Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(49)

“We’re heading out,” Ranger said. “I’ll send you a copy of the video.”

“Appreciate it,” Morelli said. “And remember she has a ten o’clock curfew.”

Another smile from Ranger.

We walked the hall and took the stairs to the garage.

“Is there a way to get into the garage without a keycard?” I asked.

“No.”

“So, we can assume the killer had a front door key or a keycard.”

“Yes, but there are a lot of them floating around. This isn’t a secure building. Some of the tenants prefer it that way. They can bring clients up through the garage after hours and no one knows.”

Ranger left the garage and drove the length of Stark Street. He idled in front of the Snake Pit building.

“You’ve been here,” he said.

“I was here with Lula and Hal.”

“Waggle gives this as his address. Is that possible?”

“It’s just a shell. And this is a scary part of Stark.”

Ranger pulled to the curb and parked. “Let’s take a look.”

I got out and stood away from the SUV. It was Ranger’s personal Porsche Cayenne. It looked and smelled new. It was black. It was immaculate. And with a tap on his remote it was electrified.

“On Thursdays and Fridays when they have music here, the street is closed off and there are food trucks and big searchlights. I don’t know how they power the lights,” I said.

“Let’s go inside.”

The inside had been swept clean. No left-behind drug paraphernalia, no empty beer bottles, no wasted snowflakes.

“That’s the stage at the far end?” Ranger asked.

“Yes. The bands enter and exit through the door on the left.”

We walked toward the stage, and there was a bloodcurdling shriek from the street.

“Jeez Louise,” I said. “What was that?”

“I imagine someone tried to steal the Porsche.”

“Will they be okay?”

“Probably. I didn’t have it set on lethal.”

Ranger went out the side door and looked at the area behind the building. He walked down the alley to the street.

The Porsche was still parked at the curb. No other car in sight. No Porsche stealers lurking. Ranger clicked the security system off, but I kept my distance.

“You first,” I said.

Ranger opened the door and got behind the wheel. I touched a finger to the SUV. I didn’t get shocked, so I got in next to him.

“Babe,” he said, “you have trust issues.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Sometimes safe isn’t fun.”

“I didn’t know you were that interested in fun.”

“Spend the night with me and judge for yourself,” Ranger said.

Here’s the thing. I’ve spent the night with him and fun isn’t the first word that comes to mind. The first word would be WOW or maybe YUM or AHHHHHHH, YES! Okay, that’s two words, but he’s worth two words and more. Truth is, he’s magic. And he’s also major trouble in the romance department since Morelli isn’t keen on sharing me. For that matter, I’m not keen on sharing either. Being in love and in a relationship with one man is complicated enough. Being in love and in a relationship with two men would be suicide. But it’s hard not to be in love after a night of magic.

“You promised Morelli you’d have me home by my curfew.”

“Wrong. Morelli told me to get you home by ten o’clock. I didn’t promise anything.”

The magic thing got me to thinking about Wulf. “What do you suppose Wulf’s role is in all this?” I asked.

“I think it’s tangential. Wulf is looking for someone who happens to be involved.”

“Nothing more?”

“Probably nothing more in the beginning, but that could have changed. If Wulf is intrigued by the game he might join in.”

It was a beautiful day. Full-on sunshine and seventy degrees. I was in the SUV next to Ranger, and I was thinking about the beach. Forty-five minutes away. I wanted to push all thoughts about the deli aside, spread a blanket on the sand, and lay there listening to the surf, feeling the sun on my face.

“We should go to Point Pleasant,” I said. “We could lay on the beach and hold hands.”

“Babe,” Ranger said.

His voice was soft and wistful. Okay, wistful might be a stretch for Ranger, but there was a quality there that wasn’t familiar. Or maybe I was just projecting my own feelings. God knows, I felt wistful.

We were halfway down Stark, almost to State Street, and Ranger pulled to the curb.

“We can’t go to the beach,” he said. “Is there something else? Would you like an ice cream cone? Flowers? A kitten?”

“A kiss,” I said.

He leaned across the console and kissed me. Gentle. Loving. Wistful.

“Thanks,” I said. “I feel better now.”

“Anytime,” he said.

Lula was on a rant when we got to the deli.

“I can’t work under these conditions,” Lula said, arms waving in the air. “There’s no condiments. How am I supposed to create my art burgers and nuevoninis without no condiments?”