Part I: Hot!
(Stephanie's POV)

Five o'clock! Finally! With practiced efficiency, I shut down my computer, flipped off my under cabinet light, and grabbed my purse from my bottom desk drawer. It was five o'clock on Friday night and time to go home for the weekend. I weaved my way through the maze of five by five foot cubicles to the main aisle that led to the elevators. I shoved my way to the center of the crowd and hoped I wouldn't have to wait for more than two cars before I was able to get on.

It had been another long day in a series of excruciatingly long days at the office. My name is Stephanie Plum and I buy lingerie for the plus-sized woman. Between brief phone conversations where I haggle with sales reps from manufacturers of tent like teddies, I spend the majority of my day finding ways to pass the time. Thank God for the Internet. I can spend hours everyday reading the news, or playing games, or emailing my friends.

Don't get me wrong, I love my job. Well, I love what it allows me to do. I've got season tickets to the Rangers, a sweet Mazda Miata convertible, and my very own apartment outside of the Burg complete with a real wood dining room set, and a comfortable but classy living room suite. This job has given me independence and that means a lot to a girl from the Burg.

The Burg is a blue-collar chunk of Trenton, New Jersey settled mainly by Italians and Hungarians, but with enough other nationalities thrown in to prevent inbreeding. I was born and raised in the Burg and my parents still live in the same house on Roosevelt. Most of my friends from high school married their high school sweethearts and settled in the Burg right alongside their own parents.

But not me. I made a break for it and went to college at Rutgers, determined to get an education that would lead to a job that would give me independence. Instead, I met Dickie Orr. Dickie was charming, smart, good-looking, and goal-oriented. And he was a lawyer. He had nice clothes, and an even nicer car, and season tickets to the Rangers. I was hooked. Right after graduation we got married and bought a nice house, and I was prepared to live happily ever after.

Turns out, my charming, smart, good-looking husband was no more than a good-looking, lying, cheating bastard. One day, I came home from work early to find my husband doing the horizontal mambo on my dining room table with my arch nemesis, Joyce Barnhart. In our short, but vicious divorce, I found out that Joyce was just one of many and that I'd married the biggest horse's ass in Trenton.

I guess it's no surprise, though. I've never had good taste in men. As a sophomore in high school, I fell for a senior with the finest ass in Trenton, gorgeous body, melt-in-your mouth chocolate eyes, and a lousy reputation. His name was Joe Morelli and he grew up two blocks over from me. Our paths rarely crossed growing up, well, except for the one game of choo-choo in his dad's garage, so I was surprised when he showed up five minutes before closing time at the Tasty Pastry one day after school.

One minute after closing, I sold him a cannoli and he sold me on the idea to have sex behind the eclair case. One touch, one kiss, one whisper, and I had it bad. I had big dreams of a Burg wedding, a pack of kids, and the happily ever after. But, Joe Morelli had another idea. He stood up after our fifteen minutes together, pulled his jeans back on, and told me he had joined the Navy and was leaving in the morning. I was crushed. My dreams were shot to hell. My mother had always warned me about those Morelli boys, especially after the game of choo-choo, and I regretted not listening to her.

I got my revenge, though. Two years later, when Joe's stint in the Navy was up, he came back to the Burg. What for, I'm still not sure. If I'd've made it out like he did, I'd've never come back. Anyway, he was walking down the sidewalk in front of Giovichinni's when I happened to be driving by in my dad's Buick. Something came over me and I just snapped. I put the pedal to the medal, hopped the curb, and ran Joe over. Well, it was more like bumped him really hard, but it knocked him down at least.

Once I'd hit him, my senses returned and I started feeling a teensy bit guilty about running him over, even if he was a scum-sucking, virginity-stealing toad. I got out of the car to see if he was okay. He was sprawled all over the sidewalk and his leg looked like it was resting at a funny angle. Anything broken, Id asked. Yeah,he'd said, My leg. I looked down at his leg again for a second and then back to his face and that's when I realized he was looking up my skirt. You're scum! I'd shouted, stomped back to the Buick, and sped away.

