A/N – Thank you so much for all the reviews and kind words! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I hope to reply to you all sometime soon – I live with a really demanding person who makes it difficult to find computer time. If it wasn't for the big blue eyes, chubby legs, and little giggles, I might find her really annoying.

This chapter was a lot harder to write, because it kept getting much too serious, and I really want to keep the story light-hearted. I still had to keep some of the serious stuff, but I still wouldn't rank this as angsty by any degree. Things should lighten up again in the next chapter.

Please keep your comments coming! I loved reading them, what you liked and what you didn't like; your feedback is very valuable to me.

All the best, J.

Chapter 4 – Test Results

"Well, looky here!" Lula said when I walked into the office the next morning. "It's the cook! How'd it go? Was Supercop impressed?"

"Yeah," I said. "He thought it was great."

"He like your rack?"

For a moment I had no idea what she was talking about. "Huh? Oh, yeah. He thought the spice rack was nice."

"And what about that boe-kay thingy? He like that too?"

Lula was straight faced, but Connie was hiding behind a file folder, and I didn't like the way that file folder was shaking. "Umm… yeah."

Lula nodded. "Personally, I like my sweat socks with a little less garlic." And she and Connie lost it, and cackled like a couple of crones.

"Who showed you the video?" I said, once they had stopped wiping their eyes. It had been taken down sometime overnight – I checked – but not before it had gotten 30,000 hits.

"Tank did," Lula said. "You even made him laugh."

"Tank laughs?" Connie asked.

"Yeah. He don't make a sound, but his shoulders kinda shake. He says they're gonna call the video 'Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Sauce Pans'."

I pretended to laugh along with them, though secretly I didn't see much to laugh about. It seemed like everyone I knew had seen it, and had enjoyed themselves immensely at my expense. Even Hector had laughed at me. He had come by early that morning to take out the video camera in the kitchen. When he saw me, he said something in Spanish, and then did a fairly credible imitation of the Swedish Chef, only he seemed to be hinting that the Swedish Chef was a better cook than I was.

I waited until Connie and Lula had calmed down a little before asking, "Any files for me?"

"Just one – Mooner missed his court date yesterday. He probably just forgot. And Booger Johnson is still out there. I called his house this morning. Something answered the phone, but I wasn't sure it was human. Might be a good time to go in."

Drat – I'd forgotten about Booger, what with all the blood tests and cooking and goings on. After yesterday's fiasco with the food and pots, I was in need of some cash. "Guess I'll go get him."

"I'll come with you," Lula said. "You might need a full-figured lady to help you apply a little muscle, on account of you being disabled and all."

"Excuse me?" I said. "Disabled?"

"Your cholesterol problem," she said. She gave me a look. "What – you think your fancy cooking skills made us forget? What if you get all weak from eating that healthy shit and need a cheeseburger to get your energy level back up?"

"I think you're confusing high cholesterol with diabetes," Connie said.

"And I'm not disabled," I said. "And I may not even have high cholesterol. I still haven't seen the results of my blood test yet."

I neglected to mention that I had gotten a call from my doctor just before I left for the office. My test results were in, and I was going to see him this afternoon to go over them. He had given me no hints as to whether they were good or bad, so all I could do for the moment was wait – and go eat some donuts to soothe the uneasy feeling in my gut.

"I think we should be cautious, just in case," Lula said. "We'll stop by McDonald's on the way and get some emergency French fries. Maybe some of them chicken nuggets, too. You never know when a chicken nugget might come in handy."

We decided to go get Mooner first, and then pick up Booger. After loading up on emergency supplies, we made our way over to Mooner's house. "Dudes!" he said. He looked down at the McDonald's bags in our hands. "You brought lunch. Very hospitable."

"You can eat it in the car on the way to the station," I said. "You missed your court date yesterday."

"Oh yeah," he said. "Sorry, dude. There was a Star Trek marathon on the Space Channel." He looked hopefully at the bag. "Got any chicken nuggets in there?"

"Yeah, but you got to save some for Stephanie, on account of her condition," Lula said.

Mooner climbed into the back seat. "What condition would that be, dude?"

