Ten Big Ones (Stephanie Plum 10)

Couldn't get in. I looked more closely at the door. It had a deadbolt. I inserted the extra key and the door opened. Now I had a real dilemma. Up to this point I wasn't feeling especially invasive.

I'd discovered the location of Ranger's base of operations. In truth, not such a big deal. However, once I crossed the threshold in front of me, I was in Rangers private space, and I was uninvited. This was officially breaking and entering. Not only was it illegal... it was rude.

The stupid part of my brain kicked in again. Yes, it said, but how about all those times Ranger let himself into your apartment? Half the time you were asleep, and he scared the bejeebers out of you.

Can you ever remember one time that he knocked first?

Maybe one time, I answered. It stood to reason that he'd knocked at least once. But hard as I tried I couldn't recall him ever knocking. Ranger slipped in like smoke under the door.

I took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. 'Hello,' I called softly. 'Anybody home? Yoohoooo?'

Nothing. Not a sound. The reception area had been lit, but the apartment was dark. I was standing in a small hallway foyer. An antique wood sideboard was against the wall to my right. There was a tray on the sideboard that looked like it was supposed to hold keys, so I dropped Ranger's keys in the tray. I flipped the switch by the door and two side-by-side candlestick lamps, also on the sideboard, blinked on.

The foyer area was defined by an arch and beyond the arch the living room opened directly in front of me. Kitchen and dining area to the right of the living room. Bedroom suite to the left. The apartment was larger than mine and miles more opulent. Ranger had furniture. Expensive furniture. It was an eclectic mix of antique and modern. Lots of wood and black leather. Marble in the small powder room off the foyer.

Hard to imagine Ranger moving through these rooms dressed in

SWAT black. The apartment felt masculine, but more like cashmere sweater and Italian loafers than bounty hunter fatigues.

Okay, maybe jeans and boots and cashmere sweater but that was a stretch. The jeans would have to be excellent.

The kitchen was gourmet and stainless steel. I peeked in the refrigerator. Eggs, fat-free milk, four bottles of Corona, a plastic container of rustic olives, and the usual condiments. Apples, limes, and eating oranges in the crisper. Brie and cheddar in the dairy drawer. All jars and shelves were immaculate. Nothing but ice cubes in the freezer. Spartan, I thought. I looked through the cupboards. Organic unsweetened granola, a jar of honey, an unopened box of crackers, green tea, a foil bag of Kona coffee beans, a foil pack of smoked salmon, and a foil pack of tuna. Yeesh.

No Cap'n Crunch, no peanut butter, no Entenmann's coffee cake.

How could anyone live like this?

I prowled through the living room into the bedroom area.

There was a small sitting room with a comfy, clubby couch and large-screen plasma TV. The bedroom opened off the sitting room. King-size bed, perfectly made. Four king pillows in shams, matching the ivory sheets trimmed with three narrow ribbons of dark brown piping. All looked like they'd been ironed. A lightweight down comforter encased in a matching dark brown duvet covered the bed. No spread. Blanket chest at the foot of the bed. Brass lamps with black shades on tables. Fabrics on chairs and curtains were earth tones. Very subdued and classy.

I'm not sure what I expected from Ranger, but it wasn't this.

In fact, I was having some doubts that he lived here. It was a great apartment, but there were no personal touches. No photographs in the living room. No book on the nightstand next to the bed.

The master bath and dressing room attached to the bedroom. I stepped into the bath and went momentarily breathless. The room very faintly smelled like Ranger. I prowled around and discovered the scent was from the soap. Again, as in the rest of the house, nothing was out of place. Towels were neatly stacked. Ivory and dark brown, matching the sheets. Very plush. The thought of them next to a naked Ranger gave me a rush that buckled my knees.

The double sink was soap scum-free and set into a marble countertop. Toiletries were displayed to the left. Straightedge and electric razor to the right. No tub, but there was a large marble-and-glass walk-in shower. White terry robe on a hook by the shower.

The dressing room was filled with clothes. A mix of work and casual. I recognized the work clothes. The Ranger who wore the casual hadn't been a part of my life. Everything w

as neatly hung or folded. No dirty socks on the floor. Everything perfectly pressed.

Thank God, no ladies' lingerie. No birth control pills or box of tampons.

I decided there were two possibilities. Either Ranger lived with his mother, or else he had a housekeeper. I didn't see any evidence of a little Cuban lady in residence, so I was going with the housekeeper theory.

'So,' I said to the empty apartment, 'nobody'd mind if I stayed here tonight, right?'

Since no one objected, I took it as a positive sign. Ten minutes later, I was back in the apartment with Rex and a change of clothes.

I set Rex's cage on a kitchen counter and gave him a chunk of apple, I ate the rest of the apple and wandered into the sitting room. I sunk into the comfy couch and picked up the remote for the television. Total space age. I hadn't a clue what to do with all the buttons. No wonder Ranger said he never watched television.

I gave up on the television and migrated into the bedroom. I was tired and the bed looked inviting, but the thought of sliding between Ranger's sheets had me in a cold sweat.

Get over it, I told myself. It's not like he's here.

Yes, I answered, but these are his sheets, for cripes' sake. His personal sheets. I did some chewing on my lower lip. On the other hand, they'd obviously been laundered since he'd slept in them. So it wasn't all that personal, right?