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“How do you know?”
“God-given talent.”
He was wearing his usual street clothes—black cargo pants tucked into black boots, a black T-shirt, and a black windbreaker. He took off the windbreaker and wrapped it around me. It was warm from his body heat and smelled very faintly of the ocean.
“Spending a lot of time in Deal?” I asked.
“I should be there now.”
“Is someone watching Ramos for you?”
“Tank.”
His hands still held the windbreaker, his knuckles resting lightly on my breasts. An act of intimate possession more than of sexual aggression.
“How are you going to do it?” he asked, his voice soft.
“Do what?”
“Capture me. Isn't that what this is about?”
That had been the original plan, but he'd taken my toys away. And now the air was feeling hot and thick in my lungs, and I was thinking it wasn't any of my beeswax if Carol took a flying leap off the bridge. I put my hands flat to his abdomen, and he watched me carefully. I suspect he was waiting for me to answer his question, but I had a more pressing problem. I didn't know what to feel first. Should I move my hands up? Or should I move my hands down? I wanted to go down, but that might seem too forward. I didn't want him to think I was easy.
“Steph?”
“Huh?”
I still had my hands on his stomach, and I could feel him laughing. “I can smell something burning, babe. You must be thinking.”
It wasn't my brain that was on fire. I felt around a little with my fingertips.
He shook his head. “Don't encourage me. This isn't a good time.” He removed my hands from his stomach and took another look at the cuts. “How did this happen?”
I told him about Habib and Mitchell and the factory escape.
“Arturo Stolle deserved Homer Ramos,” Ranger said.
“I wouldn't know. No one tells me anything!”
“For years, Stolle's cut of the crime pie has been illegal adoption and immigration. He uses his East Asian contacts to bring young girls into the country for prostitution and to produce high-priced adoption babies. Six months ago, Stolle realized he could use those same contacts to smuggle drugs in with the girls. Problem is, drugs aren't part of Stolle's piece of pie. So Stolle hooked up with Homer Ramos, who is known far and wide as a stupid shit always in need of money, and arranged for Ramos to act as bagman between him and his accounts. Stolle figured the other Mob factions would back off from Alexander Ramos's kid.”
“How do you fit into this?”
“Arbitrator. I was acting as a liaison between the factions. Everyone, feds included, would like to avoid a crime war.” His pager beeped, and he looked at the readout. “I have to get back to Deal. Do you have any secret weapons in your arsenal? You want to make any last-ditch efforts at apprehension?”
Ugh. He was so smug! “I hate you,” I said.
/> “No, you don't,” Ranger said, kissing me lightly on the lips.
“Why did you agree to meet me?”
Our eyes locked for a moment. And then he cuffed me. Both hands behind my back.
“Shit!” I yelled.
“I'm sorry, but you're a real pain in the ass. I can't do my job when I'm worrying about you. I'm turning you over to Tank. He'll take you to a safe house and baby-sit you until things get resolved.”
“You can't do that! Carol will be back on the bridge.”
