‘Going Rogue’ Chapters 5-8

I was relieved when Lula and I walked into my parents’ house, where normalcy rules supreme. Maybe not normalcy by others’ standards, but there would be normalcy by Plum standards.

My father was in front of the television in the living room. He gave up a small sigh and slouched lower in his chair when he saw Lula. Bad enough that he had to live with my grandmother. Now he had Lula at his dinner table. It wasn’t that he disliked Lula. He just hated additional drama while he forked in his chicken parm.

“Hey, Mr. P,” Lula said. “Looking good. Long time no see. How’s it going?”

My father mumbled something and I hurried Lula out of the living room and into the kitchen. My mother was heating extra red sauce and Grandma was slicing bread from the bakery.

“You’re right on time,” Grandma said. “The table’s all set and we’re only waiting for your father.”

Four minutes later the five o’clock news show ended, my father turned the television off precisely at six o’clock and took his place at the head of the table, and we brought the food out. Chicken Parmesan, spaghetti, a gravy boat filled with red sauce, extra grated cheese, bread, butter, broccoli, wine.

Grandma poured wine and my father shoveled chicken onto his plate.

“This is an excellent meal,” Lula said. “I wouldn’t mind knowing how to cook like this. Lately I’ve been thinking about going to one of them culinary institutes. I might change my job and be a chef.”

“You’d be a good chef,” Grandma said. “You know all about eating.”

“My other idea is to go to tattoo school,” Lula said. “I just got the idea this afternoon when I came into contact with some original art.”

My father had his head down, concentrating on his spaghetti, working hard to ignore the conversation.

“The FTA we picked up today had Pervert and Blackmailer tattooed on his forehead,” Lula said. “It was a work of art.”

That caught my father’s attention. He stopped eating and looked at Lula. “On his forehead?” my father asked.

“Yeah,” Lula said. “He was naked and shaved and had this brand-new tattoo when we got to him.”

My father gave his head a small shake and went back to eating. My mother went into the kitchen to refresh her iced tea, which we all knew was whiskey. Who could blame her?

“I get it about wanting a new profession,” Grandma said to Lula. “Sometimes you need to shake things up and move in a different direction. I’ve been thinking about becoming an astronaut. They’re taking old people now.”

My father paused for a moment with his bread halfway to his mouth. Probably liking the idea of sending Grandma to the moon.

Morelli called and I stepped away from the table to talk to him.

“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 time about 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 apart ment at the top of his office building. A small silver plaque at the seven-story building’s front door simply says rangeman. 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 was Hello, 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.”

Even without the kiss, riding in the Porsche at night with Ranger is a sexy deal. The interior is dark and intimate, barely lit by colored lights on the dash. The contoured seats are low. The leather is soft and smooth. The car is powerful and flawlessly engineered. Like Ranger.

Ranger parked in front of the Ivy and cut the engine. The disadvantage to the 911 is that it’s not your average car and is noticed. The advantage to the 911 is that in Trenton only drug lords and Ranger can afford one, so it will never be stolen or vandalized.

We sat for a moment, taking the temperature of the surroundings. There was minimal traffic on the street. No activity around the Ivy. We left the Porsche and entered the lobby. I was in jeans and a sweatshirt. I was looking very pleasant with my ponytail and tasteful makeup. Ranger was wearing black cargo pants, a black T-shirt, and a black windbreaker. Not exactly the boy next door but not a gangbanger either.

We entered the elevator and Ranger looked around and checked his cell phone. “No cameras,” he said. We exited the elevator on the fifth floor and Ranger checked his cell phone again. “No cameras here either. Whoever owns the Ivy isn’t putting money into it.”

We went directly to 5B. Ranger worked his magic with the lock, and we were in. He flashed a penlight around the dark apartment. “Not good,” he said. “This guy is a hoarder. Turn the lights on. We can’t do this in stealth mode.”

I flipped the switch at the door and sucked in some air. There were collectibles everywhere. Stacks of unopened boxes containing action figures. Stacks of books and games. Racks of knight costumes. Creepy life-sized mummies in gruesome poses. An entire wall of cabinets with shallow drawers. Furniture was mixed in with the clutter. A small couch facing a television set on a card table, and a large desk and office chair in the living room. A small wooden dining table and two chairs in the dining area. An unmade, horribly rumpled bed in the single bedroom. The man obviously had sleep issues.

“I haven’t actually seen the coin,” I said to Ranger, handing him the computer printout. “Benji gave this to me. He took it off an article about the game, The Treasure of Gowa. He didn’t have a photo of the coin we’re trying to find.”

Ranger studied it for a beat and handed it back to me. “Do you know how many coins were made?”

“I looked it up. Every game came with one coin and there were thirteen million games produced. That doesn’t put it in the top twenty games of all time, but it had a good run before the company decided to close up shop.”

Ranger pulled the shades and went to the wall of cabinets. “Start searching at the far end,” he said to me, “and I’ll start here.”

After an hour we met in the middle.

“I found lots of coins,” I said, “but no Knights Templar.”

“There are more of these cabinets in his bedroom. I’ll go through the bedroom cabinets, and you can comb through the apartment. It was a new acquisition so he might not have cataloged it yet. It might be lying around somewhere.”