"She's got high cholesterol. She needs the nuggets, in case she has some sort of attack."

"I might have high cholesterol," I said.

"That sucks, dude," Mooner said. "I could hook you up with something medicinal if you want."

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? It'll cure what ails you. Look at me. Ain't nothing wrong with the old moon man."

That was debatable, but I decided to let it pass.

We pulled up to Booger's house next. "We're making another pickup," I said to Mooner. "I want you to stay in the car, okay?"

"Company's coming? Nice. Should I save some of the nuggets?"

"I don't think that will be necessary."

Mooner ate some fries, and contemplated the house. "I know this place," he said. "Booger lives here."

"You know him?"

"Not socially. Ol' Booger's into some weird shit. You won't see me polluting my body with those chemicals and stuff. I prefer to go organic."

Like that was a big surprise. "We'll be right back," I told him. "Stay in the car."

"No worries, dude. I'll just wait here, and keep the seat warm."

Booger lived in a duplex a lot like my parent's house. "You go around to the back door, and I'll take the front," I said.

"Gotcha," she said. She drew her gun out of her purse.

"No shooting out the lock, or breaking the back window."

"With you, it's all these rules."

If you were out on bond and missed your court date, most people had the sense to bolt when someone rang the doorbell. Not first time offenders; they were new to the drill. So was the case with Booger. I knocked on the door, and Booger answered without hesitation. He hadn't changed a whole lot since high school, except now his nostrils were a little wider and raw looking. The stupid expression he normally wore had also grown a lot stupider over the years. The white streak of powder on his upper lip, trapped in the wisps of a sparsely grown-in moustache, didn't help improve on the overall package.

Booger smiled in a lecherous way when he saw me. "What can I do you for, cutie?"

So he didn't remember me. Sometimes that was a good thing. I handed him my card, introduced myself, and explained the reason for my visit. "It's only a formality," I said. "You just need to come down to the station, and reschedule your court date."

"Yeah, okay," he said. "Wait here, and I'll get my shoes on." And he slammed the door in my face.

I guess Booger wasn't as stupid as he looked, but then again, no one could be that stupid. "Get in, Lula!" I shouted. Then I rattled the doorknob, and almost fell inside when the door flew open. Booger had been in such a hurry that he forgot to lock it.

I heard the back door bang open and Lula crash through the house. We met up in the living room. Lula had her gun drawn and was aiming it at everything. "Where's he at? Where's the little snot at?"

If Booger hadn't gone out the back, and he wasn't hiding behind the sofa, then he must have gone upstairs. Sure enough, we could hear frantic footsteps above us, and then the sound of a toilet flushing. "Go out back and make sure he doesn't go out the bathroom window," I told Lula. The bathroom window was directly above the roof that covered the back door, and made for an easy way to escape from the second story of the house.

Lula scurried on back, and I ran upstairs, reaching into my bag for my stun gun. All the doors were open except for the bathroom, and this one was actually locked. Booger, the idiot that he was, flushed the toilet again, giving away his position. What the hell was he doing in there?

If I had been Ranger, I would have put a boot to the door and been inside in seconds. I wasn't that talented, but I had learned a thing or two about bathroom locks ever since my mother locked herself in that one time and wouldn't come out. All I needed to undo this lock was a thin object to poke through a hole in the knob. A nail worked best, but I didn't have one. So I tried the wand from my mascara. The lock popped on the first try. Chalk one up for burg ingenuity. I shoved the door open.

To my surprise, Booger wasn't trying to escape. Instead, he was kneeling in front of the toilet, frantically slitting open bags of white powder and dumping them in the bowl. And we're not talking about the miniscule baggies of coke one would get from a street dealer. These were the giant economy size; we're talking flour sack sized bags of coke.

He turned toward me, a bag in his hands. Coke poured out onto his knees and spilled out over the floor. For a moment, we just stared at each other, me stunned by the stockpile of drugs, Booger stunned because I was able to break through his defence system so quickly.

He recovered faster than I did. "Oh shit!" he said. And he threw the bag of coke at me, and dove out the window.

