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“Lula and I are at my parents’ house,” I said. “We just sat down to chicken parm, if you want to join us.”
“I’d love to join you, but I’m on my way to carnage on Stark Street. It’s going to be a long night.”
“Gangs?”
“Probably. I’ll know more when I get there. I called to tell you that Connie is officially a missing person. Her mother reported it. If you have any information, you should pass it along.”
“Are you the principal?”
“No. Johnny Krick is the principal. I mostly get cases that involve a lot of blood.”
“Thank goodness there’s no blood involved in Connie’s disappearance.”
“Not yet,” Morelli said. “Make sure you keep Krick in the loop.”
I returned to my seat at the table and all eyes were focused on me.
“Anything important?” Grandma asked.
“No,” I said. “He was just checking in. Connie’s mother filed a missing person report.”
“That poor woman,” my mother said. “She must be beside herself.”
“Red sauce,” my father said. “I need more marinara.”
My mother passed him the gravy boat. “I worry all the timeabout Stephanie and her job, and now it’s Connie who goes missing.”
“You never know about these things,” Lula said. “I had a daddy who went missing and never came back. At least my mama thought he might be my daddy.”
“Men,” Grandma said. “You can’t count on them. You get to be my age and just when you think it’s going to work out, they drop dead.”
“I hear you,” Lula said.
At ten minutes to nine I left my apartment and went outside to wait for Ranger. Five minutes later, headlights appeared at the entrance to my building’s parking lot and Ranger’s black Porsche 911 Turbo S rolled into the lot and stopped in front of me.
Ranger was a bounty hunter when I first met him. He had a ponytail and a diamond stud in his ear. His address was a vacant lot, and his methods of apprehension were questionable. He’s a successful businessman now. The diamond stud has disappeared. His brown hair is expertly trimmed. His clothes are tailored to a perfect fit.
He’s still governed by a moral code that doesn’t entirely conform to the norm, and his body is as toned as it was during his Special Forces days. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s worn only black. His parents are Cuban, and the black is a good look for his Hispanic coloring. Wearing all black also allows him to disappear in the dark of night.
He lives in a professionally decorated and maintained apartmentat the top of his office building. A small silver plaque at the seven-story building’s front door simply saysRANGEMAN. The first six floors contain state-of-the-art security gizmos and a loyal workforce of men with special skills that were acquired in a number of ways, some legal and some not.
I slid onto the passenger seat and made eye contact with Ranger. On the surface it wasHello, long time no see. Below the surface there was more than a smidgeon of desire. I’m sorry, but the man is hot. And I’m fond of him. Okay, let’s get it all out there. I love him. Problem is that I also love Joe Morelli. And my love for Morelli is different from my Ranger love. I have a long history with Morelli. Morelli has a house, a dog, a toaster. He isn’t perfect but he’s close to normal. I could have a future with him. He’s fun. He’s comfortable. And he’s sexy. Ranger is perfect in many ways, but he will never be comfortable or close to normal. Ranger is the wind. Exciting and sensual and mysterious. A future with Ranger would be uncharted territory.
“Babe,” Ranger said, and he leaned across the console and kissed me.
It was a friendly kiss. No lingering. No tongue. It gave me a rush all the same. When he moved away there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Welcome to the dark side,” Ranger said.
No kidding.
He put the Porsche in gear and drove out of the parking lot. “Do you have an address?” he asked.
“Twelve oh seven Kerry Street.”
“Are we looking for anything other than the coin?”
“Nope. Just the coin.”