The heat hit me in the face with the same force as a sledge hammer as I stepped into the soupy air in Newark, bringing me back to present day. The parking garage was three city blocks away, so I put my head down and tried to take shallow breaths. No need to breath more smog and humidity than necessary, I surmised. By the time I reached my Miata, my hair had twisted into tight, frizzy curls that bounced around my shoulders; my silk sleeveless shirt was plastered to my sweat soaked body; and my pantyhose had melted to my legs. It had to be 100 degrees outside. It was mid August and we'd just hit the first major heat wave of the summer. I guess we were lucky. It could've been like this for months.

After a quick glance around the parking garage for anybody watching me, I hiked up my skirt and peeled off my pantyhose. Much better, I thought. What the hell. I'd already sweated through my clothes; I might as well put the top down on the Miata and drive home in style. I cranked up the radio and tried to enjoy the drive home.

As I took the exit onto the Turnpike, I noticed the heat gauge in the car inching up. Probably it was just riding a little hot because it was so damn hot outside. With one eye on the road, and one eye on the heat gauge, I joined the pack of cars heading south to Trenton. Traffic was lighter since it was a Friday night during the summer, but even still, all lanes were full. The difference was traffic was moving instead of crawling.

The sun was beating down on me and even with the wind whipping my hair, I was hot. Sweat was dripping between my boobs and down my spine. Even my arms and legs were glistening with sweat. I couldn't wait to get home to my central air and take a cold shower. I glanced down again at the heat gauge and saw that the needle had inched even higher. I was still 20 miles out of Trenton, but that damn needle was just below the red zone on the gauge. Shit!

I started to panic. I was going to have to stop alongside of the Turnpike and call AAA if this damn gauge didn't go back to normal. I remembered my dad telling me once to turn on the heater if my car ever started to overheat. It was the next best thing to adding water to the radiator, he'd said. Since I didn't have any water or any idea where the radiator was, I turned on the heater full blast. Just when I thought it couldn't get any hotter, the heat hit me the face and raised the temperature around me by another 10 degrees. Quickly, I adjusted the setting to the floor, but then my feet felt like they were on fire. There was too much traffic to set cruise control, so I alternated putting my foot on the gas and pulling it away to cool it off. I was making myself carsick what with the lurching forward and backward with each pump of the gas, but at least, my feet weren't catching fire. It was more like stepping on hot coals.

The heater thing seemed to do the trick and the needle slowly lowered out of the danger zone. My father had never told me what happened if you kept driving with the needle in red, but I was sure I didn't want to find out. I drove another five miles before the needle started inching back up. Damn it! I was only 15 miles out of Trenton. Maybe I'd be able to make it. I wiped the sweat out of my eyes, pushed my hair back, and really gave it some gas. So what if my feet caught fire? I had to get this car off the road.

Five miles later, the needle was back in the danger zone. Huh? This must've been what Kenny Loggins was singing about. I was afraid to push my beautiful Mazda Miata any further. What if the engine blew up? After a string of curses that would make a sailor proud, I pulled my convertible over to the side of the road and stepped onto the shoulder.

The heat radiated from the pavement in shimmering, transparent waves, stealing my breath and obscuring my vision of the long line of cars. Horns wailed as commuters whizzed by on their way home to their own emergencies. The soles of my shoes were in danger of melting to the concrete with each step. I made my way around to the passenger side of the car so I wouldn't get run over and regrouped. No car phone or other means to call someone for help. Think Stephanie!

Okay. I think there's a motorist assist box a mile or so back. God, I hope it's just a mile. I can walk to the box and call for help. Short of waiting for some maniac to stop and help me, it was my best plan. In a moment of stupidity, I briefly considered closing the top of the convertible and locking it up. Wouldn't want it to get stolen. But then, I thought better of it. If some crook could drive it away without the engine blowing up, then they could have it!

I wasn't more than 50 feet from my car when a police cruiser pulled onto the shoulder, let the siren wail for one revolution, and flicked on the bank of lights. Great! Now what! When did it become a fucking crime to go for help for your broken down car?

The officer picked up his radio mic and began to speak into it. As I waited for the inevitable, I tried to make myself presentable. I straightened my beige skirt, well, it was beige before I sweated through it making it a darker shade of tan, peeled my white silk shirt from my chest and hoped it wasn't see through, and scraped the riot of frizzy curls out of my face as best I could. I tried wiping the sweat out of my eyes with the back of my hand, but it was useless. The back of my hand and arm were as sweaty as my face. And I didn't need a mirror to know that my make up had either run in ugly lines or melted off and my now natural face was beet red.

