Lean Mean Thirteen (Stephanie Plum 13)

I looked down at my leg. “I should have used a bigger Band-Aid.”

“Do you need stitches?”

“No. It's just a cut. I had to go through a smashed window to get out of the building.”

“I'm going to ask you again. Do you need stitches?”

I didn't know. I hoped not.

“Let me see it,” Ranger said.

I bit into my lower lip. This was embarrassing.

“Babe, I've seen it all,” Ranger said.

“Yes, but you haven't seen it lately.”

“Has it changed?” he asked.

That got me smiling. “No.”

I popped the snap to my jeans and slid them down. I was wearing a lime green lace thong, which was a lot like wearing nothing.

Ranger looked and smiled. “Pretty,” he said. Then his attention moved to the gash in my leg. “I know you don't want to hear this, but it'll heal faster and neater if you get some sutures in it.”

We put a washcloth against the cut and wrapped my leg with surgical tape.

“Do you have any other injuries that are this serious?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “This was the worst.”

We went to St. Frances emergency and had a minimal wait. The kids with colds and the after-lunch heart attack victims had all been cleared out. There'd been only one Sunday afternoon gang shooting, and he'd been D.O.A. And it was still early in the day for domestic violence.

My leg was pumped full of local anesthesia and stitched. I got salve for the burns on my neck and face, and antiseptic ointment for my other scrapes and cuts.

Louise Malinowski was working emergency. I'd gone to school with Louise. She was now divorced with two kids and back home living with her mom.

“Who's the hot guy out there?” she asked, helping me get my jeans up over my numb leg and new stitches.

“Carlos Manoso. He owns a security agency downtown.”

“Is he married?”

“He’s as unmarried as a man can get.”

Ranger watched me buckle myself in. We'd left the Buick in my lot and taken his Porsche turbo. It was black and new and fast, just like all his other cars, but even more so.

“Where do all these new black cars come from?” I asked him.

“I have a deal. I provide services for cars.”

“What sort of services?”

“Whatever is required.” He put the car in gear and pulled away from the hospital. “I'm going to take you to your parents' house so you can get your purse, and I want you to call Morelli.”

Not something I was looking forward to. This wasn't going to make Morelli happy.

“What?” Morelli said when he answered the phone. Not sounding especially mellow.