Lean Mean Thirteen (Stephanie Plum 13)

“How's it going?”

“It's going not fast enough. What's up?”

“Did you hear about the fire at the warehouse on Stark?”

“No. I don't hear about anything. I'm locked away, babysitting a moron, and I'm looking at an episode of Raymond that I've seen forty-two times.”

“Dickie and his partners owned a warehouse on Stark and-”

“Oh, Christ,” Morelli said. “Don't tell me.”

“It burned down… just now.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Ranger took me to get stitches.”

There was silence on the other end, and I imagined Morelli was staring down at his shoe with his lips pressed tightly together.

“Anyway, I'm fine,” I told him. “I just got cut on some glass when I had to break a window to get out. Is it okay to talk on your cell phone like this? I mean, no one can listen, can they?”

“Everyone can listen,” Morelli said. “Don't let that stop you. Is this conversation going to get worse?”

“If you're going to give me attitude about this, I'm not going to talk to you.”

I looked over at Ranger, caught him smiling, and punched him in the arm.

“No one saw me,” I said to Morelli. “I left before the fire trucks arrived. And it wasn't my fault. I'm pretty sure someone set a bomb. The thing is, there was a guy sitting behind a desk on the second floor, and I think he'd been toasted with a flamethrower. I doubt there's much left of him after the second fire, but Ranger wanted me to tell you.”

This created a lot more silence.

“Hello?” I said.

“Give me a moment,” Morelli said. “I've almost got myself under control.” “How much longer are you going to be on this assignment?” I asked Morelli. “At least two more days. Let me talk to Ranger.”

I gave Ranger my phone. “Morelli wants to talk to you.”

'To,“ Ranger said. He did some listening, and he cut his eyes to me. ”Understood,“ he said to Morelli. ”Don't expect miracles. She's an accident waiting to happen.“ Ranger disconnected and handed the phone back to me. ”I'm in charge of your well-being."

“Morelli should mind his own business.”

“That's exactly what he's doing. You're a couple. You are his business.”

“I don't feel like his business. I feel like my own business.”

“No shit,” Ranger said.

What was worse, I was caught off guard by the couple status. “Do you think Morelli and I are a couple?”

“He has his clothes in your closet.”

“Only socks and underwear.”

Ranger parked in my parents' driveway and turned to face me. “You want to be careful what you tell me. My moral code stops short of 'Do not covet someone else's woman.' You've been holding me at arm's length, and I respect that, but I'll move in if I feel that barrier relax.”

I already knew this, but having it said out loud was disconcerting. I didn't want to make more of it than was necessary, so I tried being playful. “Are you telling me socks and underwear are borderline in terms of couple qualifications?”

“I'm telling you to be careful.”