Notorious Nineteen (Stephanie Plum 19)

“What else did you find out?” I asked Grandma.

“A couple other people disappeared like this. One was a year ago. And another was right after. I was going to get names for you, but Shorty interrupted me.”

Interesting stuff, but I didn’t actually care how many people disappeared from Central in the middle of the night. I cared about finding Cubbin. Preferably alive, because dead meant a lot of extra paperwork.

“Did anyone talk about Cubbin?” I asked Grandma. “Like where he might have gone?”

“No. They were mostly busy talking about Nurse Kruger. They said she bought her boobs. And one of the nurses at the table said she didn’t see how Kruger could afford a boob job when all her money went up her nose.”

“Honestly,” Lula said, turning in to the Burg. “A cokehead nurse. What’s this world coming to?”

“Did you go out of the house in your disguise?” I asked Grandma.

“No way. Your mother would have a cow if she saw me in this. Thanks for reminding me,” Grandma said.

She took her wig off, stuffed it into her purse, and put her sweater on over the pink tank top.

Lula looked at Grandma in the rearview mirror. “Weren’t you supposed to be at the beauty parlor? How are you gonna explain your hair? You got hat hair.”

Grandma rolled her eyes up as if she could see the top of her head. “I didn’t think of that. Maybe you should drop me off at the beauty parlor, and I’ll have Dolly do a quick set. I can walk home from there.”

Aside from the occasional wedding I don’t have many reasons to get dressed up. I own a sexy red dress with a swirly skirt that I put on when there’s the possibility of dancing. I have a blue dress that I think is flattering and that I wear to events my parents will also be attending. And I have a very dressy, very slinky black sheath that I bought on sale, on impulse, and have been saving for the right moment. I hadn’t anticipated that the right moment would be an assignment to guard Ranger’s body, but what the heck. A moment is a moment.

I was ready and waiting at six o’clock, wondering about the appropriate etiquette for a paid date. Was I supposed to meet him in the parking lot, or was I supposed to let him collect me from my apartment? The issue was resolved when he knocked once and opened my door.

He stepped inside and looked at me. His eyes were dark, his expression serious. “Nice dress.”

The unspoken message was that he wouldn’t mind seeing me take it off. And there was a part of me, looking at Ranger in his perfectly tailored black tux, that thought it might not be a bad idea. There was also another part of me, the part between my ears, that scolded me for considering such a thing. I was in a relationship with Morelli, trying to determine if he was my future, and good Catholic girls don’t engage in spontaneous dalliances even if the guy in question is beyond hot. Plus I’d spent forty-five minutes on hair and makeup, and steamy Ranger sex would leave me with ten inches of frizz.

“Thank you,” I said, slightly breathless, quickly moving past him, through the doorway, into the hall.

Ranger was driving his black Porsche 911 Turbo. The car was fast and sexy and sometimes the ride was a little rough, a lot like Ranger. He was never especially talkative, usually staying in his zone, always alert, keeping his thoughts hidden. This was fine because if I knew his personal thoughts about me I’d probably hyperventilate and faint. He didn’t break the silence until we hit the Atlantic City Expressway.

“We’re attending an awards dinner for a man who’s been active in the Atlantic City community,” Ranger said. “And we’re keeping an eye on Robert Kinsey. He’s one of the speakers. He owns an electrical supply company in White Horse, and he lives in Hamilton Township.”

“A client?”

“A friend.”

“I didn’t know you had friends.”

“Funny,” Ranger said.

“So not only do you have a friend, but he’s the sort of guy who speaks at awards ceremonies.”

“He’s marrying Amanda Olesen. Her father is getting the award.”

“Okay, that would explain it.”

“I was in the Middle East with Kinsey. We were part of a small unit of specialists. Kinsey and I bailed when our tour of duty was up. The rest of the unit went career military. Three weeks ago Kinsey and I started getting cryptic threatening messages ending with a code known only to our unit.”

“You don’t know who’s sending the messages?”

“No. I haven’t been able to trace them down.”

“Do you think they’re serious?”

“The unit wasn’t made up of a bunch of guys with a sense of humor. If they said they were going to blow up a building or wipe out a terrorist cell you knew they would do it.”