Turbo Twenty-Three (Stephanie Plum #23)(64)

They moved through the dining area, the living room, the bedroom, and the bath. It didn’t take long.

“We didn’t see any clowns,” Calvin said, coming back to the kitchen. “Your bedroom window was open, and I noticed you have a fire escape balcony and ladder. The clown might have left through the window.”

“As long as it’s gone,” I said. “I appreciate that you got here so quickly. The clown was scary.”

“We’ll wait outside your door until Ranger gets here,” Calvin said. “If the clown returns just yell. And for what it’s worth, I’m not crazy about clowns either.”

I left the door open and started coffee brewing. The panic was beginning to leave me, but I was shaky from adrenaline letdown. I put my hands to the counter and told myself to breathe. You’re good, I thought. You’re not dead or hurt or anything. Ranger will be here soon, and he’ll take you out to breakfast. Think about that. Pancakes and bacon. Hash browns. Scrambled eggs. Real maple syrup on the pancakes. I was still shaking. Adrenaline, I told myself. It’ll burn off. Hang on.

Rex came out of his can and looked at me, whiskers twitching.

“I’m okay,” I said. “I’m fine.”

Rex thought about it and went back into his can.

Animals have instincts, I thought. They know when people are okay. Rex decided I was okay, so I must be okay.

I heard the guys in the hall shuffle around, and I knew Ranger was there. Not that I needed him, because I was okay, but still it would be nice to see him.

He came into the apartment and closed the door behind him, and I burst into tears.

“Babe,” he said.

He wrapped me in his arms, put his face against mine, and kissed my neck. I was sobbing and sniffling and felt like an idiot.

“It’s the adrenaline,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Just breathe. It’s okay now. You aren’t hurt, right?”

“Right.”

“My men tell me your apartment is clean.”

“Right.”

His hand was on my wrist, and I realized he was taking my pulse.

“How am I doing?” I asked him.

“You’ll live. I wish I could get your heartbeat up this high.”

I relaxed into him. “Morelli left at five, and I fell back to sleep. I’m not sure why I woke up. I guess I sensed something was wrong. I heard the rustle of cloth and a footstep, and I knew someone was in my room and it wasn’t you or Morelli. He came at me and it’s all a jumble after that. He had a knife. I hit him in the face with the lamp on the nightstand. He was close. He had his hands on my neck, and I could see that it was the clown. I could smell him. I could feel his breath on my face. I kicked out and was able to get away and run. I ran up to Mrs. Delgado.”

“She’s the one with the cat,” Ranger said.

“Yes. I can’t believe you remember that.”

He had me cuddled close, and he felt warm and strong and safe.

“I’m okay,” I said. “I was scared, but I feel better now.”

“Too bad. I like this.”

“Me too, but my nose is running. I need a tissue.”

I got a tissue and followed Ranger into the bedroom.

“I don’t see a knife,” Ranger said. “What kind of knife did he have?”

“It was big. The sort of knife you’d use to stab someone.”

He went to the window and looked out. “I assume this is how he left.”

“I wasn’t here at the time, but that makes sense. The window was closed and locked when I went to bed.”

Ranger closed and locked the window again. “Do you have any idea who was in the clown suit?”

“No. It was dark, and everything happened fast. He didn’t say anything.”

Ranger picked my lamp up from the floor, set it on my nightstand, and plugged it in. It had a smear of blood on it. I soaked a paper towel with rubbing alcohol and wiped the blood off.

“New bathrobe?” Ranger asked.

I looked down at myself. “It belongs to Mrs. Delgado. I left my apartment in a rush.”

“We need to talk.”

“Can we talk over breakfast? When I was scared I thought about breakfast.”

“That’s what you think about when you’re scared?”

“It was a distraction. Pancakes, eggs, hash browns.”

Ranger smiled. I’d amused him again.

He dismissed his men, and I took a fast shower. I got dressed in my usual uniform of jeans and a stretchy, girly T-shirt. I was at my front door, ready to leave my apartment, and Ranger stopped me.

“What have you forgotten?” he asked.

I looked at myself. Shoes, check. Jeans, check. Shirt, check. Underwear, check. Messenger bag on my shoulder, check. Keys, cuffs, pepper spray, hairbrush, hairspray, gum, mints, extra hair scrunchy, lipstick, lip balm, mascara in my messenger bag, check.

“I don’t know,” I said. “What have I forgotten?”

“Your gun. Someone just broke into your apartment and tried to kill you. It might be a good idea to carry a gun.”

“I don’t like guns.”

“Do you like dead?”

“No, I don’t like that either.”

Ranger went to my brown bear cookie jar and retrieved the small semiautomatic he’d given me.