Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(14)

“No. I can ping your cellphone.”

“Is Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hot coming to get us?” Lula asked after I put my phone back into my pocket.

“Yep.”

“Even better than stealing a car. That man is fine.”

? ? ?

Lula and I were sitting on the curb when Ranger eased to a stop in front of us in his black Porsche Cayenne turbo. I slid into the seat next to him, he studied me in the dark car, and he almost smiled.

“Babe,” Ranger said.

Babe covered a lot of ground with Ranger. I was guessing tonight it meant I was a mess.

“We got involved in a demonstration,” I said.

When Ranger was working as a bounty hunter he’d had a diamond stud in his ear and his hair pulled back into a ponytail. He’s a businessman now, and he’s always perfectly groomed and tailored. No more diamond stud and no more ponytail. Today he was wearing the Rangeman uniform of black fatigues.

“And some loser took my Farrah wig right off my head,” Lula said. “That’s why I don’t look completely put together.”

Ranger flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror and returned his attention to the road. Twenty minutes later he dropped Lula at her house. He waited until she walked inside and closed her door before turning to me.

“You have the beginnings of a black eye, your shirt is ripped, and you look hungry,” Ranger said. “Where do we go from here? Would you like to come home with me, or do you have other plans?”

I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. “I suppose I have other plans. I should go back to my apartment.”

Ranger drove in silence. Never a man of many words. More of an action kind of guy. He pulled into the parking lot to my apartment building and looked up at my windows on the second floor.

“Did you leave your lights on?” he asked.

I gave up a sigh. “Diesel showed up today.”

“And?”

“And I’m guessing he’s still here.”

“Would you like me to remove him?”

“No. I’ll take care of it.”

“Babe,” Ranger said. “You don’t want to get involved with Diesel.”

“No problem. Not a chance.”

He looked down at the license plates that were resting on my lap. “They left the plates behind?”

“Yep.”

“Thoughtful.” He leaned in and kissed me, being careful of the eye. “I’ll have one of my men drop a car off for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll try not to lose it.”

“If you can manage to keep it intact for a week, it’s yours. If it gets stolen, blown up, crushed by a garbage truck, set on fire, filled with cement, or dies an untimely death by any other means, I’ll expect you to spend the night with me.”

I got out of his Cayenne and watched him drive away. It would be tempting to blow the car up myself.

? ? ?

Diesel was slouched on my couch, watching television, when I let myself into my apartment. He stood and stretched, his shirt rode up exposing his perfect abs, and I sucked in some air. I had too many men in my life. And none of them were doing me any good.

I put the plates on the kitchen counter, tapped on Rex’s cage, and said hello. Diesel strolled in and did a head-to-toe body scan.

“What’s the other guy look like?” he asked.

“There were multiple other guys. I’m not sure what they looked like. It was dark and chaotic.”

“Was it fun?”

“Not especially.”

He opened some kitchen drawers until he found a tea towel. He loaded it with ice, smashed the ice with a fry pan, and gently put the towel to my swollen black eye.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes!”

He poured me a glass of red wine, took two mac and cheese boxes out of the freezer, and popped them into the microwave. He sliced the hot dogs, put them in the defrosted mac and cheese, and nuked it all for another minute. He dumped one box onto a plate for me and the other onto a plate for him.

“Instant happiness,” he said, draping an arm around me, shepherding me into the living room. “The Yankees are losing. It’s all good.”

“You’re not a Yankees fan?”

“Red Sox.”

I forked into my frank and cheese. “Who would have thought you could cook?”

“Just the tip of the iceberg.”

“No doubt.”

I ate my dinner, drank my wine, and put the ice pack back on my eye.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Diesel asked.

“No. It’s not that interesting.”

“You’ve got something on your forehead and in your hair. It’s either raw egg or else someone got happy on you.”

“It’s egg. I guess I should take a shower and wash it out.”

“Let me know if you need help,” Diesel said. “I’m good in the shower.”

I shuffled off to the bathroom and cringed when I saw myself in the mirror. My eye was swollen and ringed with deep purple. My T-shirt was ripped at the neck. My hair was spiked with egg goo.

This is no way to live, I told myself. There must be a better way to pay the rent. When my face stopped throbbing I was going to think about it.

I called Morelli and told him I was going to pass on the dinner thing. For starters, I didn’t have a car.