Explosive Eighteen (Stephanie Plum 18)

I still had the Glock in my bag. I wrapped my hand around it, left the building, and walked to my truck with my eyes sweeping the lot, looking for Razzle Dazzle. I made it to the truck, got up behind the wheel, and locked the doors.

The drive to Korda’s store was uneventful, and Ranger’s Porsche 911 Turbo was already parked in the lot when I got there. I pulled in beside him and got out.

“Babe,” Ranger said. “You’re supposed to dress in black for a nighttime jewel heist.”

Ranger was in black, of course.

“It’s not a jewel heist,” I told him. “I’m looking for a little pirate chest.”

He handed over infrared goggles. “Use these. It’s dark in there and a penlight will give you away.”

Ranger went to the door and looked at the lock. He removed a slim tool from his pocket, inserted the tool into the lock, and in seconds we were inside.

I punched the code into the security system, put the goggles on, and went directly to the shelf behind the register. There were picture frames and vases, but no chest. I methodically went through the room. No chest. I moved to the back storeroom and worked my way around. Nothing.

“I’m getting the impression this isn’t going well,” Ranger said.

“Joyce said the chest would be on the shelf behind the register, but it isn’t there. I’ve looked all through the store, and I can’t find it.”

“Joyce?”

“Barnhardt. She’s moved into my apartment, and I can’t get her out. I stun-gun her, drag her into the hall, and she comes back.”

“How does she get in?” Ranger asked.

“Fire escape.”

“I could have it electrified.”

“I thought of that, but Mrs. Delgado’s cat would get fried.”

Ranger removed my goggles. “Would you like to come home with me?”

I stepped away from him. “Thank you for the offer, but no. I’m done with men.”

Ranger smiled. “Forever?”

“Until I figure some things out.”

“And if you don’t figure them out?”

“If I can’t figure them out on my own, I’ll ask you to help me.”

“Babe, that’s like the blind leading the blind.”

• • •

I sat in the parking lot to my apartment building and ate half a package of Vienna Fingers. Lights were on in my apartment. Joyce was all cozy up there, watching television, probably drinking my wine. Ranger was no doubt back in his penthouse on the seventh floor of Rangeman. Morelli was most likely at home, watching a ball game with Bob. And here I was hiding out in my truck. It was pathetic. I slipped the uneaten Vienna Fingers into my bag and grabbed the Glock. I left the truck and crossed the lot to the back door. I was ten feet from the building, and Raz jumped out of the shadows, knife in hand.

“You bitch lady,” he said. “Now we talk. We deal, eh?”

He lunged at me with the knife, and I shot him in his good leg. We both stood dead still for a long moment in shock.

He looked down at his leg and made a strangled sound deep in his throat. “Motherfucking shit,” he said.

“What’s this about?” I asked him. “Why do you want the photograph, which by the way I don’t have?”

“Boss say to get it, and I get it. I don’t get it, and I get shot again. This time in the eye, hanging upside down with heavy rocks tied to my testicles.”