

I had nothing on my slate. I'd found everyone. I had no open cases. On Monday I'd collect my finder's fee from Vinnie, and I'd be able to pay another month's worth of bills. My CR-V was in the shop. I hadn't gotten the estimate on that yet. With any luck the insurance would cover it.

I took a long hot shower, and when I came out I wondered who the blond person was in the mirror. Not me, I thought. Probably next week I'd go to the mall and have my hair dyed back to its original color. One blonde in the family is enough.

The air coming through my open bedroom window smelled like summer, so I decided on undies and a T-shirt for bed. No more flannel nightgowns until next November. I dropped a white shirt over my head and crawled under the quilt. I shut the light out and lay there for a long time in the dark, feeling alone.

I have two men in my life and I don't know what to think of either of them. Strange how things turn out. Morelli has been in and out of my life since I was six years old. He's like a comet that once every ten years gets sucked into my gravitational pull, furiously circles me, and then rockets back out into space. Our needs never seem to be in total alignment.

Ranger is new to my life. He's an unknown quantity, starting as mentor and progressing to . . . what? Hard to assess exactly what Ranger wants from me. Or what I want from him. Sexual satisfaction. Beyond that I'm not sure. I gave an involuntary shiver at the thought of a sexual encounter with Ranger. I know so little about him that in some ways it would be like making love blindfolded . . . pure sensation and physical exploration. And trust. There is a quality to Ranger that instills trust.

The blue numbers of my digital clock floated in blackness across the room. It was one o'clock. I couldn't sleep. An image of Sophia popped into my mind. I closed my eyes tight against it and willed it to go away. More sleepless minutes ticked by. The blue numbers said 1:30.

And then in the silent apartment I heard the distant click of a lock turning. And the soft scrape of my broken security chain as it swung across the wood door. My heart stopped dead in my chest. When it restarted it banged so hard against my rib cage my vision blurred. Someone was in my apartment.

The footsteps were light. Not cautious. Not pausing periodically to listen, to look around the dark apartment. I tried to control my breathing, to steady my heart. I suspected I knew the intruder's identity, but that did little to lessen the panic.

He stepped into the doorway to my bedroom and knocked softly on the jamb. “Are you awake?”

“I am now. You scared the hell out of me.”

It was Ranger.

“I want to see you,” he said. “Do you have a night-light?”

“In the bathroom.”

He got the light from the bathroom and plugged it into a baseboard outlet in my bedroom. It didn't give off much light, but it was enough to see him clearly.

“So,” I said, mentally cracking my knuckles. “What's going on? Is DeChooch okay?”