I worked my way through the living room and was starting on the dining room when Ranger walked up to me.

“I found a drawer filled with Knights Templar coins,” he said.“Twenty-three to be exact. Six were stamped with the game name and ‘Made in Hoboken.’ ”

“Beedle would know the coin.”

I FaceTimed Beedle, showing him all six coins. “Which coin is it?” I asked him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s hard to tell over the phone.”

“Don’t go anywhere. We’re coming over.”

Twenty minutes later we were at Beedle’s house.

“This is tough,” Beedle said. “Some are in better shape than others, but I couldn’t say which coin I sold. It’s not like I’m an expert. I didn’t pay that much attention to it. Maybe Benji would know.”

“Do you know how to get in touch with Benji?”

“Only at the store. He’s just Benji. I don’t know his last name.”

Ranger called his control room and asked for information on the comic book store. Three minutes later we had Benji’s last name, home address, and cell phone number.

“Whoa, that’s cool,” Beedle said. “You’re like the FBI or something.”

“It’s or something,” I told him.

+++

It was close to midnight when we met up with Benji Crup. Ranger had tracked him down at a bar close to his apartment. He was playing darts and chugging beer with two other guys.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Benji said when he saw me. “Did you come in for some brew? We got a pitcher somewhere.”

He spun around, looking for the pitcher. The dart slipped out of his hand and found a home in the thigh of a big guy standing next to him.

The big guy yanked the dart out of his leg and threw it at the dartboard, scoring a bullseye. “Cripes, Benji,” the big guy said, “that’s the second time tonight you stuck a dart in me. It’s getting old.”

“It was an accident,” Benji said. “I was looking for the beer.” “We drank the beer,” the big guy said.

I laid the six coins out on a nearby high-top table. “We need you to identify the coin,” I said to Benji.

“These are all the same,” he said. “They’re all from the game.”

“Yes,” I said, “but you only sold one of them. Which one did you sell?”

He took a closer look. “I don’t know. They all look alike. Even if I was sober, I couldn’t tell you which one I sold.”

“How do we get in touch with the kidnapper?” Ranger asked when we were back in the Porsche.

“I’m supposed to hang a sign in the office window.”

“Babe, that’s borderline pathetic.”

“Yeah,” I said. “He might not be a professional kidnapper. Are we going to give him all seven coins?”

Ranger pulled away from the curb. “Yes.” He drove to the end of the block and turned at the cross street.

“Do you think we’ll get Connie back?” I asked him.

“It’s possible.”

“But not guaranteed.”

“Not guaranteed,” Ranger said.

Ranger stopped for a light and looked over at me. I knew the look. If it was any hotter it would have set my panties on fire.

“Where do we stand?” he asked.

“I’m in a relationship.”

“And?”

“That’s it,” I said.

“You’ll let me know when it’s ended?”

“You’ll be the first person I tell.”

Ranger almost smiled. I amuse him.

The light turned green, and Ranger headed toward downtown. His apartment was in town. Beyond town on the other side of the railway tracks were Hamilton Avenue and the bail bonds office.

“Your call,” Ranger said. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to the office to hang a sign.”

“And then?”

“And then I’m going to wait for a phone call.”

He glanced over at me. “It’s only a matter of time, babe.”

I suspected he wasn’t referring to the kidnapper’s phone call.

He crossed the tracks, turned onto Hamilton Avenue, and cruised past the bail bonds office. He hung a left into the alley and parked in the small lot.

The back room in the office was pitch-black when we entered. Ranger has vision like a cat, but I was stumbling, blind in the dark without the aid of my cell phone flashlight. I crashed into a file cabinet and Ranger grabbed me from behind and moved me away from the files.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Anything broken? Concussion?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” He was standing very close, and his voice was soft, his words whispered against my ear. “I’m good at kissing things and making them feel better.”

There was a flutter of panic in my chest and heat in body parts farther south. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was speaking the truth. “It wasn’t my fault,” I said. “The cabinet jumped out at me.”

He reached across me and flipped the light switch. “You don’t want to miss too many opportunities. You never know when they might go away forever.”

“Do you have plans?”

He brushed a light kiss across my lips. “Yes, but they don’t involve going away.”

I followed Ranger into the front room. It felt strange being there at this time of night. The overhead lighting was harsh without the addition of sunlight, and Connie’s desk was a stark reminder that she was being held hostage somewhere. The windows were black glass. Never a good look. A single set of headlights slid past the windows. The headlights disappeared and the blackness returned.

I swiped a piece of paper from the printer and wrote on it with black marker, i’ve got it. I taped the paper up on the front window and transferred the office phone to my cell phone, and I was ready to leave.

Ranger drove me home and walked me to my door. We stepped inside and he pulled me close and kissed me. The kiss deepened and when we came up for air, I realized I had two fistfuls of his shirt in my tightly curled hands. I think my toes were also curled in my shoes, but that was my secret. I released the shirt and smoothed out the wrinkles.

“You’ll be the first to know,” I said, repeating my earlier promise. I hadn’t actually meant it when I’d originally said it, but I was closer to meaning it at the moment.