The bag hit me in the chest, and exploded. Coke was everywhere, in my eyes, my nose, my hair. I opened my mouth to yell at Lula, and the powder flew in and made me choke. I couldn't see, and I couldn't breathe. I dropped my stun gun and stumbled out of the bathroom. I fell to the floor, and coughed hard to clear my lungs.

Through my watering eyes, I became aware of someone standing over me. "Are you okay, dude?"

It was Mooner. I coughed again, and with his help, managed to sit up. "I thought I told you to stay in the car."

"And I was going to wait, but I couldn't find the sauce for the nuggets. I thought maybe you had it."

Just then, I heard Lula pounding up the stairs. "I got him!" she yelled. "The little shit jumped right off the roof! Damn near fell on - " She stopped short when she saw me. "What the hell happened to you?"

"It snowed, dude," Mooner said. "It was a snowstorm of epic proportions."

I coughed again. "Booger threw a bag of coke at me."

"Get out! How big was the bag?"

"Big." I swiped at my eyes to clear them. "Where's Booger? Did you say you got him?"

"Yeah. He stumbled coming down off the roof, and I sat on him. He didn't get too far after that. I cuffed him to the porch railing."

Mooner pulled me up to my feet. I stared down at myself. I was white from head to foot. "I can't go to the station looking like this. They'll arrest me for possession."

"Yeah – there's got to be half a kilo on you at least. Try brushing it off."

I patted at my arms and legs, raising a cloud of dust that sent Mooner and Lula back a step or two. It was snowing again. "I don't think this is working," I said.

"How about the vacuum?" Lula said. "You just stand real still, and we'll vacuum you."

I looked at the state of the carpet. "I don't think Booger owns a vacuum." Plus, I didn't relish the idea of being vacuumed. It didn't sound all that comfortable.

Mooner was already poking around in a nearby cupboard. "He has a carpet sweeper," he said.

"Pass." I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt, and shook it, then waved my arms around to clear the air. I coughed again as some of the powder went into my mouth. "It tastes sweet," I said.

"Sweet?" Lula said. "Coke ain't sweet." She ran a finger down my arm, and sampled it. "That ain't coke," she said. "It's real familiar, though."

I tried some myself, and immediately knew what it was. "It's powdered sugar."

"What? Are you sure?"

I gave Lula a look. "You think I wouldn't know powdered sugar?"

"Sorry," she said. "I forgot who I was talking to." Then it hit her. "You mean to tell me that idiot has been snorting powdered sugar?"

We both looked at Mooner. He shrugged. "Like I said, the dude is into some weird shit."

Yeah; either that, or he was just really fucking stupid.

We went outside, and found Booger just where Lula said he would be. Apparently he wasn't completely recovered from his encounter with her, because he smiled at us in a slightly dazed way. "Hey, Mooner," he said. "I didn't know you were here. How's it going?"

"All is well, dude."

Booger looked over at me, and frowned. "And look here! It's the narc!"

"I'm not a narcotics officer," I said. I removed the cuff from the railing, and attached it to his other wrist. "I'm a bond enforcement agent. As I explained to you before, you're in violation of your bond."

"Yeah, but you're going to narc on me now, aren't you? Tell them about my big stash." He put emphasis on the word 'big'. He looked at Mooner. "I made a big score, man. I got the discount rate, I bought so much. And it's good stuff, too. It's premium shit. It stings a little, but you don't feel any withdrawal or anything." He glared at me. "And I had to flush it because the narc here came to arrest me."

I shoved Booger into the back of the car. "The police don't generally arrest you for possession of powdered sugar," I said.

"Powdered sugar? What are you talking about?"

"That ain't premium shit you got upstairs in your shower, you big dumb dummy," Lula said. "That there was powdered sugar. You know, what you put on a cake."

"What? Are you sure?"

"We had an expert analyze it," Lula said. Mooner nodded in agreement.

For a long minute, Booger considered this. Finally he said, "No wonder I wasn't getting a buzz." He looked over at Mooner again, and smiled in a dopey way. "Got any nuggets in that there bag? I'm starved."

--

I got Booger and Mooner to the station, and then drove Lula back to the bond's office. Connie gaped as I walked through the door. "What the hell happened to you?" she asked.