I waited, hands on hips, chin held high, for the officer to finish up on the radio already and get this over with. Finally, he stepped out of the cruiser, releasing all the cool air from inside the car into the raging inferno that was the New Jersey Turnpike. He looked as calm and cool as I'm sure it was back in the car. His uniform was crisp, fresh, and perfectly pressed and his black leather shoes had been polished to a blinding shine. His face was partially hidden under his hat, but his too long dark brown hair stuck out from under it, lying on his collar and his ears. Well, at least I got a good-looking cop, I thought, and tried to suppress my fantasies of men in uniform. Ever since Joe Morelli joined the Navy, I couldn't help but fantasize of him coming home on leave, wearing his sailors uniform and whisking me away into the sunset. I know, I know. I need to stop watching An Officer and a Gentleman, but a girl can have dreams.

As he walked closer, I got a better look at him: dark, Mediterranean skin; broad, strong shoulders; narrow waist; tanned and muscled arms. Mmmm. If this hadn't been the day from hell, maybe I'd've taken a chance and tried to get to know this guy. I tried to soften the look on my face as he approached - I wouldn't want to look like the bitch from hell - and went for an easy going smile.

"What seems to be the problem, maam?" Officer Hottie asked in a thick New Jersey accent.

"My car broke down," I gestured toward my Miata up the road a ways, "so I was walking to the nearest motorist assist box to call for a tow, Officer..." My eyes traveled from his still shadowed face down his firm body to his name plate. Morelli. Fuck! My eyes shot back up to his face which was finally visible now that he'd turned in the direction of the sun to look at my car. Sure enough. It was Joe Morelli. Any warm feelings I was having for this man evaporated as quickly as spill of water on the Turnpike. My face turned to stone and every bit of Jersey girl attitude I could muster oozed out of my pores, along with quite a bit of sweat. "Now if you don't mind, Id like to get to that phone before I melt."

I started to stalk past him, but he caught my arm. Heat spread through my body that had nothing to do with the 100 degree temperature. "Stephanie? Stephanie Plum?" he asked shock clearly visible on his face.

"Joe Morelli. Long time no see." My voice was flat, totally without emotion. "Or talk," I added.

Joe blushed. Good. Serves him right. As quickly as the shock appeared, it was gone again. His face was like a mask not giving away any of his emotions. "Ms. Plum, or is it Mrs. Orr?" his eyes narrowed before he continued, "The nearest call box is a good two miles back down the highway. Why don't you come cool off in my car and Ill call for a tow truck?"

Now, I had my pride, or what was left of it, and getting into Joe Morelli's car would be the equivalent of shredding it into tiny pieces. But on the other hand, it was hot. Blistering hot. I could feel the sunburn growing on my pale skin. Damn those Hungarian genes! Why couldn't I have gotten more of my fathers genes like Valerie? And I was sweating. Profusely. Which I'm sure wasn't such a good look for me. The need to look good in front of Joe Morelli and show him everything he'd been missing was almost as important as keeping my pride.

Joe's mask briefly slipped off and he said, "Jesus, Stephanie. I'm not some axe murdering creep." Hunh, I thought. Maybe not an axe murderer, at least not that I know of, but definitely a creep. "I just want to help you."

When I factored in the heat along with the need to look good, it tipped the scales in favor of getting into Joe Morelli's car. I swallowed my pride and said, "Thank you," and followed him back to the cruiser.

I was prepared to sit in the back where the criminals do. Probably that'd be the safest place for all involved anyway. What if I snapped again, and this time I scratched his eyes out? Or tore his clothes off? Wait, no. No one's clothes are coming off. I dont care how hot he looks in that uniform. Im not going down that path again. Been there, done that! And while the beginning and middle are the stuff fantasizes are made of, the ending down right sucks! Yep. I better sit in the back.

"What are you doing?" Joes face was screwed up in question when I followed him to the driver's side of the car and waited at the back door. "Go around to the passenger side. You can sit up front."

"Probably that's not such a good idea."

Joes eyes melted into pools of chocolate before he said, "I promise, Ill be on my best behavior." He held up three fingers on his right hand and said, "Scouts honor."

"You were never a Boy Scout," I argued.

"No, but I ate lots of Brownies."

