Top Secret Twenty-One: A Stephanie Plum Novel by Janet Evanovich(57)

I debated calling Morelli. It was his house, and he should be told about this. Problem was, it would create a firestorm of unwanted activity. If I blurted out the whole story, it would get tied to the polonium and the feds would take over. There’d be CSI trucks and crime scene tape and hours of interrogation. If I didn’t blurt out the whole story, I’d be withholding information in a federal investigation. And my biggest reservation was that the feds wouldn’t be as efficient as Ranger when it came to solving the problem. In fact, they might only complicate things. I had confidence that Ranger would find Vlatko and eliminate him. The feds, not so much.

My cellphone rang, and Ranger told me he was at the front door and coming in. I heard the door open and close, and moments later Ranger walked into the kitchen. He glanced at me and then at the heart on the counter.

“Have you cleared the house?” he asked me.

“No.”

“Stay here while I do a walk-through.”

Minutes later he returned to the kitchen.

“All the doors and windows were locked,” I told him. “I went upstairs to brush my teeth and change my shirt, and when I came down the heart was on the counter.”

“Are you sure you locked the front door when you came in?”

“Absolutely.”

“It was unlocked when I arrived. Morelli could use a better locking system, although I suspect if Vlatko wants to get through a door he can find a way.”

Ranger went to the counter and looked down at the heart. He tapped a number into his phone and gave the person on the other end Morelli’s address and told him to use the back door.

“I’m not an expert,” Ranger said, “but this looks like a human heart.”

“You’ve seen a lot of hearts?”

“How many is a lot?”

“One,” I said.

“Yeah, I’ve seen a lot of hearts. Have you called Morelli?”

“No. Not yet.”

“If it’s a human heart, we have to call him,” Ranger said. “If it’s something other than human, I’d rather not make the call. It’ll further complicate the Vlatko search.”

“Are you making any progress?”

“I’ve been researching Viktor Volkov. Volkov is a common Russian surname. There are several Viktor Volkovs in New York and New Jersey. One of them lives in Atlantic City.”

“That’s a convenient coincidence.”

“The Atlantic City resident has been in the U.S. for several years, working as an independent contractor for a heating and air-conditioning company. Fifty-two years old. Single. Renting a house in a low-income neighborhood. Two eyes. Obviously not Vlatko. He doesn’t answer his phone.”

“Are you going to Atlantic City to talk to him?”

“Yes. I would have gone today, but we moved back into the building and I needed to be there.”

A narrow-faced, pockmarked guy in Rangeman black fatigues knocked on the back door. Ranger let him in and nodded toward the heart.

“Tell me about this,” Ranger said.

“It’s a heart,” the guy said.

“What kind?”

“Human. You can tell by the shape. It’s adult-size. It appears to have been frozen and recently defrosted. The liquid on the counter is from the defrosting process. Cells breaking down.”

“Anything else?” Ranger asked.

“It appears to have been healthy, but that’s all I could tell you without slicing into it.”

“Thanks,” Ranger said.

The Rangeman guy joined the two who were still standing at parade rest in the backyard.

“Who the heck was that?” I asked Ranger.

“Rodriguez. He’s a specialist.”

“I bet.”

“Make the phone call,” Ranger said.

“Maybe you should leave.”

He shook his head. “I’m staying.”

I blew out a sigh and called Morelli.

“Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“We hit a snag on the sliding board, but I think we have it figured out.”

“I’m at your house, and I have a sort of situation here.”

“What sort of situation?”

“Sort of a home invasion situation. I’m fine and Ranger is here, but we thought you’d want to check out the … problem.”

“Oh man, did someone shoot a rocket into my living room?”

“Nope. No rocket. Your living room is just like you left it. It’s the kitchen that was sort of invaded.”

“Okay, I’ll round Bob up and come home.”

“This probably isn’t going to go well,” I said to Ranger.



Bob bounded into the kitchen, slammed into me, and sniffed at Ranger. Morelli followed. He nodded to Ranger and focused on me. His gaze traveled down my arm to my hand, and I realized I was still holding his Glock.

“On the counter,” I said.

Morelli shifted his attention. “It’s a heart,” he said.

“We think it’s human,” I told him. “Someone broke in while I was upstairs and left it here with a note.”

Morelli walked to the counter and read the note. “I’ll have yours next.”