"I'll let Lula explain," I said. It was twelve o'clock now, which gave me just enough time to go home and get cleaned up before my doctor's appointment. I handed over my body receipts for the boys, and waited while Connie wrote out the checks. I took them, and said, "I'm taking the rest of the afternoon off. I'll see you tomorrow."

I walked out of the bond's office, and found Ranger leaning against my car. He was in his usual black, his eyes hidden behind mirror sunglasses. He looked darned good leaning up against the side of my car. He even made my battered old junk heap look good, and that was hard to do to a Ford Fiesta.

He smiled when he saw me. "I heard you had a run in with a bag of sugar," he said, "but I figured that was just code for a trip to the bakery."

"Nope," I said. "Sugar junkie hit me with his stash."

He looked at me for a moment, then put back his head and laughed out loud. "I can always count on you to brighten my day," he said. His fingers found their way to my belt loops, and he yanked me against him.

I tried not to moan at how good his body felt. "I wouldn't get too close," I said. "Your blood sugar might go up."

"It's always up around you," he said.

From where I was standing, that wasn't the only thing that was up, and it was putting me into a right state. "I think I'm supposed to be angry with you about something," I said.

"Could be possible," he said. His lips found my jaw, and he started kissing his way down to my chin.

"Yeah," I said. I tried hard to focus. "Something about a video… that you posted on the internet…"

I felt him laughing. "Sorry about that, babe," he said. "But at the time, it seemed the best thing to do."

That brought me out of my Ranger-induced stupor. I pulled back from him as far as he would allow. "Embarrassing me worldwide was the best thing to do?"

Ranger sighed. "Things were deteriorating between you and Morelli. The video diffused the situation as quickly as possible."

I brushed off his hands. "You're acting like Morelli was going to hurt me or something." I waited for Ranger to deny it, but he didn't. "Morelli would never hurt me!"

"Morelli's under a lot of strain, babe."

"He's been on a diet for two days!"

The look he gave me was suddenly penetrating. "It's more than just the diet, and you know it."

I stared back at him. "I don't know what you mean." But I did. And he was right – it wasn't the diet and the cholesterol that were the main root of our problems.

Ranger was still staring at me, his expression still serious, waiting for me to say something. "Morelli wouldn't hurt me," I repeated.

"I'm sure he wouldn't," Ranger said. "But the diet alone would challenge him. He's not going to be himself for awhile. I just want you to be cautious."

"And you think this public poaching is being cautious?" I asked.

He didn't answer, just gave me one of his 'man of mystery' smiles. He placed a hand behind my neck, and drew me in close to him. "I think I should take you home and dust you off."

The serious discussion was over; thank God. I shuddered as his lips found their way back to my neck. "Will that take long?"

"Hours," he said. He licked and kissed his way to my ear. "I'd want to be thorough."

I thought it might be best to end it before I went totally crazy, and ripped off all of his clothes. "I don't have hours," I said. "I have an appointment to get to."

That made him pause, and he pulled back a little. "A doctor's appointment?"

I nodded – there seemed to be no point in hiding it from him.

"Do you want someone to go with you?" he asked.

Great – the fear I had for this afternoon's appointment must have been more apparent than I thought. "No," I said. "That's okay. I think I can manage."

He smiled at me. "Go get 'em, tiger." He kissed me, with lots of tongue and wandering hands. And then he was gone.

--

My little interlude with Ranger ate up the time I had to go home and change before my doctor's appointment. Lula and the boys had also eaten all the McDonald's, including the nuggets on reserve for emergencies, so I wasn't going to get any lunch either.

I was ushered into one of the little rooms around 1:30, and the doctor came in just after that. "Holy crap," he said. "Do you know you're covered in dust? You look like you've spent all morning working in a cement factory."

"Powdered sugar accident," I told him.

"Oh. Are you a baker?"

"Bond enforcement agent." When this got me a blank stare, I added, "Bounty hunter."

The doctor blinked at me a few times, and then shook his head. He flipped back a page on his clipboard. "Okay… we got the test results back on your blood work. Your LDL cholesterol, the 'lousy' kind, is in a perfectly acceptable range. Nothing to worry about there. So is your HDL cholesterol, or the 'healthy' kind. Do you eat a lot of fish? They contain a lot of healthy fat that helps increase your HDL levels."

