Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(72)

He pushed me forward, I heard a loud BONK, the knife fell out of his hand, and he crashed to the ground.

Lula stood over him, holding a fry pan. “Burrito that,” she said. “And you shouldn’t use the Lord’s name in vain. It’s not nice.”

Waggle was facedown on the road. He had a big gash in the back of his head, and he wasn’t moving. An event security person flipped him over, and he opened his eyes.

“What the fuck?” Waggle said.

There were a lot of men, wearing a variety of uniforms, doing crowd control, pushing people back from the truck. Morelli cuffed Waggle and called for medical. Ranger was at my side. Someone handed him a towel, and he pressed it to my neck.

“It’s not a dangerous cut,” he said. “It’s bleeding, but it’s not deep.”

I nodded. “I’m okay.”

I said I was okay, but my teeth were chattering and my eyes were tearing up. A medic pushed his way through to me and examined the cut. I declined a trip to the hospital, but I got the wound cleaned and bandaged. Waggle was strapped to a stretcher and trundled into an EMS truck with a police escort.

“What’s the plan?” Ranger said to Morelli. “One of us is going to have to get her cleaned up.”

I looked down at myself. I was head-to-toe raw egg and refried beans.

“Your turn,” Morelli said. “I have to stay with Waggle.”

Ranger grinned at Morelli. “You trust me in the shower with her?”

“No. I trust her. Plus, it’s going to take you an hour just to get the egg out of her hair, she’s got eight Steri-Strips holding that cut together in place of stitches, and if I find out anything inappropriate happened in the shower I’ll kill you.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Ranger said.

Lula was nearby, giving an interview to a local cable station.

“I don’t usually have beans in my hair,” she said to the woman with the microphone. “This isn’t my best look.”

“I’m leaving with Ranger,” I said to Lula. “Jamil is waiting to drive you home.”

Lula looked over and waved at Jamil. “Hey, sweetie,” she said. “I’ll be ready in a couple minutes.”

Ranger opened the door to his apartment, and I stepped inside. Lights were low. The air was cool. I stood in the hallway and a glob of refried beans fell off my jeans onto the immaculate polished floor.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Babe,” Ranger said, “it’s just beans.”

I shucked my shoes and jeans, stripped off my T-shirt, and carefully made my way to Ranger’s bathroom. I had a waterproof patch over my cut, so in theory I could shower. Under other circumstances, using Ranger’s shower would be a luxury. He has limitless hot water, expensive shower gel and shampoo, and fluffy soft towels. Today it was a chore. My cut was throbbing, and the egg had dried in my hair.

Ranger cut the elastic that was holding my ponytail and turned the water on for me.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I don’t want Morelli to have to kill you.”

“I appreciate your concern. Let me know if you want to risk it.”

Ranger left the bathroom, and I dropped my remaining clothes. I stepped into the shower and stood under the hot water until it felt like the goo in my hair was beginning to soften. I soaped up with his Bulgari Green shower gel and shampoo and rinsed off. I could still feel bits of eggshell stuck in my hair so I washed it two more times.

When I finally stumbled out of the shower I thought I smelled pretty good, but I was exhausted. I blasted my hair with the hair dryer, wrapped myself in a towel, and went to stand in the middle of Ranger’s walk-in closet.

“No clothes,” I said.

Ranger took one of his perfectly folded black T-shirts from the stack of black T-shirts and dropped it over my head.

“No undies,” I said.

“Can’t help you there,” he said.

“Is my hair okay?”

He tucked a strand behind my ear. “Not an eggshell in sight.”

“And the bandage on my neck?”

“It looks good. We’ll change it tomorrow morning.”

“You have a wonderful shower,” I said.

Ranger moved me out of the closet and pointed me in the direction of the bed. “My bed is even better. And your boyfriend didn’t say anything about inappropriate behavior in my bed.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


RANGER WAS STANDING beside the bed when I opened my eyes.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said, “but the morning is moving on without us. Waggle is talking, and Morelli wants you to hear what he has to say.”

“I haven’t got any clothes.”

“Ella found clothes for you. I put them in my closet. Grab something to eat and meet me in my office. We’ll change your bandage and head out.”

I took a fast shower, got dressed in my new clothes, and went down to the fifth floor. I made a quick trip to the break room for coffee-to-go and a breakfast sandwich, and I walked the short hall to Ranger’s office.

“Did Waggle give up any information about Hal?” I asked.

“No. It doesn’t sound like he was part of that piece of the operation.” Ranger peeled the big bandage off my neck and replaced it with a smaller one. “I told Morelli we’d meet him at the police station.”