“Babe,” Ranger said. And he left.

 

Chapter Seven

It was another early morning for me. My first thought was of Connie when I awoke, and there was no going back to sleep after that. I took a fast shower and made coffee while I gave my super hamster and best bud, Rex, fresh water and filled his food dish. I put the coffee in a to-go mug and headed to the office. I hadn’t received any calls overnight, and I was anxious to make sure that the sign was still taped to the window.

The sky was light, approaching sunrise, and the roads were mostly empty. I cruised past the office and saw that the sign was still in place. I made a U-turn and stopped at Tasty Pastry Bakery. Walking into the bakery at this time of the morning is like returning to the womb. It’s warm. It’s cozy. It’s welcoming. I don’t know what the womb smells like but at dawn the bakery wraps you in a scent blanket of powdered sugar and dough rising. Jenny Wisnowski was bringing out fresh baked bread and transferring the warm loaves to the shelves. I went to school with Jenny. She was married now and had four kids. Her husband worked at the button factory.

“Hey,” Jenny said when she saw me. “What brings you here at this hour of the morning?”

“I thought I’d get an early start on my day. Lots to do.”

“I hear you,” Jenny said. “It must be hard without Connie. From what I hear she hasn’t shown up yet. I’m thinking she went on vacation without telling anybody. Lord knows, she deserves it after all those years with Vinnie.”

“Have you heard anything else interesting about Connie?”

“No. People have sort of moved off Connie disappearing. Mostly the big topic of conversation is Paul Mori getting shot.”

“Who do you think did it?”

“I’m going with a random drugged-up nut job. Trenton has a lot of them,” Jenny said.

I got eleven Boston creams and one jelly doughnut with powdered sugar and raspberry filling. The jelly doughnut was for Connie in case she showed up. She wasn’t a Boston cream girl.

I parked at the curb in front of the bail bonds office and did a fast assessment of the area. No suspicious-looking individuals skulking around. No cars stopping to read the sign in the window. I didn’t need the key under the rock by the dumpster. I had my own now. I unlocked the office and walked in. It wasn’t nearly so creepy this morning. Light streamed in and traffic hummed on the other side of the plate-glass window.

I sat at Connie’s desk, helped myself to a doughnut, and scrolled through her email. No new FTAs. That was bad news for me. I only made money when I captured someone. As it was right now, the only outstanding FTA was Morelli’s grandmother. The thought of approaching her caused a chunk of doughnut to stick in my throat. I checked my personal email, surfed a couple news sites, tried my hand at a crossword puzzle book I found in Connie’s top drawer. Time dragged on. No phone call about Connie. I took two calls from men who needed a bail bondsman and I referred them to an office downtown. Without Vinnie or Connie, I was unable to help them. I looked at my watch for the zillionth time.

It was still too early to call Vinnie.

Lula swung through the front door at eight o’clock.

“What’s with the sign?” she asked. “Is that for the kidnappers?”

“Yes. I found the coin. I made the twenty-four-hour time limit. I’m waiting to get a call about Connie.”

“Thank the Lord. I couldn’t hardly sleep last night.” She looked at the bakery box on my desk. “Is that doughnuts?”

I flipped the lid and Lula took a Boston cream. “How’d you get the coin?” Lula asked.

“Ranger got me into Sparks’s apartment last night.”

“Hold the phone. I forgot about the Ranger-helping-you part. That’s the best part. I gotta know about that part. What happened with the man of mystery?”

“Nothing happened.”

“I know that’s not true. It’s Ranger. Something always happens. He’s Mr. Dangerous. He’s Mr. Tall, Dark, and Freakin’ Sexy. Let’s start with the basics. Did he kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“I knew it! I knew it!”

“It was no big deal.”

“Girlfriend, it’s always a big deal with Ranger. If he touches you with his fingertip, it’s a big deal. Was there tongue?”

“What?”

“Tongue,” Lula said. “Was there tongue?” “Maybe a little.”

“Just a little? I bet there was a lot. Not that it matters. Tongue is tongue. What else?”

“Nothing else.”

“He didn’t cop a feel?”

“No.”

“Not even a little brush with his thumb?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. I don’t remember feeling anything.”

“That’s ’cause you were concentrating on the tongue. That happens sometimes. I bet he snuck a feel in. It would be disappointing if he didn’t at least sneak a feel.”

“He understands that I’m in a relationship with Morelli.”

“I’m pretty sure Ranger don’t care about details like that. He gave you the tongue. That’s cheating right there. Tongue counts as a cheat. Especially if it’s Ranger’s tongue. That’s definitely a cheat.”

“Okay, but I didn’t start it.”

“Did you finish it?”

It took me a couple beats to review the kiss. “No. He finished it.”

“See, if you had been the one to finish it, the cheat might have been erased, but as is, you might as well have continued the cheat until you at least got to see him naked. No one in their right mind would pass up the chance to see that man naked.”

She was right. I’d seen him naked. He was awesome.

I got up and surrendered Connie’s desk chair to Lula. “I checked the email and there were no new FTAs, but it might have been too early.”

I called Vinnie and was shocked when he picked up. “What?” Vinnie said.

