Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(58)

I stepped away from the computer. I didn’t like looking at the videos. It made my stomach feel icky. I wanted to find the men and see them return to their normal routines. I wanted to know that they were healthy. And I didn’t want them dead. Please, please, please, I thought. Let them all be okay. And let this all be over soon. The protect-Stephanie routine was getting old.

We left the bonds office and drove the short distance to Morelli’s house. His brother Anthony was sitting on the front step when we parked. He had a lumpy white garbage bag with him.

Morelli tried to squelch a grimace but wasn’t entirely successful. “Looks like Anthony got kicked out of his house again.”

Anthony got kicked out of his house all the time. Sometimes his wife even divorced him, but they always remarried.

“I think Anthony likes getting kicked out of his house,” I said. “He drinks beer and shoots pool with you, and doesn’t have to take care of his kids.”

Every time Anthony got kicked out, he returned to have make-up sex, and nine months later his wife popped out another kid. It was like Darlene Boot and her chickens, except it was Anthony and his kids, running around feral in the unmowed grass around his house.

He stood and smiled when he saw us.

“Yo,” Anthony said.

“Yo,” Morelli answered.

This was Morelli man-speak. No more was necessary. We all trooped in and said hello to Bob.

“Now what?” I asked Morelli.

“You take Bob for a walk, and I’ll fire up the grill.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will snatch me?”

“You aren’t associated with the diner anymore, and you have Bob to protect you.”

Bob was sitting in the kitchen licking his privates. I wasn’t sure how much good Bob was going to be as a guard dog.

“And I’m sure Ranger tracks your every move,” Morelli said. “You’ve probably got GPS in your shoes, your underwear, and woven into your hair.”

I hooked Bob up and walked him for almost an hour. I returned to the house, and the Morelli boys were playing billiards.

I looked out the back door. Nothing cooking on the grill. I looked around the kitchen. No burgers sitting on the counter, waiting to get eaten.

“What about dinner?” I asked.

“I dialed dinner,” Morelli said. “Someone borrowed my propane.”

“Are you sure someone didn’t steal it?” I asked.

“It was me,” Anthony said. “I took it last week and forgot to tell him.”

I filled Bob’s bowl with dog kibble, got a beer out of the fridge, and Richie Schmidt walked in with our Pino’s order. Morelli and I went to school with Richie. He married Morelli’s cousin Doris, and he’s part of the poker night crowd. He’s an electrician, but he moonlights doing Pino’s deliveries a couple times a week.

“I got a chicken parm and two meatball subs,” Richie said. “Looks like someone got thrown out of the house again.”

“I’m not good at the marriage thing,” Anthony said. “I keep having these indiscretions.”

I rolled my eyes so far back into my head I almost fell over. Anthony had a good heart, and he was a charming guy, but he would hit on anything that moved and had a vagina. I wasn’t even sure if the vagina was a requirement.

“Grab a beer,” Anthony said to Richie. “The game’s going to come on right away.”

If I asked Morelli to get rid of the guys, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Truth is, I was happy to have them in his house, helping with my getaway.

I ate a meatball sub and finished my beer. Richie was at the pool table cueing up, and Anthony had the game on Morelli’s big flat screen. Morelli came over and wrapped an arm around me.

“Do you want me to get rid of these idiots?” he asked.

“No. I’m glad they’re here because I have to leave. I need to get back to my apartment. I miss Rex and my pillow.”

“Will you come back tomorrow?”

“No, but you can come to my house.”

“Can I bring my own pillow?” Morelli asked.

“You can bring whatever you want.”

“Deal.”

Morelli kissed me, and I had a moment of reconsidering.

“I like having you here,” Morelli said.

“And I like being here, but I need space. I need my life to be normal.”

“Cupcake, it’s going to take more than a couple hours alone in your apartment for your life to be normal.”

“I guess there’s all kinds of normal.”

Morelli drove me home and walked me to my door.

“I could stay,” he said.

“What about Richie and Anthony?”

“They won’t miss me. Richie will go home after the game, and Anthony will fall asleep on the couch. I’ll call him at nine-thirty and tell him to give Bob a bathroom break.”

“Would you be staying because you think I need protection?”

“No. I’d be staying because I don’t want to watch the game with Richie and Anthony, and because I want to get naked with you. And then after I get naked I want to . . .”

I pulled Morelli inside before he could finish the sentence. Mr. Macko across the hall was known to crank his hearing aid up and listen at the door. He was ninety-three. I didn’t want him to go into A-fib from listening to Morelli’s plans for the night.