Fortune and Glory (Stephanie Plum, #27)(53)

“We have to walk around the block to Lena’s house,” Grandma said. “Good thing it’s a nice night for a walk.”

“We can give you a ride,” Connie said. “I’m parked across the street in Mo Bernardi’s driveway.”

A text message buzzed on my phone and I checked the screen. It was a picture of Potts with his eyes as big as saucers and a gag in his mouth. He was in a fetal position, hands cuffed behind his back. It looked to me like he was in the trunk of a car. The message attached was that we might want to trade some information and items of interest for Potts’s safe return. It was suggested that they would start chopping off minor body parts in twelve hours if I didn’t cooperate.

“Bad news?” Connie asked me.

This wasn’t anything I wanted to share with Grandma. And I for sure didn’t want it getting back to my mom.

“Not bad,” I said. “Just unexpected. Ranger would like to talk to me about something. Can you take Grandma home for me?”

“Sure,” Connie said. “No problem.”

I texted Ranger and told him to meet me in front of the funeral home. Grandma, Connie, and Connie’s mom crossed the street, and minutes later, Ranger pulled to the curb in his Porsche 911.

“Drive around the corner so you can park for a moment,” I said. “I want to show you something.”

He made a right turn into the Burg and parked in the middle of the block. I accessed the text message and passed my phone to him.

“George Potts,” he said.

“Yes. He has allergies so he couldn’t come inside, but Lula said he was outside in case I needed protection.”

“And he got snatched.”

“Yes. I imagine Gruman and Rizer ran into him when they left the viewing. He would have been an easy mark.”

“And you would prefer that they don’t use a bolt cutter on his fingers and toes.”

“Yes.”

Ranger called his control room, requested two backup cars, and gave them the address of the house in Ewing. He called his second in command, Tank, and told him to take a couple of men to the Mole Hole.

“Since we’re going to Ewing, I’m guessing you think Potts has been taken there,” I said.

“It’s a place to start looking,” Ranger said.

Even under these circumstances, or maybe especially under these circumstances, riding next to Ranger in his Porsche, in the dark, is a provocative, sensual experience. The 911 is a sexy, powerful, perfectly engineered machine. The same is true for Ranger. When you put the two of them together there’s a good potential for orgasm… or, at the very least, teeth-gnashing desire. It was hard to judge my current level of desire because it was mingled with an adrenaline surge over concern for Potts and the fear that we were about to be involved in a shootout.



* * *




The Rangeman cars were already in place when we reached the house in Ewing. They were parked one house down, across the street. Ranger parked behind them, removed a gun from the glove compartment, and handed it to me.

Lights were on in the house, but the shades were drawn. The faint flicker of a television could be seen through the front room shade. The blue pickup and the Escalade were in the driveway.

The four men in the Rangeman cars met us on the sidewalk. They were in Rangeman black uniforms, wearing full utility belts, sidearms strapped to their legs.

“There are at least four men and possibly one hostage in the house,” Ranger told them. “I’ll take point. We don’t want to use excessive force. I want Baker, Sanchez, and Stephanie behind me and Rodriguez and Jake at the back door. My team will go in at nine fifty-five. Rodriguez and Jake will enter one minute later.”

I trailed behind Ranger and his two backups when we crossed the street at nine fifty-three. Ranger went to the door, tried the doorknob, found it to be locked, and crashed the door open with a single kick. Obviously kicking a door down didn’t count as excessive force.

Gruman, Rizer, Kenny Farmer, and a fourth guy were in the living room, watching television. They all jumped to their feet when the door flew open. Gruman lunged at Ranger. Ranger grabbed him and threw him halfway across the room. Gruman hit the wall and slid to the floor like a sack of sand. Rizer spun around, ran for the back door, and slammed into Rodriguez. Rodriguez stands six feet six inches tall and looks like he could pull a freight train. Rizer bounced back a couple of feet, went for his gun, and thought better of it. He was late to the party.

“Piece-of-shit safe house,” Rizer said. “Busted in less than an hour.”

“Uncle Charlie is going to be pissed,” Farmer said.

Ranger dragged Gruman to his feet and cuffed him. “Uncle Charlie is the least of your worries,” Ranger said. “We have your text message, and this takedown on body cam. You can face jail time for kidnapping, or you can return to Miami and never come back.”

“I miss my girlfriend anyway,” Farmer said.

“Where’s Potts,” I asked Gruman.

“Who?”

“The guy you kidnapped.”

“He’s not in the house,” Jake said. “I just did a run-through.”

Gruman looked at Farmer. “You were supposed to put him in the back bedroom.”

“You said we would put him in the back bedroom,” Farmer said. “I didn’t know you meant me. You didn’t specifically say that I should put him there.”