“Connie is still missing and there’s no one here who can write a bond.”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m on my way.”

“He’s on his way,” I said to Lula.

“I like it just fine without him,” Lula said. “He’s a inconvenience.”

Twenty minutes later, Vinnie swaggered into the office. Vinnie is five feet nine inches, is slim, and appears boneless. His complexion is naturally swarthy, his eyes are narrow and feral, his brown hair is slicked back. His shoes are pointy toed, his pants are tight across his ass and narrow legged. He’s the human equivalent of a lizard. And he’s my cousin.

“Oh jeez,” he said when he saw Lula sitting at Connie’s desk. “Can life get any worse?”

“You bet your ass it can get worse,” Lula said. “The day’s just starting. And you better be nice to me and appreciate that I’m here running this crap-ass office because I’m all you got. And you’re lucky to have me here.”

“Yeah,” Vinnie said. “Lucky me. What’s happening with Connie?”

“She’s being held for ransom,” I said. “The kidnapper wants the coin you got from Paul Mori.”

“That’s weird,” Vinnie said. “Did you call the police? The FBI?”

“No,” I said. “I called Ranger.”

“Even better,” Vinnie said.

He disappeared into his inner office, slamming the door shut. Lula gave the closed door the finger.

“I saw that,” Vinnie yelled from the other side of the door.

Lula and I looked around for a hidden camera, but we didn’t see any.

“This here’s gonna be a good day,” Lula said, turning back to her computer, taking another doughnut. “I can tell. I got a feeling.”

My phone rang with an unknown-caller number. Not unusual for a bail bonds office but my heart skipped a beat all the same.

“I saw the sign,” the caller said. “Do you have it?”

“Yes,” I said. “In fact, I have six. I found them in a collection. I’m not sure which coin is yours. You can have all six. Where do you want to make the exchange?”

“Downtown. There’s a coffee shop on the corner of Greely and Broad. There are a few outdoor tables. At ten o’clock you need to be seated at the red table. Alone. Stay there and wait for my phone call.”

He disconnected.

I redialed. No one picked up.

“I’m dying here,” Lula said. “Talk to me. Is Connie okay?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to ask. He gave me a meeting spot and told me to wait for another phone call when I got there.”

“I’m going with you,” Lula said. “No. He said I had to be alone.”

“Yeah, but I could be somewhere nearby in case we need to do a takedown.”

“I’m sure Ranger will be there,” I said. “He’s probably tapped into my phone, planted a bug in my messenger bag, and equipped my car with a GPS tracker.”

“That’s an important thing to know,” Lula said. “A man who takes that many precautions to keep you safe is gonna have a good supply of quality condoms.”

Ranger called. “Come to Rangeman and I’ll outfit you with better equipment.”

“Gotta go,” I said to Lula. “I’m getting equipped.”

“Be careful.”

I gave her a thumbs-up, took a second doughnut, and left the office.

+++

Rangeman is on a quiet side street in the center of the downtown district. It’s a perfectly maintained, unremarkable building. I used my passkey to get into the secure underground garage and parked next to one of Ranger’s personal cars. I waved at the security camera, stepped into the elevator, and pressed the button for the fifth floor. That’s where the Rangeman nerve center, a small cafeteria, and Ranger’s offices were located.

The elevator doors opened, and Ranger stepped in and tapped the button for the seventh floor. His apartment. He was dressed in the Rangeman uniform of black fatigues with the Rangeman logo on the sleeve. This was his usual work uniform. It was the same uniform every other man in the building wore. The only woman in the building was his housekeeper, Ella. Ella kept everyone perfectly pressed and organically fed. Her husband maintained the building. Every part of the building, with the exception of Ranger’s apartment and office, was under constant video and audio surveillance. The result was a very quiet building where people moved about with measured efficiency. I’d learned not to talk in the elevator with Ranger. Even innocent small talk was enjoyed by the men in the control room. I don’t mind, but Ranger is a privacy and control freak.

The elevator opens to a small foyer with one door. The door leads to a short hallway with crisp white walls and subdued lighting. A narrow, exotic wood console table sits pressed against the wall in the middle of the hallway. A silver tray designed to hold Ranger’s personal mail and keys is the only object on the table.

Beyond the hall is a small, sleek kitchen equipped with high-end appliances that Ranger rarely uses. There’s a dining area off the kitchen with seating for six. Beyond the dining area are a designer-furnished living room, small office, and master bedroom and bath. The walls and window treatments are white, the upholstered pieces are man-sized and comfortable, the fabrics are warm browns and creams with black accents.

The first time I saw the apartment I decided that Ranger must have slept with the designer, because she got everything exactly right for him.

Today there was a black tote bag on the floor by the entry table. Ranger picked it up and carried it into the kitchen.

“The kidnapper has chosen a busy intersection for this meeting,” Ranger said. “There are midrise buildings on all sides. The windows and balconies look down on the red table. Several businesses with front and back doors open into the area. Bottom line is that the kidnapper has good visibility and good access. So do we. I have men on the street and men on rooftops. I’ll be on the street.” He took a small box out of the tote bag. “You need to take your hair out of the ponytail, so it covers the earbud I’m going to give you. It looks like an Apple AirPod but it’s a state-of-the-art sending and receiving device. I’ll be able to talk to you through it and I’ll also hear everything you say.”

