Game On: Tempting Twenty-Eight (Stephanie Plum #28)(32)

I did a fast check on my ponytail and wished I’d spent more time on my makeup. At least I was wearing a nice shirt with a V-neck. Plus, it was blue, and I knew I looked good in blue. The worst part of the apprehension would be if it didn’t go well, and I looked like an idiot. This happened a lot.

I moved next to Oswald and did my bounty hunter thing, so it was all by the book.

“Oswald Wednesday?” I asked.

“Ah,” he said. “Stephanie Plum, correct?”

“I represent your bail bondsman and I need you to reschedule your court date.”

“I’m thinking you need me for more than that,” he said. “You’re working with Diesel.”

“He has his own issues,” I said. “Mine are strictly in connection to your bail bond.”

“It’s a pity that we have an adversarial relationship. I find you to be attractive in spite of your rather drab clothes. In another time we might have enjoyed a relationship.”

“It would be great if you would come with me and we didn’t have to make a scene,” I said.

“Sorry, that’s not going to happen. I have other plans for the day.”

Mental sigh. It was never easy. I had the cuffs in one hand and the stun gun in the other. “I’m asking you one more time.”

There was an announcement that the train was approaching. I glanced at the track and Oswald used the opportunity to pull a canister of pepper spray out of his pocket and spray me in the face. Instantly I couldn’t see, and I was having difficulty breathing.

“Goodbye, Sugar Cookie,” Oswald said.

I felt myself get shoved backward and fall off the platform. I landed hard on the tracks, momentarily stunned. My eyes were burning, and I still couldn’t see, but I could feel the vibration and the noise of the approaching train. I tried to stand and stumbled. I went down to hands and knees, completely disoriented. I had no thoughts in my head beyond pain and panic.

Hands grabbed me, and I was hauled back onto the platform. People were shouting. The train rumbled in. I could feel the heat rolling off it.

My eyes were swimming in tears, and a massive amount of mucus was pouring out of my nose. I was being held close by someone. Diesel. He had his arms wrapped around me and his voice was in my ear.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

I was shaking and struggling to take normal breaths. I got myself under control after a couple of minutes and was able to relax in Diesel’s arms.

“Shit,” I said, “my nose is running. It’s going to be all over your shirt.”

He walked me off the platform and into the lobby. I still couldn’t see. Blurry images. A big blob of blue that I recognized as being a cop. Diesel sat me down on a bench. Someone handed me tissues. Two EMTs arrived and applied a cold compress to my face and eyes.

Diesel answered everyone’s questions.

“I was a short distance away,” he said. “I saw a man pepper-spray her and shove her off the platform onto the tracks. I was able to grab her and pull her back onto the platform before the train rolled in. I don’t know what happened to the man who sprayed her. Maybe he got on the train.”

There were more questions and answers, but I was finding it difficult to focus on them. I had a gash on my arm, just above my elbow, and I had scrapes on both hands and knees. An EMT was cleaning and patching me up, asking if I was in pain.

The compress was removed from my face and a gel was applied. Drops were put in my eyes. I was feeling better. I was asked if I wanted to go to the hospital and I declined.

A large fluffy white thing rushed at me. It was Lula.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “What happened? What did I miss?”

“I got pepper sprayed and pushed off the platform,” I said.

“That’s horrible. That’s terrible. What’s this world coming to when a woman can’t even go about her business,” Lula said.

The EMTs were packing up and the cop had gone off in search of Oswald. Diesel got me up on my feet and Diesel and Lula walked me out of the building.

“She can’t see well enough to drive her car,” he said to Lula. “I’ll take her home and you can leave the Focus at the office.”

“I hope they catch the guy who pushed you,” Lula said to me.

I handed her my car keys. “It was Oswald. He had the pepper spray hidden in his pocket. I got distracted for a nanosecond and he sprayed me. And here I am,” I said.

“Damn,” Lula said. “That’s a whole bitch and a half.”

Lula walked off to the parking garage and Diesel led me down a short ramp to a lot where police cars were parked. It was mostly empty. One unmarked car, two squad cars, and Diesel’s yellow and black Bronco.

He helped me in, and he slid behind the wheel.

“How do you get to park here without getting towed?” I asked.

“I have diplomat plates on this car.”

“I never noticed.”

“They’re new.”

“Should I ask how you happened upon them?”

“No. You’ve had enough trauma for one day. Let’s just say they’re mostly legal and leave it at that.”

Morelli called. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I guess you heard about my train episode.”