Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(65)

Not necessarily a movie I’d want to see. I was more a rom-com, sitcom, and cartoon kind of person.

Ranger put the six drives in his top drawer, pushed his chair back, and stood.

“Are you going to share the drives with the police?” I asked.

“I’m going to return them to Skoogie’s desk later tonight. The police are on their own to find them. Would you like to ride along?”

“I can’t. Lula and I have a job to do.”

“Does it involve waiting tables and making sandwiches?”

“No! I’m helping someone with pet transport.”

We were in Ranger’s fifth-floor office with the door closed. The office was small and private, and Ranger was very close. He leaned into me, I took one step back, and I was against the wall.

“I could work around the pet transport,” he said.

I meant to say no, but it sounded more like “mmmm” when it came out of my mouth.

Ranger kissed me, and it was electric. ZING! The heat went from my lips to my toes and hit all the good spots in between. His hands slowly slid over my body, finding their way under my knit shirt.

“We should move this upstairs,” he said.

“Um,” I said.

“Um?”

“Here’s the thing . . .”

“I hate when you start an explanation like that,” Ranger said. “It’s never good news.”

“Kissing is cheating a little. I can deal with it. If we go upstairs it’s going to be cheating big-time.”

“Someday when we have more time, we need to discuss your moral compass and its reluctance to always point north.”

“My moral compass is fine until you tamper with it.”

“Babe,” Ranger said.

Carl drove me back to the bonds office. I retrieved my car and drove to my apartment building with Carl on my back bumper. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t necessary for him to sit in my lot and wait for God-knows-what to happen, but I knew that was pointless. Carl took his orders from Ranger.

I had a bowl of cereal for dinner, and I texted Annie Gurky. I told her the pickup was set for tonight, and I would call her when it was completed. She texted back that she was very appreciative and would be waiting to hear. It was followed by a bunch of emojis. Hearts, happy faces blowing kisses, happy cat faces, hands clapping.

“Don’t worry,” I said to Rex. “This will be a piece of cake, and then I’ll come home and we’ll have a nice quiet evening together.”

Rex was burrowed in his soup can house, but I’m pretty sure he was listening.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


LULA KNOCKED ON my door at nine o’clock.

“I’m all ready to go,” she said. “I got on my night-stalker clothes. I’m even wearing sneakers.”

She was wearing a black satin hoodie with hot mama embroidered in pink on the back, a black sequined bustier, black tights stretched to the breaking point, and sneakers covered with silver glitter.

I was wearing a black Nike sweatshirt, a black T-shirt, jeans, and red sneakers.

“There’s a Rangeman SUV sitting in the parking lot next to your car,” Lula said. “I’m thinking as long as we can’t get rid of him we might as well use him as our wheelman. Be easier for us to make our getaway with him waiting for us.”

Lula had a point. I didn’t expect problems, but it might be a smoother operation with a dedicated driver.

We trooped down to the lot, and I looked in at the Rangeman guy.

“You’re not Carl,” I said.

“Carl went off duty. I’m Eugene. I’ll be with you for the rest of the night.”

“I have to pick up a cat for someone,” I said. “Would you mind driving us? It would make things easier.”

“Of course,” Eugene said.

Lula and I settled ourselves into the SUV, and I gave Eugene the address.

“I hope we’re doing the right thing,” I said to Lula.

“Of course, we’re doing the right thing,” Lula said. “We’re reuniting a mama and her kitty. We’re bringing poor Miss Muffy home where she belongs.”

“Let’s review the plan,” I said. “We quietly go to the back door. We get the door open, find the kitty, and put her in the carrier that’s left by the door. Then we calmly return to Eugene and drive off.”

“Yep, that’s the plan,” Lula said. “I got my door-unlocking tools with me, too, so we won’t have to kick it in.”

Eugene cruised down Freestone Street. It was strictly residential, and the street was traffic free at this time of night. Lights were on in most houses. Everything was quiet.

The scumbag’s house was dark. Eugene parked in front and cut his lights. Lula and I got out and quickly walked around the house to the back door.

“Do you think you can get this open?” I asked Lula.

“No problem,” Lula said. “Easy-peasy.”

She took a flathead screwdriver out of her purse and stuck it into the lock.

“All you gotta do is point this down a little and turn it.” She jiggled it around, but it wouldn’t turn.

“Hunh,” Lula said. “It looked easy on YouTube.”

She tried a paper clip and a nail file next. Still nothing. “This is real annoying,” Lula said. She took a hammer out of her purse, whacked the doorknob, and it popped off.