Stephanie Plum 5 - High Five
4
“YIKES!” I JUMPED back and clapped my hand to my chest, tightening my towel. “What are you doing here?” I yelled at Ranger.
His eyes dropped to the towel and then back to my face. “Returning your hat, Babe.” He put the SEALS hat on my head and adjusted it over my damp hair. “You left it in the lobby.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Ranger smiled.
“What?” I asked.
“Cute,” Ranger said.
I narrowed my eyes. “Anything else?”
“You doing the shift with Tank tonight?”
“You're still policing that building?”
“It's got a big hole in it, Babe. Gotta keep the bad guys out.”
“I'll pass on that one.”
“No problem. I have other jobs you can try on.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
Ranger shrugged. “Things turn up.” He reached behind him and came up with a gun. My gun. “Found this in the lobby, too.” He tucked the gun under the top edge of my towel, wedging it between my breasts, his knuckles brushing against me.
My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment I thought my towel might catch fire.
Ranger smiled again. And I did more eye narrowing.
“I'll be in touch,” Ranger said.
And then he was gone.
Dang. I carefully extracted the gun from the towel and put it in the cookie jar in the kitchen. Then I went back to my door to examine the locks. Worthless pieces of junk. I locked them anyway, including the bolt. I didn't know what more I could do.
I went into the bedroom, dropped the towel, and shimmied into a sports bra and jockey bikinis. This wasn't going to be one of those silk and lace days. This was going to be a no-?nonsense jockey day all the way through.
Half an hour later, I was out the door, dressed in jeans and a denim shirt. I buckled myself into Big Blue and motored out of the lot. Two blocks later, I turned onto Hamilton and noticed a car close on my tail. I swiveled in my seat and looked at the driver. Bunchy. I pressed my lips together, getting a smile and a wave from him. This guy was unreal. He'd pulled a gun on me, and probably he had something to do with the body in the garbage bag, but I was having a hard time working up any real fear of him. In all honesty, he was sort of likeable . . . in an annoying kind of way.
I swerved to the curb, yanked the emergency brake up, got out, and stomped over. “What are you doing?” I shouted into his window.
“Following you.”
“Why?”
“I don't want to miss anything. In case you get lucky and find Fred, I want to be there.”
“I don't know how to break this to you, but between you and me, I think it's unlikely that Fred is going to be in any shape to repay your money if and when I find him.”
“You think he's fish food?”
“It's a possibility.”