He handed the earbud over to me and we gave it a test run.

He took a second device out of the bag. “This is a backup to the earbud. It’s a little larger and has a little more power. You need to slip it onto your bra. I’d personally insert it, but it might make us late for the kidnapper.”

I smiled and raised an eyebrow. “So, you think it would take that long?”

“Not for me, but past experience tells me you require more time.”

Okay, now I’m officially embarrassed. “You’re talking about inserting the listening device, right?”

Ranger took a step closer and raised the bottom of my T-shirt, exposing my Victoria’s Secret lavender lace demi. “Pretty,” he said, his fingertips brushing across my breast as he slipped the flesh-colored piece of plastic into the demi.

He leaned in to kiss me and I thumped him on the chest. “Stop it,” I said, tugging my shirt down.

He stepped back and smiled. “You’ll come around.”

I looked in the bag. “Do you have anything else in there?”

He handed me a Glock 42 handgun. “Small but deadly,” he said. “And it’s loaded, unlike that Smith & Wesson you sometimes carry.”

I dropped the Glock into my messenger bag and looked at the time. “I need to get on the road.”

“I’ll be right behind you. I want to stop in the control room before I leave.”

+++

I found a parking place on the street a block away from the coffee shop. I was fifteen minutes early so I went into the shop and ordered a caramel frappe. I took my drink outside and sat at the red table. There were three other little round tables, and they were all empty. To say I was nervous would be a vast understatement. I had my cell phone on the table and the six coins in a plastic baggie in my messenger bag. I looked up and down the street and at all the buildings. The car traffic was heavy. The foot traffic was light. I wasn’t sure what a kidnapper looked like, but I didn’t see anyone who stood out as suspicious. I’d spotted one of Ranger’s men at a high-top table inside the coffee shop. He had a coffee, and he was working on a laptop.

Ranger came on in my earbud. “I’m in a van across the street. I’m here with my technician, who will be monitoring your devices. You can relax. We’ve got your back.”

“Good to know,” I said.

+++

At precisely ten o’clock my phone buzzed, and I answered. “Do you have the coin?” he asked.

“I do. Where are you?”

“I’m around. It’s not important where I am. I want to see the coins.”

“I want to see Connie.”

“Reasonable request,” he said. “I’m changing to FaceTime.”

A video of Connie came into view on my phone. She was tied to a chair. She was gagged and had a sleep mask over her eyes. Her head was down. Her hair was a mess.

“Go ahead,” the kidnapper said to Connie. “Say something to your friend.”

He kicked the chair and Connie grunted.

I felt physically sick. I went light-headed and swallowed back nausea. I got a grip on myself, sucked in some air, and said, “That’s enough. Where do we go from here?”

Connie disappeared and the kidnapper came back on the phone. “I want to see the coins. I have to make sure you have the one I’m looking for. Put them all out on the table with the knight side up.”

I laid the coins on the table knight side up and looked around. “Where are you?” I asked. “How are you going to see the coins?”

“I have ways,” he said. “Be patient. Drink your coffee.”

I sat back and focused on the van across the street.

“Don’t stare,” Ranger said in my earbud. “He’s checking the coins out with a drone.”

I looked up and saw the drone. Heard the telltale buzzing.

“You don’t have the coin,” the kidnapper said.

“Of course I have the coin,” I told him. “I personally stole these from the man who bought it.”

Ranger laughed out loud into my earbud, and I did a mental eye-roll.

“My coin had a small notch on the edge. It’s visible from the knight side. None of these coins have a notch. This exchange is aborted,” the kidnapper said. “We’ll keep her alive and intact for another twenty-four hours. Beyond that I can’t make promises.”

The line went dead, and I scooped the coins back into the bag. “This is horrible,” I said to Ranger. “Connie looked terrible. Was anyone able to see where the drone landed?”

“We know the general direction,” Ranger said. “No one was able to track it fast enough to see it land. Meet me back at Rangeman.”

I finished my frappe and walked back to my car. I drove around a little, concentrating on the area where the drone might have originated. I didn’t see anything remarkable. No one dragging a bound and gagged woman down the street. And I had another twenty-four-hour deadline.

 

Chapter Eight

I parked in the Rangeman garage, took the elevator to the fifth floor, and found Ranger in his office. I removed the listening device from my bra and handed it over to him.

“Keep the earbud and the gun,” Ranger said. “This isn’t over. We replayed the phone conversation. The kidnapper said ‘We’ll keep her alive.’ ”

“That sounds like there’s more than one of them.”

“Has he indicated this to you before?”

“No. He implied that he wanted the coin for personal reasons. Could he really see a small detail like a notch on a coin from a drone?”

“Depends on the drone. Sanchez was on a rooftop next to the coffee shop and was able to get a photo. The kidnapper’s drone was equipped with a decent camera, so the answer to your question is ‘probably yes.’ ”

“Then where’s the coin with the notch?” I asked.

“Three people handled the coin. It could be with any of them,” Ranger said. “It would make life good if the coin is still with Sparks. We could have missed it in the search, or he could be carrying it on him.”

