Fortune and Glory (Stephanie Plum 27)

“There’s a white Taurus in the garage,” Gruman said.

Ranger and I went to the garage and flipped the light on. Ranger popped the trunk and Potts looked up at us. He was red and sweating and his eyes were huge. His hands and feet were bound with duct tape. He had duct tape across his mouth. I ripped the duct tape off his mouth, and Ranger cut the tape binding his hands and ankles. We hauled him out of the trunk and got him standing. He was shaking and gasping for air. He pulled an emergency inhaler out of his pocket and took a hit.

“F-f-f-fudge,” he said.

Ranger and I walked Potts out of the garage and through the house to the living room. All four men were cuffed and standing by the front door.

“Take these four to the airport,” Ranger said to Rodriguez. “Take both cars. Make sure they get on a flight to Miami. I’ll tend to the hostage.”

“I was k-k-kidnapped,” Potts said to Ranger. “They put me in their t-t-trunk. I guess you already know that.”

“You were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Ranger said. “I want to make a more thorough search of the house and the car in the garage. Stay here.”

“Did they hurt you?” I asked Potts.

“No. They just scared me.”

“We’ll take you home after Ranger searches the house.”

“Is he the guy you sleep with sometimes?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” Potts said.

I nodded in agreement.

Ranger returned after five minutes. “The house is empty,” he said. “Tank is on his way. He’ll take George home.”

“What about the doors?” I asked.

“They’ll close, but they won’t lock. Not my problem.”

“I was surprised they both got knocked open so easily.”

“I checked out the locks when I was here last time. I knew they wouldn’t hold,” Ranger said. “They didn’t put a lot of quality into these ranches when this neighborhood was developed. And this one hasn’t been renovated beyond carpet and a couple appliances.”

“Boy,” Potts said to Ranger, “you know a lot of stuff. I know a lot of stuff, too, but none of it

is useful. For instance, I can whistle like a canary.”

“Something to remember,” Ranger said.

“And I can hum just about anything, but it all comes out sounding the same.”

Tank arrived shortly after the cars left. We loaded Potts into Tank’s SUV. And Ranger and I drove off in the Porsche.

Ranger stopped at a cross street, then leaned over and kissed me. His hand slipped under my sweater and found my breast. His thumb brushed across my nipple and the kiss deepened.

Nothing like a semi-violent takedown to put a person in the mood.

“Maybe we should get a room,” I said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

What seemed like a good idea in the middle of the night now was a logistical nightmare. My car was still in front of Lena Kriswicki’s house. My funeral clothes were in my apartment. And thanks to my new short hair I needed at least a half hour, probably more, with a hair dryer. Not to mention hair product and makeup. I was supposed to pick Grandma up at eight thirty to take her to the church for the service. It was now seven o’clock and I was still in Ranger’s bed. Ranger was long gone.

I grabbed my phone and called him. “Hey!” I said. “Where are you?”