Lean Mean Thirteen (Stephanie Plum 13)

“Four-thirty. Have you been here long?”

“Couple hours.”

“I heard a news report on the Berringer murders while I was in the car. They said the police were baffled.”

“Baffled and tired. I need some sleep. I'm too old for this middle-of-the-night murder shit.”

“There was a time when you did all sorts of things in the middle of the night.”

“Come here and you can tell me about them.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“I just want to talk,” Morelli said.

“That's a big fib. I know what you want to do.”

Morelli smiled. “Hard for a man to keep a secret.”

FOUR

Morelli WAS AT my kitchen counter, drinking coffee, eating cereal. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he was clean-shaven. In ten minutes, he'd have a five o'clock shadow. He was wearing worn-out black jeans, a pale gray cable-knit sweater, and black motorcycle boots.

“You don't look like a cop,” I told him. “All the other guys wear suits.”

“I've been asked by the chief not to wear a suit. I look like a casino pit boss when I wear a suit. I don't inspire trust.”

I poured myself a bowl of cereal and added milk. “It was nice of you to bring all this food.”

“Your cupboards were empty. And your refrigerator. I'm guessing the bounty hunter business is slow.”

“It comes and goes. Problem is, I only make enough money to live day by day. I can't make enough to get ahead.”

“It would be easier if you moved in with me.”

'“We've tried that. It's always a disaster. Eventually, we drive each other nuts.”

“It's your job,” Morelli said.

“Its your expectations.”

He put his cereal bowl in the sink and buckled his gun onto his belt. “Yeah, my expectations are that you'll give up your job.”

“Are we fighting?”

“Am I yelling and waving my arms?”

“No.”

“Then we aren't fighting.” He crooked an arm around my neck and kissed me. “I have to go. I'm working with Phil Panchek. He hates being baffled without me.”

“Marty Gobel never called to talk to me. Does that mean I'm off the hook?”

“No. It means he's dreading talking to you for fear you don't have an alibi, and he's procrastinating as long as possible.”

Bob was leaning against me. “Are you taking Bob?”

“Yeah, I'll drop him off at my house. He has a routine. He eats the couch. He takes a nap. He gnaws on a dining room table leg. He takes a nap. He spreads the garbage all over the kitchen floor. He takes a nap.”