“I agree. It makes no sense that Carpenter Beedle or Comic Book Benji would have it. They passed it on. They obviously didn’t want to keep it.”

Ranger stood at his desk. “Let’s talk to Sparks.”

Twenty minutes later we were in the lobby of the Ivy. We took the elevator to the fifth floor and Ranger rang the bell of 5B. No answer. Ranger knocked on the door. No answer. Ranger did his magical door-opening thing and we walked into Sparks’s apartment.

Melvin Sparks was in his kitchen making a ham and cheese sandwich, and he was all dressed up like Sir Lancelot.

“What the—?” he said when he saw us.

“Hi,” I said. “Remember me?” I pointed to his costume. “Nice. Very authentic looking. Sir Lancelot, right?”

“Yeah. How do you know that?”

“Monty Python and the Holy Grail. It’s one of my boyfriend’s favorite movies.”

Sparks looked at Ranger. “Is this your boyfriend?” “No,” I said. “Not my boyfriend.”

Boyfriend was not a description anyone would ever assign to Ranger. Maybe when he was twelve.

“We’re looking for the coin you purchased from Benji at the comic book store,” I said to Sparks.

“I don’t have it,” he said. “I went to get it today to carry with Sir Lancelot and it’s missing. My whole collection of Gowa Knights Templar is missing.”

I placed the plastic bag with the six coins on his kitchen counter. “Don’t ask how we got these,” I said.

Sparks looked at Ranger. “Okay.”

“The coin isn’t in this collection,” I told him.

“Sure it is,” he said. “I had five and now there are six.” He opened the plastic bag and spread the coins out on his counter. “Six,” he said.

“Which one did you get from Benji?” I asked him.

“I don’t know, exactly,” he said. “They all sort of look the same.”

I looked at Ranger.

“Do you have any other Knights Templar coins?” Ranger asked Sparks.

“Yes, but these are the only ones from the game. This is my whole collection.”

“Thanks for clearing this up for us,” I said. “Sorry to disturb your lunch, Sir Lancelot.”

Sparks grinned. “I’m not really Sir Lancelot.”

We left the Ivy. Ranger put the Porsche in gear and pulled away from the curb. “Do you believe him?”

“I don’t know. He sounded like he was telling the truth but he’s the logical person to have the coin.”

“Let’s talk to Benji.”

Benji was organizing the manga section when we walked in. He smiled and nodded to me and then he acknowledged Ranger. The acknowledgment had a tinge of panic.

Morelli and Ranger are very different people. They have different body types and different personalities. They dress differently, walk differently, talk differently. The one thing they have in common is instant recognition that they’re the alpha dog.

“Are you shopping?” Benji asked.

“No,” I said. “Not today. I’m still looking for the Knights Templar coin.”

“Did you talk to Melvin Sparks?”

“Yes. I looked at his coin collection. He had six coins but none of them were the one I’m looking for.”

Benji put a stack of manga down on a round table. “That’s a bummer. I guess the coin I got from Carpenter wasn’t the one you want.”

“Do you know where Carpenter got his coin?”

“No,” Benji said. “He didn’t say.”

“Is he a regular customer?”

“Not really. He panhandles on the corner sometimes and comes in to pass the time between rush hours. He’s more a D&D gamer. He bought some rad dice from me a while back.”

“He knew the coin had some value to it,” I said.

Benji shrugged. “Every thirty-year-old geek played that game in middle school and knows about the coin. It’s not worth serious money, but a collector like Sparks would be willing to put out twenty or thirty bucks for it, depending on the condition.”

“What was the condition of the coin he bought from you?”

“It was good. It had some signs of wear but nothing serious.”

“Did it have a notch in the edge?”

“Not that I can remember.”

Five minutes later we were back in Ranger’s Porsche. “Next up,” Ranger said.

“Carpenter Beedle. He lives with his parents on Maymount Street.”

“This is the guy who shot himself in the foot?”

“Yep.”

“And he’s a professional panhandler.”

“Yep. And apparently a halfway-decent pickpocket.”

Ranger cut over to Chambers and turned onto Maymount. “It’s the yellow house with the red door,” I said.

And it’s the house with the empty driveway, I thought. No rusted Sentra. I hoped that wasn’t a bad sign. The rest of the neighborhood was business as usual. In other words, no business at all. No activity.

I rang the bell and Mrs. Beedle answered. “Oh dear,” she said when she saw me.

This wasn’t the greeting I wanted to hear. “I’d like to speak with Carpenter,” I said to her.

“He isn’t here,” she said. “He was gone when I got up this morning.”

“He wasn’t supposed to leave the house.”

“He never listens. He does what he wants. He’s probably panhandling somewhere. He’s a bum but he’s got a work ethic. He gets that from his father, God rest his soul.”

“Mr. Beedle has passed?” I asked.

“Ten years ago. Mowing the lawn and had a heart attack. I told him to get a power lawn mower, but he wouldn’t listen. Used a push mower. Can you imagine? Like father, like son. Don’t listen.”

I looked sidewise at Ranger and saw a smile beginning to twitch at the corner of his mouth. He was liking Mrs. Beedle.