"I don't eat fish." Unless it was breaded, and came in a box marked Captain Highliner.

"What about nuts? Olives?"

"I eat a lot of peanut butter and olive sandwiches."

"Well, keep eating them, because they're obviously doing you some good," he said.

"So… I have nothing to worry about then?" I was starting to feel relieved. And vindictive. All week people have been telling me I was doomed. As soon as I got out of there, I was going to get a meatball sub. And I was going to eat it in front of them.

"Well, I didn't say that," the doctor said.

The air went out of my tires, and I sunk a bit in the chair. "Oh?"

"Your triglycerides are a bit higher than I like. Triglycerides are another form of fat in your blood. Usually high triglycerides and bad cholesterol go hand and hand, but for some reason, that isn't the case here. Still, your triglyceride reading is high enough that you will need to make changes to your diet. If the changes to your diet don't improve it, then we'll have to put you on some medication."

I was starting to feel the first twinges of panic. "What kind of changes?"

"Well, simple sugars are one of the main culprits behind high triglycerides. So no alcohol, no sweets… and no sugary, fatty foods, like doughnuts, cakes… that sort of thing."

My fingers tightened on my t-shirt. There went the base of my food pyramid.

"I also want you to eat more fruit and vegetables, and less red meat. Get some exercise too – at least thirty minutes, five times a week." He scribbled something on a piece of paper. "I'm also going to send you in for another blood test, this one for blood sugar levels. Sometimes, when you get a high triglyceride reading like yours, it's an indicator that you might be developing diabetes."

I heard a strange tearing sound, and looked down. My emotions had caused me to rend my garment.

"Good grief," the doctor said, staring at my shirt. "Calm down a little."

"But… diabetes…" That was serious.

"Do you have a history of diabetes in your family?"

"No." I gulped. "Heart attacks."

"Then it's good we caught this now," the doctor said. He sat down, and put a hand on mine. "Remember, your bad cholesterol level is low, and you're not overweight. I doubt you have diabetes, but it's always best to check. And yes, you have some history of cardiovascular disease in the family, but you were smart, and got tested. With a few precautionary measures, you should be fine. Okay?"

I breathed deeply, and smoothed out the rip on my shirt. "Okay."

The doctor smiled at me, and patted my hand. "Good. So get this test done, cut out the sugars, and we'll get your triglycerides tested again in a month. Then we'll take it from there. Now go home, and stay away from the powdered sugar." And he left.

I drove home in a daze. Rex was sleeping in his soup can. "Wake up," I said. "Come out of your stupid can and entertain me." Rex twitched, but didn't come out. I went to the freezer and opened up the door, looking for cookie dough. Then I remembered that I couldn't eat cookie dough anymore. It was probably a good thing that I didn't have any in the freezer, then.

I opened up the fridge next, and sighed. It held a bag of leftovers from dinner at mom's, four Corona's, and half a cake that said 'Happy Birthday Ralph'. I pulled out the garbage can, and though it physically hurt, I threw out the birthday cake. I cracked open the beers, and poured them down the sink. Then I opened up the bag of leftovers. I put the pot roast and potatoes back in the fridge. Then I took the bag into the living room, and sat on the couch. I stared into the bag, and the pineapple upside down cake contained within. I knew I should just throw it away, but I couldn't for the life of me do it.

I don't know how long I sat there staring into the bag, but it must have been awhile, because the next thing I knew, my door was being unlocked, and Morelli strolled in. He carried some containers from the Chinese restaurant down the block. "Hey, Cupcake." He paused. "What are you covered in?" he asked.

"Cocaine."

He looked at me, then shook his head, and went into the kitchen. I heard him rummage through the cupboards, looking for dishes. A minute or two later, he came into the living room, carrying two plates. He handed one to me. It contained steamed rice and vegetables, and grilled chicken. A Ranger meal. So much for not sharing in Joe's diet. So much for being allowed to eat what I wanted. Connie and Lula had been right. I was doomed.

