Top Secret Twenty-One: A Stephanie Plum Novel(56)

“It’s a Chihuahua thing,” I told him. “They’re excitable.”

“Yeah, me too. I’m excited you’re here to take them away.”

“Turns out they’re not going away today. I can’t get their owner bailed out until Monday.” Maybe never.

“Are you shitting me? What am I supposed to do with them?”

I dumped the dog stuff on my kitchen counter. “First thing we have to do is take them for a walk, so help me hook them up.”

So much for the free-running minion experience.

By the time we got the dogs out of the elevator they were hopelessly tangled. I had three leashes in each hand, and Briggs had two in each hand.

“These are the dumbest dogs ever,” Briggs said. “It’s like they never walked on a leash before.”

“You might want to walk them two at a time after this,” I said.

“It’ll take me all day. And I’ll be a sitting duck out here.”

“I’ll give you a break on the rent.”

“I’m not paying any rent.”

“Exactly.”

We walked them around the block, and they all peed and two out of ten pooped.

“How often do I have to do this?” Briggs asked.

“Four times a day. They don’t have to always go for long walks. They just need a chance to piddle.”

We dragged the dogs up the stairs, and I set out bowls of water for them and gave them a quilt to use as a bed.

“I need a television,” Briggs said. “There’s nothing to do here.”

“You could look for a job.”

“I don’t have a car. How am I going to get around?”

“Taxi. Skateboard. Drone pickup. Figure it out!”





TWENTY-FOUR


I DROVE AWAY feeling agitated. I hated that Forest was locked up in jail. I didn’t like leaving the dogs with Briggs. I was terrified that something horrible was going to happen to Ranger. And I had a sick feeling in my stomach that I was going to get disemboweled by Vlatko.

All morning I’d been fighting the urge to call Ranger. I wanted reassurance that he was okay, but I didn’t want to overstep the boundaries of our relationship. Ranger wasn’t a chatty person, and we didn’t make casual phone calls. Truth is, if I made a phone call every time I was worried Ranger’s life was in danger, I’d spend half my life on the phone. Still, this felt different. This was bigger and crazier and scarier.

Morelli’s green SUV wasn’t in front of his house when I pulled to the curb. He was still helping Anthony. I let myself in and realized there was no Bob. Bob was usually the first to greet me. I went to the kitchen in search of lunch, knowing there were good things waiting for me in Morelli’s refrigerator.

Morelli had started out as the bad kid in the neighborhood. He was every teenage girl’s dream and every mother’s nightmare. He’d done some time in the Navy, joined the Trenton police, set a record for barroom brawls and one-night stands, and miraculously emerged from the devastation as a disease-free, mostly mature and responsible adult. Go figure.

I’d had a less tumultuous transition from childhood to adulthood, but somewhere in my twenties I feel like I got stalled in the process and now I’m drifting, marking time without any great passion to move forward. It could be that I’m just liking where I’m at and want to stay there a while longer. Still, it would be helpful if I could get motivated enough to buy a toaster.

I pulled a half-eaten tray of lasagna out of the fridge, carved a chunk off for myself, and ate it cold. I called Morelli and got a progress report on the swing set. It sounded to me like there was more beer drinking going on than bolting and wrenching. I went upstairs, brushed my teeth, and dabbed at the lasagna stain on my T-shirt. I gave up on the shirt, changed into a new one, and went downstairs. For lack of anything better to do I thought I’d go back to my apartment and help Briggs with the dogs. I went to the kitchen to get my messenger bag and froze in the middle of the room, unable to move, unable to breathe, my thoughts momentarily scrambled.

My messenger bag was on the counter, and next to it in a smear of blood was what looked like a human heart. The little sticky note next to it said, I’ll have yours next.

I looked around. No broken or open windows. The back door was locked. With shaky hands I got the key from the red coffee mug in Morelli’s over-the-counter cupboard, unlocked the drawer next to the sink, and removed Morelli’s spare Glock 9.

I stood with my back to the kitchen wall and called Ranger.

“I’m alone in Morelli’s house and someone just left a bloody heart on the kitchen counter,” I said. “I have a gun, and I’m in the kitchen, and I’m not going to move until you get here.”

“I’m fifteen minutes away, but I’ll have one of my men in your backyard sooner than that.”

I hung up and called my parents’ house.

“Just checking in,” I said when Grandma Mazur answered. “How’s everything going there?”

“We just finished lunch, and now your father’s sleeping in front of the television.”

I called my sister. I called Briggs. I called Connie and Lula. No one was missing a heart. I looked outside and saw that two Rangeman guys were at attention in Morelli’s yard.