“Does Carpenter have a car?” Ranger asked her.

“Yes,” she said. “He drives a Sentra.”

We returned to the Porsche, and Ranger called the control room and got the plate number on the Sentra.

“Do you know where he usually hangs?” Ranger asked me. “He tried to rob the armored car on State Street. There’s a bank on the corner of State and Third. That’s probably a good place to start.”

Ranger put the car in gear, drove two blocks, and got a call from his control room. One of his clients had been shot and robbed during a home invasion. A Rangeman car was on the scene with police and medical.

Ranger made a U-turn. “Change in plans. This is a new account in Yardley. We installed security cameras two weeks ago.”

We crossed the Delaware River into Pennsylvania and minutes later Ranger turned off the main road into a neighborhood of million-dollar houses and hundred-year-old trees. “It’s really pretty here,” I said.

“Until recently it had zero crime. I have several clients here, and I’ve had to increase patrol car presence. This is the fourth armed home invasion in this neighborhood in the past two months. It’s the first time it’s my account.”

“Always the same MO?”

“Yes. The victim is an older woman driving an expensive car. They follow her home to an empty house and force her to let them in. Then they rob it. Something obviously went wrong this time because someone got shot.”

We saw the lights flashing a block away. A fire truck, a couple cop cars, an EMT transport, two Rangeman cars. The house was a large, rambling two-story white clapboard with black shutters and lots of professional landscaping. A woman was on a stretcher. The back of the stretcher was elevated to allow her to sit. Two med techs were with her.

Ranger parked by the Rangeman SUVs, and we joined the cluster of responders. Two Rangemen were at the open front door to the house. Two more Rangemen, Hal and Jose, were with the woman on the stretcher.

Ranger approached Hal.

“She was carrying groceries into the house when four men came up behind her with guns drawn,” Hal said. “They told her to get on the floor facedown and stay there, and she told them to go fuck themselves. And then she swung a six-pack of beer she was carrying at one of them and smashed him in the face. Then she got shot.”

Ranger looked over at the woman. “How bad is it?”

“Could be worse,” Hal said. “She got shot in the arm. Looks like they panicked when they shot her and took off. She was able to hit the alarm by the door. We were the first on the scene.”

“I’m going to be here for a while,” Ranger said to me. “I know you want to look for Beedle, so take my car. I’ll catch up with you later.”

I glanced at the gleaming black Porsche turbo. “Are you sure you want me to take your car? I have a history of accidents with your cars.”

Ranger handed me the keys. “Keep it interesting.”

+++

I crossed the bridge to New Jersey and went straight to the office. “Anything new?” I asked Lula.

“Vinnie is at the courthouse bonding out some moron. And we got a notice that the charges were dropped on Brad Winter. I guess the ladies got enough satisfaction out of tattooing him. That’s about it. What’s with you? Where’s Connie?”

“She’s still with the kidnapper. He said I didn’t have the right coin.”

“How’d he know? Did you get to see him?”

“He looked at them with a drone camera. I didn’t get to see him.”

“This is a freaking downer. I was sure you’d come back with Connie. What are you going to do now? How do you get the right coin?”

“For starters, I need to find Carpenter Beedle.”

“I thought he was supposed to stay in his house,” Lula said. “Turns out he’s not good at following directions.”

“Well, I’m going with you to look for him. Now that Vinnie’s in town I don’t need to stay here. Especially since you’re driving Ranger’s Batmobile.”

“The first stop is my parents’ house. I need lunch and I need information.”

“I’m all about that,” Lula said.

Grandma was in the living room doing Zumba with a woman on television. “You should try this,” Grandma said to Lula and me. “It gives you endorphins and tight butt cheeks.”

“And heck, who doesn’t want endorphins and tight butt cheeks,” Lula said.

“I’m going to have butt cheeks so tight I could crack a walnut,” Grandma said.

“Sign me up,” Lula said.

“I’m going to pass,” I said.

“It’s over anyway,” Grandma said. “There’s another one coming on but it’s for seniors and there’s no walnut-cracking expectations.”

“What’s the point then,” Lula said. “My philosophy is aim high and fail big.”

“I like the way you think,” Grandma said. “Have you had lunch? We already ate but there’s cold cuts and leftovers.”

Grandma shut the television off, and we all went to the kitchen. My mom was sitting at the table with a cup of tea and a basket of yarn, and she was knitting what looked like a twenty-seven-foot scarf.

“Hey, Mrs. P,” Lula said. “That’s a nice thing you got going there. I like the pink sparkly yarn you’re using. Adds some glam. What are you making?”

“I’m not making anything,” she said. “I’m just knitting. It’s relaxing as long as you don’t have to worry about making a perfect sweater.”

I found some leftover chicken parm in the fridge. I shared it with Lula, and we finished it off with ice-cream bars.

“What’s the latest on Paul Mori, the dead dry cleaner?” I asked Grandma. “Any suspects?”

“I haven’t heard about any. People are saying he might have made an enemy in jail. The timing is strange. And he wasn’t robbed. He still had his watch and his wallet. I imagine there’ll be talk about him at the Leoni viewing tonight. We should scout around before we make a move on Bella.”