"You're a pig, you know that?" I leveled even while my internal heat was ratcheting up. Butterflies started swarming in my belly and I knew now more than ever that I should sit in the back.

"Come on, get in. I was just kidding," he said with a genuine smile.

"No, you weren't," I answered as I walked around to the other side of the car.

"You're right. I wasn't." The smile stayed firmly in place until we were both sitting inside the cruiser.

The blast of cold air felt so good that I forgot to be mad at him for a few minutes. I lowered my head to the double vents in the middle, closed my eyes, and let the cool air wash over me. When my head had stopped throbbing from near heat stroke, I scooted up on the seat and let the air cool my heated body. Joe got on his radio again and called in the location of my car for the tow truck.

After a few more minutes of basking in the air conditioning, I realized he wasn't talking on the radio anymore. I felt his eyes on me before I looked at him and I felt my face flushing once again, this time having nothing to do with the heat.

"You're staring." My voice sounded weak to my own ears.

"You look great, Steph."

Just when I thought I had him all figured out, he threw me for a loop. Why'd he have to be so charming? Remember, Stephanie. It was his charm and good looks that got you in trouble in the first place. I shoddily built back up my defenses and went for fake bravado. "Puh-leez." I yanked down the visor in front of me and glanced in the mirror. "I look like I was left in the deep fryer about an hour too long."

Joe shrugged. "Yeah, well, that too."

What'd I expect? I was asking for it. "So now what? We just sit here and wait for the tow truck?"

"That, or I could drive you home. Your car is being towed to Mr. Fix It on Eighteenth Street. You can settle up with Bucky in the morning."

"Bucky? Bucky Seidler?"

"Yeah. He took over his old man's business. Dumb as a box of rocks, but a damn good mechanic. Hell have that foreign piece of shit up and running in no time."

"Hey! You sound like my father," I said over the roaring motor of the cruiser. Joe turned off the lights, put on the blinker, and eased his way back into traffic.

"Your dad was a Buick man, right?" He paused and I nodded. "I always did like your dad."

Feeling a bit jealous of Joe's obvious preference for my father, I said, "Yeah, well, he didn't like you! Not after what you wrote about me at Mario's."

Joe laughed out loud. All his features relaxed and I remembered how dangerous he could be to my heart. "Hey, it was very complimentary. He should be proud."

I narrowed my eyes and asked, "What exactly did you say?"

"If you haven't heard by now, I'm not going to spoil it for you. Maybe you could send your husband into the stall to find out." I thought I heard a hint of jealousy in the word husband, but it was probably just wishful thinking.

"No, I can't."

"Sure you could. It's right above the toilet paper dispenser. You'd have to be a moron to miss it." Joe smiled, clearly pleased with his work.

"He's a moron alright, but he's not my husband. We're divorced." Everyone in the Burg knew about Dickie's and my highly publicized divorce. Word of his cheating spread like wild fire and I'd become somewhat of an urban legend for doing a complete head spin in divorce court like that little girl in the Exorcist. Still, I felt vulnerable airing out my inadequacies to Joe.

"What happened? Last my mother told me was that you were getting married to some low-life defense attorney."

"I caught him fucking Joyce Barnhardt on our dining room table one day after work. That was pretty much the last straw in a marriage destined for failure from the beginning." I shook my head at my stupidity. I married Dickie for all the wrong reasons. He represented things that I wanted and a way to get them. I never really loved him and I know he didnt love me.

"Joyce Barnhardt! What was he thinking? How do you give up such a sexy woman for some sleaze like Joyce?" He asked the last question almost to himself and shook his head in disbelief.

I smiled at him. "Thanks, Joe. I appreciate that coming from you. But to Joyce's credit, she got a boob job and her teeth fixed and dyed her hair platinum blonde. She looks pretty good as far as skanks go."

"I've seen her." Joe turned to me and looked directly in my eyes. "She's got nothing on you."

I broke eye contact first. I felt like his eyes were boring into my soul and I didnt want to let him in again.

"So, where do you live?" Joe asked, abruptly changing subjects.

"Oh, uh, in the apartment building on the corner of St. James and Dunworth," I answered still flustered by his compliment.

"So you made it out of the Burg too?" He smiled at me.

"Not far, but at least I'm on my own," I answered proudly.

"No roommate or boyfriend?"

