First for a Plum

Chapter One

I loaded my skip into my black truck, which was parked one block down from the skip's run-down apartment building. His hands were cuffed behind his back, making it easy for me to push his head down and steer him into the back seat of the Dodge Ram sitting at the curb.

15 minutes later, I'd delivered him to Trenton Police Station and picked up my body receipt. I was idling at the traffic lights two streets down from the police station when my pager went off. It was the Vincent Plum Bail Bonds office number – not the number to Vinnie's inner office itself (thankfully) but the normal office number. Meaning Connie.

Vinnie was a rat. He'd set up Vincent Plum Bail Bonds and provided me with regular skips, but that didn't make him any less of a rat. Stories flew like wildfire about him, none of which I needed to hear. Half of which, I was probably at least temporarily psychologically damaged from hearing. Vinnie wasn't too fussy about women, to say the least. Or species. Or even gender. Another of those things I really didn't need to hear. Connie was Vinnie's secretary. Most women would've quit, had they worked for Vinnie for that long. Connie still survived mainly because she didn't put up with anything.

I grabbed my phone from the dash and dialled the office number, hoping I was right in presuming it was Connie that wanted to talk to me. I was.

"Ranger? Hey, could do you me a favour?"

I frowned. What could Connie be asking from me as a favour? I remained silent and waited until she explained.

"Could you help this new girl out? She really needs money, so I told her to try skip tracing. I reckon she's probably got what it takes with a bit of guidance. Could you give her a hand and show her the ropes? She really needs a bit of a hand, becoming a badass bounty hunter."

Connie was asking me to help a new girl out? I wondered why this girl would want to become a bounty hunter, of all things. Sure, she might need money, but there were other ways of getting it. Collecting skips was only a minor part of my income. Why would this woman what to do this though?

"Please, Ranger? Look – why don't meet her at for lunch, you can talk to her then?"

"Where?"

"Frailoli's. It's a café downtown."

"She got a name?"

"Yup. Stephanie Plum. I guess that's a yes, then?"

"Yes. Tell her to meet me there in 45."

I disconnected and headed over to the Rangeman building. I still had a few things to wrap up, and at any rate, it was still quite early. Thirty five minutes later, I'd made five calls, sorted out another case, attended a meeting and was headed over to Frailoli's. I'd also run a quick background check on Stephanie Plum, more out of habit rather than any real threat. She'd been a lingerie buyer six months ago, before the company she'd worked for had been taken over and she'd been laid off. A few small jobs since then, nothing overly well-paid. Divorced once. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than medical records suggesting a rather adventurous childhood for the area she grew up in and a few speeding fines. Entering the café, I got a table at the back of the room, sitting with my back to the wall, scanning the room.

The door chimed, and my eyes locked on the woman entering the café. 5'7", slim, with wild brown curls surrounding her face and startlingly blue eyes. She looked Italian, her age around mine or perhaps slightly younger. Her eyes had a sparkle to them, one that entranced and captured. They spoke of a powerful personality, and a determination. There was also something else, something I couldn't quite pick out. A hurt? I frowned slightly. What was it?

My eyes ran lingeringly over the rest of her face, taking in the delicate features, with the exception of shaped cheek bones. My breath caught very slightly as my gaze wandered. Her body was slim, with long legs encased in a pair of worn jeans and a chest pretty without being overpowering. My eyes kept being drawn back to hers, though. There was something in them I couldn't quite understand. Something that fascinated me. She was beautiful.

Her blue eyes scanned over the room, and after a couple of minutes focussed on me. This was Stephanie Plum? Or just another woman? She hesitated slightly, those eyes scanning my face questioningly, before she moved through the scatter of tables to stand it front of me. I looked up at her, one eyebrow raised, as she held out her hand.

"Manoso? My name's Stephanie Plum."

Wow. Regardless of what I'd thought, skip tracing or bounty huntering – however you wanted to put it – was still a tough job. I supposed she might be able to do some of the really low bond skips, but still, skips could be awfully unpredictable. Gotta say, though, she's got a lot of guts, if she's willing to try it out. I wonder how long she'll last…

I shook her hand firmly, then motioned for her to take a seat. Leaning back on my chair, I grinned at her.

"Sooooo, Connie says I'm supposed to make you into a badass fugitive apprehension agent. She says you need to get a crash course. What's the rush?"

She looked at me. "You see the brown Nova at the curb?"

My eyes flicked to the front window, and the street beyond. Sitting at the curb was…I'm not sure it could actually classify as a car. Once a Chevy Nova, it was now almost completely covered in rust, and covered in dents. It wasn't the worst state I'd seen a car in, but it was close. I'd seen a lot. Judging from the outside of it, I'm surprised it even started, and would be even more surprised if it had all its inside parts intact. This wasn't a car anyone would drive through choice. This was a car for the desperate, and only that.

My eyes returned to the woman in front of me. "Uh huh."

"That's my car."

Lucky her. I nodded slightly. "So you need money. Anything else?"

"Personal reasons."

"Bond enforcement is a dangerous business. Those personal reasons better be pretty fucking good." I didn't know her that well, but that didn't mean I didn't want her to get hurt doing this when she could get money elsewhere. And having been a bounty hunter for some time, I knew there was a fair chance of it.

"What are your reasons for doing this?" she asked me.

I lifted my hands in a palms up gesture. "It's what I do best."

"Maybe someday I'll be good at this too. Right now my motive is steady employment."

"Vinnie give you a skip?"

"Joseph Morelli." she replied.

I tipped my head back and laughed out loud. Morelli? This was a cop who had once been in the navy. And Vinnie was sending a lingerie buyer after him. Jeez. I managed to contain my laugher, but was still grinning broadly and shaking my head when I turned my attention back to Stephanie.

"Oh, man! Are you kidding me? You aren't gonna get that dude. This isn't some street punk you're going after. This guy's smart. And he's good. You know what I'm telling you?"

She looked at me. "Connie says you're good."

I was, but I wasn't the one going after him. "There's me, and then there's you, and you aren't ever going to be as good as me, Sweet Thing." Not without all the years of hard training I went through, but I couldn't see Stephanie Plum doing that any time soon.

Her brow set determinedly, and she leaned forward across the table. Wonder if she knew that gave me a better view of her assets?

"Let me make my position clear to you. I'm out of work. I've had my car repossessed, my refrigerator is empty, I'm going to get kicked out of my apartment, and my feet don't fit in these shoes. I haven't got a lot of energy to waste socialising. Are you going to help me or what?"

I grinned at her rant. "This is gonna be fun. This here's gonna be like Professor Higgins and Eliza Doolittle Does Trenton."

"What do I call you?"

A thousand names I'd been called flashed through my head. Everything from my everyday names to things my ex-wife used to call me, which in itself ranged from 'Sweetheart' to things I wouldn't want to be called in a lifetime. I shuddered internally at the memory. My daughter shouldn't have had to hear some of those things. I wished more than anything she hadn't.

I thought back to the situation at hand quickly, barely taking an instant for the multitude of thoughts to cross my mind. I was going to be working with her, so I decided on what those I work with call me. There were very few people who called me anything else.

"My street name. Ranger."