Game On: Tempting Twenty-Eight (Stephanie Plum #28)(58)

“Charlotte wanted to learn to shoot?”

“Only because she was fascinated with the mechanics of the gun.” Ranger leaned back in his chair. “When they think no one is watching they hold hands.”

A bubble of emotion caught in my throat. I knew the wonder of those early steps in a relationship. Holding hands, the first kiss, a shared smile.

“I’m happy for them,” I said.

“Do you remember the first time we held hands?”

I took a beat to think about it. “No. Do you?”

“No,” Ranger said, “but I remember the first time I had to handcuff you to me to keep you safe.”

“You were overbearingly protective.”

Ranger grinned. “Good memories.”

I nodded agreement. The initial power struggle with Ranger had been frustrating at best, but it was worthy of a smile as a memory.

“You’re still overbearingly protective,” I said.

“And you’re still alive,” Ranger said.

I gave him another nod of agreement. “Over time, I’ve come to appreciate your desire to protect.”

“And my other desires?”

I smiled. No answer was necessary on that one.

I moved toward the door. “Let me know if there are problems with Melvin or Charlotte.”

I drove through town, keeping watch for Oswald. I didn’t see Oswald, but I spotted Andy Smutter panhandling in front of a coffee shop on State Street. I found a parking place a block away and walked back to Andy.

“Hey,” I said. “How’s it going? Remember me?”

“Stephanie Plum,” he said. “Are you here for coffee? They have wonderful cinnamon buns.”

“I’m here for you,” I said. “You skipped out of the hospital.”

“I’m not used to sleeping indoors and it was very noisy.”

“I’m surprised you’re in town. No ducks. No trees.”

“I thought I would try an urban experience. It turns out this is a good location. I see the same people every day and they’re very generous. Homeless people are currently the in thing. I almost have enough saved for a ticket to France. My dream is to live the Hemingway life in Paris.”

“He made a living by writing.”

“True. And I think I might try that.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “Unfortunately, you have to re-up on a court date before you can jet off to Paris.”

“I can’t see Hemingway re-upping.”

“You aren’t Hemingway.”

A woman walked past us and ignored Andy’s hat that held some loose change.

“I hate to be rude,” Andy said to me, “but you need to leave. You’re a financial liability.”

“This is ridiculous,” I said.

I pulled cuffs out of my back pocket and clapped one on his wrist. I reached around for his other hand, and he shrieked and jumped away from me.

“Police brutality!” he shouted.

“First off, I’m not a cop,” I said. “Second, you haven’t seen any brutality yet, but I’m seriously considering kicking you in the knee.”

He gave me a shove that knocked me back against the coffee shop window, and he took off running. I chased him for two blocks before he ran out of steam and tripped over another homeless person taking a nap in a doorway.

“Freaking vagrants are all over the place,” he said, lying on the ground. “I mean, who sleeps in a doorway in the middle of the day?”

My lungs were burning. I bent at the waist to catch my breath. “People on drugs sleep in doorways in the middle of the day,” I said.

“Well, it’s horrible,” Andy said. “Something should be done.”

“I agree.” I pulled him to his feet and snapped the second bracelet on him.

The guy in the doorway was sitting up.

“Hey, man,” he said to Andy. “You got a couple bucks on ya?”

I pulled a five out of my pocket and gave it to him.

“God bless,” he said.

I tugged Andy down the street, toward my car.

“You could have given that five dollars to me,” Andy said.

I helped him navigate a curb. “I’m giving you something better. I’m giving you a chance to straighten your life out.”

“I’d rather have the five dollars,” Andy said.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


Lights were off in the office when I walked in. Connie was sitting at her desk, tweezing her chin.

“I have a body receipt for Andy Smutten,” I said. “I ran into him in town.”

“I’ll write you a check for the capture,” Connie said. “It’s about the only thing I can do. The computers just went down. We have no electric.”

A message buzzed on my phone, and I read the message to Connie.

“This power outage is a warning. I’ll restore power in ten minutes. If you don’t give me the last two Baked Potatoes, I’ll cut power for as long as it takes. You have until midnight Friday to turn them over to me.”

I called Ranger. “Did your electric just go out?”

“Yes,” he said. “We’re on a generator.”