Top Secret Twenty-One: A Stephanie Plum Novel by Janet Evanovich(29)

“I’ll take your black suit and hang it outside to air,” Grandma said. “You’ll need it for the funeral tomorrow.”

Oh joy, the funeral. The only thing I hate more than a viewing is a funeral. I grabbed some chocolate chip cookies from my mom’s cookie jar, told Grandma I’d be back, and chugged off to the office in the Buick.

“I’m surprised you haven’t gotten a new car by now,” Lula said when I walked in.

“No time to look, and no money to buy,” I said. “I need to capture Poletti.” I handed Briggs the duffel bag filled with his clothes. “It was lucky you were keeping your clothes in this heavy-duty bag. They might not smell too smoky, and they shouldn’t have any water or foam damage.”

Briggs took his clothes bag to the bathroom to change, and Connie sprayed the office with air freshener.

“You have to get him out of here,” she said. “Even with clean clothes he’s still going to smell like charbroiled goat.”

“Have you heard any news about the Rangeman building?” I asked Connie. “Is it still under quarantine?”

“So far as I know,” Connie said. “My cousin Loretta called about a half hour ago. She’s a nurse at St. Francis, and she said Emilio Gardi isn’t doing well. He’s in kidney failure.”

A sick feeling swirled through my stomach.

“What about Ranger’s man McCready?”

“I haven’t heard anything about him.”

I called Ranger. “How’s McCready doing?”

“He’s managing. They’re trying something new with him.”

“And you?”

“I’m not running at full capacity, so be careful. I can’t always see you.”

He disconnected, and I took a moment to calm myself. There’ve been times when I’d welcomed the news that Ranger wasn’t following my every move, but this wasn’t one of them.

“You’re whiter than usual,” Lula said to me. “Are you okay?”

I sat in the chair by Connie’s desk and hung my head between my legs. “I’m a little freaked out.”

“You know what helps me when I get freaked out?” Lula said. “Donuts. You probably need donuts. And I wouldn’t mind having some donuts either.”

Briggs came out of the bathroom. “I’d like a donut.”

He’d washed the smudges off his face, combed his hair, and put on clean clothes. He still smelled like smoke, but it wasn’t at the charred goat level anymore.

“I don’t need a donut,” I said. “I need some sanity to my life. Some normality.”

“Yeah, but a donut’s a good start,” Lula said. “I always think better when I got a donut in my hand.”

“Where do you suppose Ranger is hiding out?” I asked Connie.

“I don’t know,” Connie said, “but I’m guessing he’s not too far away from Rangeman. He’s a cautious guy. He probably has a small satellite office with his account information duplicated offsite somewhere safe. I can’t see him trusting the cloud.”

I knew he owned several properties in Trenton. All under different holding companies. I didn’t know any of the addresses.

“Okay,” I said, “I’m going for donuts. Who’s going with me?”

“I am,” Lula said.

“Me too,” Briggs said.

I drove Lula and Briggs to Tasty Pastry, gave them a twenty, and told them I wanted two chocolate-covered donuts. As soon as they were in the bakery, I took off. It was a sneaky thing to do, but I needed some personal space. I wanted to find Ranger, and I couldn’t do it with Lula and Briggs tagging along.

My phone rang two minutes later.

“What the heck?” Lula said.

“I had to get away from Briggs so I could talk to Ranger,” I told her.



I started at the Rangeman building and methodically explored a six-block area. I was looking for a building with secure parking and reflective glass windows. Ranger was all about privacy. I enlarged the grid and found a building on Bender Street that had promise. It was about a half mile from the Rangeman building. It was a three-story townhouse with tinted windows. An alley ran along the back of the townhouse, the backyard was enclosed by a nine-foot cement wall with an automated security gate, and security cameras looked down at the alley from the roof.

I got out of the Buick and waved at one of the cameras. Thirty seconds later my phone chirped.

“Babe,” Ranger said.

I smiled at the camera. “Howdy.”

The gate opened. I got back into the Buick and drove into the paved parking area. There were three black SUVs parked and three more spaces. The back door to the townhouse opened, and Tank looked out. He didn’t look happy to see me. I stepped past him into a hallway that led to the front of the house and a six-man elevator.

“Third floor,” Tank said, holding the elevator for me.

The elevator opened onto a third-floor loft and Ranger. He didn’t look that happy either, but then it’s hard to tell with Ranger. He doesn’t usually show a lot of emotion.

The walls were white. The furniture was sleek black leather. The floors were cement. There was a small ultramodern galley kitchen, a dining room table and six chairs, a corner set aside as an office, a couch and a coffee table in front of a flat-screen television, and a section partitioned off that I imagined was a bedroom and bathroom.