Game On: Tempting Twenty-Eight (Stephanie Plum #28)(36)

“Where are you?” he asked. “It’s hard to spot you sneaking around in the dark.”

“It’s quite easy to spot you,” Oswald said. “What do you think of my handiwork?”

“It’s disappointingly boring. Mundane, actually.”

“Perhaps, but I liked the symbolism. Your rescue this morning robbed me of the pleasure of seeing Ms. Plum get turned into train smash. Now I’ve robbed you of your home away from home.”

“It was a rental,” Diesel said. “Not enough hot water. Do you have anything else to tell me?”

“Don’t underestimate me. I’m having some fun playing with you and Ms. Plum right now, but that will soon end. I’m sure that you and the organization that employs you are aware of the extent of my power. I don’t make frivolous threats. When I send a ransom request I’m always capable of carrying out my threat. In this case the threat is significant. You can relay this message to your organization. It’s only begun. As Sherlock would say, ‘the game is afoot.’?”

“Yeah,” Diesel said. “Game on.”

Diesel hung up and put his phone away. “The guy is seriously sick. He’s gone from genius hacker and closet psychopath to complete nut job.”

“He sounded serious.”

Diesel nodded agreement. “He was right about his threat being significant, but he’s still a complete nut job.”

“Sorry about your motor home. Did you lose a lot of stuff in there?”

“Nothing that can’t be easily replaced. I travel light. My backpack is in the Bronco. Everything I need is in the backpack.”

“Where are you going to stay tonight? Can your fixer get you another motor home?”

“Another motor home isn’t necessary. I can stay with you.”

“Oh no. No, no, no. That won’t work.”

“It’s the obvious solution. You don’t have all the creature comforts of the motor home, but I can make do.”

“You can’t stay in my apartment.”

Diesel draped an arm across my shoulders. “Darlin’, I did save your life. Not that I would ever hold that over your head, but I’m just sayin’.”

Crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap.

“Okay, just for tonight,” I said, trying to stifle a giant sigh, not being successful.

Diesel called Ana and gave her the high points.

“She’ll take care of everything,” he said. “Let’s get the spaghetti out of your car. I’m hungry.”

“Do you think we should try to find Oswald?”

“In the dark?”

“Do you have something better to do?”

“I have a laundry list of things that are better to do. Eat spaghetti is at the top. You probably wouldn’t agree to number two so we can skip over that one.”

I felt another sigh organizing in my chest.

“I’m having second thoughts about not bringing the feds in to find Oswald,” I said. “They have resources that aren’t available to us.”

“I have resources that are as good, if not better,” Diesel said.

“Are you a fed?”

“Sort of. Just not for this country. They don’t pay enough. And the perks suck.”

“What country do you work for?”

“It’s not exactly a country. It’s more of a loosely organized entity. I’m thinking about recruiting your grandmother.”

We got the spaghetti and Diesel’s backpack and retreated to my apartment.

“Do you carry a gun?” I asked Diesel.

“Not usually,” he said. “I don’t need one.”

“How about a knife?”

“I carry a knife. I use it to open beer bottles and shrink-wrapped packages.”

I had my laptop on the dining room table. Diesel dropped his backpack on the floor and established himself across from me.

I reheated the spaghetti dinner and set it on the kitchen counter. We filled our plates and took them into the dining room so we could eat while we were working.

“This is great,” Diesel said. “I have a late night ahead of me and I’d be starving at midnight without this spaghetti. This will carry me through.”

“Why such a late night?”

“I need to talk to some people who are half a world away and aren’t available until after midnight. In the meantime, I need to catch up on world events and I can stream soccer.” He mopped some red sauce up with his bread. “And you?”

“Facebook,” I said. “And then I’ll watch Dumplin’ for the fifteenth time, or the Somebody Feed Phil show. I need a life-affirming experience after the train track incident.”



* * *




I closed my computer at eleven o’clock. Diesel was still at the table, slouched in a straight chair. He was wearing wireless earbuds, surfing around on his computer. He looked up when I stood, and he nodded at me. I did a little finger wave and trudged off to bed.

I didn’t approach the subject of where he was going to sleep. I expected to find him naked in my bed when I woke up. I would try to overlook this fact and think of Diesel as a pet. If I had a very large dog, he would sleep on the bed, and he wouldn’t wear pajamas. Even if the dog woke up with a woody I wouldn’t be offended because this happens sometimes. It’s a natural body function. As long as he stayed on his side of the bed it would all be good. And to add an extra degree of security I’d go to bed fully clothed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Truth is, I was less afraid that he would try to get friendly with me than I would wake up in a state of hormonal need and attack him. The man was sex walking.