Morelli turned on the television, and found a game. "What's in the bag?" he asked.

"Pineapple upside down cake."

He peered into the bag. "I hope you plan on sharing that," he said. "That's a big piece."

"I'm not sharing."

"I'll trade you sexual favors for half."

"I can't eat it," I said. "I'm not allowed."

"Says who?" He grabbed the remote, and switched to another game.

"My doctor," I said. "I got my blood test back today."

Finally I had his attention. He turned off the t.v., and looked at me. "What did he say?"

"My cholesterol is fine."

His eyebrows went up beyond his hairline. "Really?"

I bristled. "Yes, really. He said my lousy cholesterol was low, and that my healthy cholesterol was high, just like it should be."

Joe looked angry. "I don't believe it," he said. "You and I have been eating the same diet for the last two years. How can your cholesterol be fine, and mine not?"

"He said it was because I ate peanut butter and olive sandwiches."

"Are you nuts? Peanut butter and olive sandwiches? What the hell are you talking about?" He stood up, and started pacing. "He must have made a mistake. You've got to be tested again."

"He didn't make a mistake," I said, really angry now. "My cholesterol is fine, just like I've been telling everyone for the last few days. And I'm not going to get retested, so you can just forget it."

Joe was furious. "Well, if you're so healthy, why can't you eat the cake?" he said.

Damn – I was kind of hoping he'd forgotten that part. What I was about to admit shot my self-righteousness out the window. "My triglycerides are high," I muttered.

He stood in front of me, hands on hips. "Your triglycerides are high. So you do have high cholesterol."

"No, I don't. Triglycerides are different. They can go up when you eat too much sugar. So I'm not allowed to have sugar."

Joe's eyes widened. "You can't have sugar?"

I sighed. "No beer, no sweets, no doughnuts… no pineapple upside down cake. For a month."

Joe stared at me for a long time. Then he sat down, and started laughing. "You can't have sugar," he said. "That's funny."

I stood up. "This is nice. Did I laugh at you when you told me your cholesterol was high?"

"I'm sorry, Cupcake. But you're addicted to sugar. I don't see how you're going to survive."

"Neither do I. Do you recall what happened last time I went off sugar?"

"Yeah – you swapped out sugar for sex. It was great."

"It wasn't so great," I said. "You couldn't keep up with me, remember? You said I put Mr. Happy into a coma."

"You were demanding it every couple of hours. That would put anyone's Mr. Happy into a coma."

"You locked yourself up in the guest room and wouldn't come out."

"It was only the one night. I had a broken leg, for crying out loud. I had to sleep sometime."

I glared at him. "You told me to wear a shirt with my boobs hanging out so Ranger would take up some of the slack."

Joe's face darkened. "I had a broken leg," he said. "I was exhausted. I wasn't at the top of my game and I wasn't thinking clearly. I am now. So let's leave Ranger out of this particular discussion. If you go off sugar again and find you have certain needs that want tending to, then I'll be tending to them. No one else. End of story."

It probably would have been wisest to let it go. I suppose when it came to my sex life, Joe did have some say in the matter – he was my boyfriend, in a manner of speaking. But I hated it when people told me what to do. I had been told that I couldn't eat sugar any more. I had been globally embarrassed on the internet, and had had a bag of powdered sugar thrown at me. So what I said next kind of just popped out there before I could stop it.

"And what if Mr. Happy decides to go 'soft' on your new healthy diet? What use will you be to me then?"

Bringing Ranger into this discussion had been a bad idea. But bringing impotency into it was an even worse idea. Joe looked suddenly murderous. He stalked toward me. Geez, what if Ranger was right? I stepped back, very afraid, and fell down onto the couch. He towered over me.

"Remember that time you asked me if I would love you as much if we couldn't have sex, and I said yes, but not as much?"

I nodded. Like I'd ever forget that.

"Well, now we're even." Then he reached forward, and snatched the cake bag out of my hand. "I'm taking this," he said, "and I'm going to eat it all." And he boxed up the chicken and the vegetables. His plate and mine.

"Wait a minute!" I shouted. "What am I supposed to eat?"

"Ask Ella," Joe said. And he left.