My mother sucked in some air and stopped knitting. “You will not make a move on Bella at the viewing,” she said. “It would be disrespectful.”

“I guess we could wait to snatch Bella at the Mori viewing,” Grandma said. “His viewing is tomorrow. It’s going to draw even better than Len Leoni tonight. A shooting always tops an aneurism.”

My mother looked at Lula. “This is why I knit.”

“I hear you,” Lula said. “There’s rules about polite society. All you gotta do is watch Bridgerton and you can see people with lots of rules. Of course, that was England, and this is Jersey. Our rules in Jersey are more commonsense. Like you don’t double-dip the chip in sauce if someone’s looking. And if someone’s got a gun rack or a big dog in his truck you don’t cut him off in traffic.”

“News at the bakery this morning is that Connie isn’t back yet,” Grandma said. “I didn’t say anything about you-know- what. So far as I can see, we’re the only ones who know what’s going on.”

My mom looked from Grandma to me. “What’s going on? What’s you-know-what?”

“Connie’s been kidnapped,” I said. “We’re keeping it quiet while we work to get her released.”

“Oh my God!” my mom said. “Kidnapped. Why would someone kidnap Connie?”

“It’s complicated,” I said. “A special coin passed through the bail bonds office. The kidnapper is holding Connie hostage until the coin is found and returned to him.”

“What if it’s not found?”

“It’ll be found,” I said. “In the meantime, we’re keeping the details quiet.”

“Poor Connie,” my mother said. “This must be terrible for her. Is she okay? Has anyone talked to her?”

“She’s okay,” I said.

“That’s why we’re going to snoop around at the viewing tonight,” Grandma said. “Viewings are always good for picking up information. People have a couple drinks to fortify themselves, and then they get loose lips.”

I grabbed my messenger bag. “We have to get back to work now,” I said to my mom. “Things to do.”

“I don’t see where we got any useful information out of this visit,” Lula said when we buckled ourselves into Ranger’s Porsche. “We know there isn’t any information being passed on the Burg gossip line. That tells us something. Whoever has Connie is being very careful and is probably not keeping Connie in the Burg or surrounding neighborhoods.”

“So, we know where she isn’t, but we don’t know where she is,” Lula said. “I have to tell you I’m feeling a lot of anxiety about this.”

I was trying to stay focused and ignore the anxiety. Ranger was at the home invasion, but I knew someone in his control room was working to find the kidnapper. They were attempting to trace the call the kidnapper had made to my phone, and they were looking at downtown security and traffic cameras, following the path of the drone. Ranger has ways of tapping into systems that aren’t supposed to be available to him.

I drove to State Street and turned toward Third. “Keep your eyes open for Carpenter Beedle,” I said to Lula. “He used to hang here. And look for his car. Rusted Sentra. The license number is written on the top of his file.”

I concentrated on State Street, but I also hit some other hot spots for vagrants and panhandlers. After two hours I gave up and took Lula back to the office.

“Call me if you need help or if anything good happens,” Lula said.

I gave her two thumbs up and went home. Rex was asleep in his soup can den, but I said hello to him anyway. I got a bottle of water from the fridge and took a seat at my dining room table. I never have company, and I eat most of my meals standing at the kitchen sink. If Morelli is over, we usually eat in front of the television. So, the dining room table has become my desk, and the only time I eat at it is when I’m working.

I opened my laptop and checked my email and socials. Nothing exciting there. I called Morelli.

“Connie is still missing,” I said. “Have you heard anything?”

“A notice went out to look for her. Almost everyone knows her. That makes the alert more personal, but nothing’s turned up so far,” Morelli said. “Anything on your end?”

“No. I’ve got Ranger looking, too. I thought I had a lead, but it hasn’t worked out.”

“Anything you want to share?” he asked.

“No.” A part of me wanted to join forces with him. He was smart and he was a good cop. Problem was that a kidnapping would bring feds into the equation, and I worried that the investigation would get big and messy. Plus, I’d already tarnished the case by committing a felony while gathering evidence. “How about you?”

“Nope.”

There was a long silence.

He’s holding something back, I thought. And he knows I’ve got something.

“Okey dokey then,” I finally said. “I have to get back to work.”

“Are you free tonight?”

“Sadly, no. I promised I’d take Grandma Mazur to the Leoni viewing.”

“Lucky you,” Morelli said.

Morelli was possibly the only person I knew who hated going to a viewing more than me.

I said goodbye to Morelli and called Mrs. Beedle.

“Have you heard from Carpenter?” I asked her. “Is he at home?”

“No,” she said, “but that’s not unusual. He often comes and goes at odd hours.”

I cleaned the hamster cage and gave Rex fresh food and water. This involved giving him a new soup can, so I multitasked and had Campbell’s Tomato Soup for dinner. I supplemented the soup with a peanut butter and olive sandwich and washed it down with a Stella. I was pretty sure this combination gave me all the necessary food groups, with the exception of chocolate.

 

From GOING ROGUE by Janet Evanovich. Copyright © 2022 by Evanovich, Inc.  Reprinted by permission of Atria Books, an Imprint of Simon & Schuster, LLC.​