I turned to look at Joe again, but his eyes were firmly fixed on the road. "No." A small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

I cleared my throat and tried to calm the butterflies in my stomach. Here I was hoping for a nice cool ride back to my apartment, but somehow it was hotter in the car than outside. "So, how long have you been on the force? My mother never told me you were working in Trenton."

"Smart woman," he smiled. "Ever since I got back from the Navy. About six years now. I take the Detective test next week and hopefully I can get out of this godawful uniform."

"I like the uniform," I blurted before I could gain control over my mouth.

"Yeah? Maybe Ill keep one then. Just in case." He winked at me.

I took a deep breath to steady myself, but my heart was pounding so hard in my chest I was sure Joe could hear it. "So you like being a cop?" I asked searching for a benign topic.

"Yeah, I do. I never thought I'd be on this side of the law, you know. I figured I'd follow in my old man's footsteps, drinking, fighting, and chasing skirts, always with one foot in jail. But I really like the work and the life. I saw first hand the damage my father's kind of lifestyle could do to him and everyone around him and I did not want to turn out like that. God knows thats the direction I was headed."

I was amazed by this grown up Joe Morelli. Now this was the kind of man a woman could fall in love with. "You're nothing like your father, Joe. Looks like you turned out to be a great guy," I said, surprising even myself with the ring of sincerity.

"That means a lot coming from you."

"Why?" I asked with shock visible on my face.

"Because I did you wrong and Im sorry, Steph. I was just a punk kid and didn't know what I'd be missing. I'm sorry."

I was absolutely blown away. My defenses were crumbling faster than I could build up new ones. "Apology accepted."

We rode in silence as Joe took the exit off the turnpike and onto I-95. We were almost home.

"What are you doing for a living these days? I heard you went to Rutgers."

"I'm a lingerie buyer for EE Martin," I replied reflexively.

A broad wolf grin spread across his face that made it all the way to his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me."

"No, why?" understanding just beginning to dawn on me.

"Lingerie? You're fantasy made flesh. Maybe when we get back to your place, you could model some things for me?"

I didn't bother telling him that the lingerie that I bought was big enough that we'd be able to wear it together. I figured there was no need to shatter his little fantasy. "You're scum, Morelli," I said without heat.

"Hey! A man's gotta try," he said through a smile.

A couple minutes later, Joe pulled the police car into the parking lot behind my apartment building. I'd finally cooled down and wasn't looking forward to stepping back out into the sweltering heat. And honestly, I was enjoying being with Joe again. Reluctantly, I opened the passenger door and stepped out into the blast furnace. If possible, it seemed to have gotten even hotter since my car broke down. Joe opened his door, too, and walked around to my side.

"Are you sure I can't come up? We could have some dinner, you could model some of that lingerie, and I could take it off you. You know, have some fun." Joe's voice was light, but his eyes were intense. There was a flicker of desire underneath the melt-in-your-mouth chocolate color that was just so tempting. Food had always been my down fall. And here I was, faced with a man with chocolate for eyes and a guarantee to break my heart. Again.

Joe closed the distance between us so that there wasn't more than an inch between our bodies. Heat radiated off him as sure as the macadam of the parking lot and I knew I was in trouble. My will was never very strong when it came to denying myself pleasure. And God knows Morelli was pleasure in the flesh.

Joe brushed his lips across mine and flames of desire licked at my belly. Why should anyone deny themselves this kind of pleasure? I mean, I was a grown up now and I didn't have any unrealistic expectations of him anymore. He wasn't asking me to marry him, just to go upstairs. Tomorrow, we could go from there.

Joe pressed his body flush against mine backing me up into the cruiser. His body was hard everywhere and I knew he wanted me as badly as I wanted him. He licked my lower lip and said, "What'd'ya say, Stephanie?"

"Yes," I breathed.

And then, his radio crackled to life. "Calling all officers. Theres a 211 in progress at the 7-11 on Hamilton. All available officers please respond."

"Fuck!" Joe pulled back and said, "I've gotta go."

"But wait," I pleaded.

Joe jogged back around the car and climbed in. He rolled down the window and shouted over the roaring engine, "I'll call you." He turned on his siren and flashing lights and screeched out of the parking lot and my life. Again. I was left standing in the parking lot, hot and bothered, and then just hot. Alone. Again.