Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to me. I took the day o-off. And I did some writing.

Chapter 9

On the drive to the mall I focused all my energy on absorbing the information in the file and understanding the plan Cal had put together for the capture of Eduardo Delgado. He was not a skip I was familiar with, not from the Burg and not someone I'd dealt with previously, but Cal felt confident that between us we had enough muscle and know how to get the job done.

While I was otherwise occupied, entering rooms uninvited and seeing things I could never unsee, Cal had managed to lay his hands on Delgado's current wok roster, finding out that he would be on break from the sub-par donut shop in the food court at eleven. It was ten forty-five now, which gave us just enough time to get in place.

According to the file, Dalgado was not known to be violent or armed. He was arrested for petty theft, and under normal circumstances, Rangeman wouldn't even bat n eyelash at it. It was small potatoes. Not worth it in the big scheme of things – which is basically what Rangeman deals with when it comes to fugitive apprehension – but Vinnie was desperate in my absence and had practically begged Ranger to take all cases before he had to close up shop. Or worse: call Joyce in. It seemed appropriate I was not a part of this capture.

The plan was that when Delgado sat down with his customary cup of donut holes and overly large fully caffeinated and sugared soda, I would approach and do what I did best: try to talk him into coming down to the police station without creating a scene or dousing me in garbage. I had high hopes for this one, since I wasn't directly involved in the plan that brought me here. So was Cal, actually, because he had a hot date tonight and didn't particularly want to scrub the smell of rotting food off his skin beforehand.

Cal and I stood at the edge of the food court, watching closely as Delgado removed his apron, collected his snack and made his way out through the flip top counter to a table in the centre of the seating area. I glanced to my partner, having decided – wisely, I thought – that he was running the show and I would just do as I was told. He nodded, the signal for me to make my move, and started circling around the patrons so that he would be close by for chase we both knew would ultimately happen despite the plan he'd created that had Delgado nodding politely in agreement, standing and offering his hands to be cuffed as we walked calmly and discretely from the food court.

I was wearing my trainers for a reason.

Also, I'd made sure to grab the spare set of clothes I'd thrown in a bag this morning and put in the back of the SUV

Just in case.

I'm not saying I'm gonna end up as a Jackson Pollock painting again or anything, but having reflected on my life and the events that make it up, I've come to the realisation that I have absolutely no control over the matter. Apparently, my body is a gross substances magnet. Probably, people don't even mean to throw the disgusting stuff at me, just kinda in my general direction to scare me off, but my magnetism draws it to me anyway.

I approach slowly and carefully, keeping an eye on my surroundings so I can signal to Cal if I think something is going to go awry, and before I know it, I'm dripping wet and sticky, smelling faintly of cola as I watch Cal barrelling through the crowd after our skip. Suffice to say he hadn't been all that open to the idea of coming for a ride to the police station with me and my big muscled buddy and had decided to inform me of his feelings via drink to the face distractions before he made a dash for the exit.

It's times like these that I wonder why I was so desperate to get back in the field in the first place. I mean, it's been two months since Morelli and I broke up and in those two months I have stayed blissfully clean every single day. If you don't count drops of donut jelly down the front of my shirt or the time I slipped in the mud taking the trash out to Tank's bins and landed on my ass, that is.

Accepting the wad of napkins and the sympathetic smile from the tired looking mother at the next table, I did my best to dry myself off. At least it was only a beverage this time. It could have been a lot worse. I mean, really, I was doing better than the mother, because she currently had a piece of spaghetti in her hair. I should be grateful.

I was on my way to the bathroom to do a bit more damage control when I caught sight of Cal re-entering the busy eating area. He met my gaze easily across the distance, as though the crowds between us didn't exist, and gave a small shake of the head to let me know that he hadn't managed to catch up to Delgado. Then he made a hand gesture I didn't understand. I tilted my head to the side to reflect my confusion and he did it again, but bigger. It didn't help my comprehension.

Cal made a big show of huffing out a sigh and grabbing his cell off his belt. The next moment, my own phone was ringing.

"May as well grab lunch while we're here," he said when I picked up, before I'd even uttered a greeting. One day I was going to sit all the men down and teach them about a little thing called phone etiquette. I'd put together written and practical exams if I had to, just to make sure they understood.

"I'm just gonna go wash up," I replied, tugging my wet t-shirt away from my chest.

"I'll grab you something good," he nodded, and hung up, turning away to inspect the variety of food the mall had to offer.

I was still muttering a sarcastic hello and goodbye to myself as I too turned away and was faced with the glaring face of the very person I had hoped I would not have to see on my first official venture back out into the real world. Joseph Anthony Morelli. The man who's life mission appeared to be making me look and feel like a fool both personally and professionally.

"I don't know what you did," Joe started, a scowl fixed firmly on his face as he glanced at my damp boobal region. "But there is a putrid smell throughout the entire house. I've had it professionally cleaned. Twice. And it still smells."

For a moment I had no idea what he was talking about, but he was clearly waiting for me to reply, so I did. "Gee, that's too bad." Excuse me if I didn't sound very sympathetic to his cause, but he'd wasn't exactly starting out this conversation in a friendly and civil manner.

"I've even checked for dead animals and had pest control out," he went on. "No one can find the cause."

"Mmm," I murmured. Oh, right, now I remember. Two hours of stuffing shrimp into curtain rods with Lester and Bobby. The same Lester and Bobby I'd walked in on just an hour ago doing – No. Don't think about that right now. Although, it did make me realise that Lester always reserved Bobby as his first point of call. In any situation.

"Cupcake," Morelli seethed.

I cut my eyes back up to meet his gaze, noting the vein throbbing in his forehead. He so clearly trying not to make a scene, but wanted so dearly to chew me out and demand I reveal my evil doings. "Don't call me Cupcake," I snapped.

He took a moment to reply then, his face contorting into something that strongly resembled a man who was not used to begging, doing just that. And hating it. His hair was dishevelled, as usual, two days of growth decorating his jaw and there was a wild look about his eyes that I'd never seen before. "Steph, please," he implored. "No one can live in that house and keep their food down. I've had to move back in with my mother, the smell's that bad."

"And how is that my problem?" I asked.

And just like that, is barely bridled Italian temper burst forth in a grand show of frustration and anger, his hands flying out, just missing me in their fervour. "I know you did something!" he spat. "Just tell me so I can fix it and get back to life as normal."

"Let you get back to normal?" I said, infusing every morsel of quiet intensity I could into the phrase, because I knew that what he wanted right now was a shouting match, and I'd be damned if I gave that to him as well as my dignity. "You think you're the only one who's been affected by this? We were engaged," I stated. "We were living together. I'd just let the lease on my apartment run out because I was planning on being with you for the rest of my god forsaken life. And you cheated on me. Not only that, you then broke up with me in the middle of a car bombing and played it off as a mutual falling out. No. Way. You left me betrayed and homeless. You turned my life upside down. Again. So, I'm sorry if you're suffering, but maybe this time you'll learn your lesson and keep your dick in your pants."

"For FUCK SAKE, Stephanie," Joe yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. Apparently my lack of compassion for his situation was not the kind of statement that would ensure a cool, calm and collected Morelli playing out the rest of the conversation quietly. We were now beginning yet another public display of animosity. It was our specialty, after all. "WE BOTH KNEW WE WERE NEVER GOING TO WORK OUT! WE'D BE LYING IF WE THOUGHT WE COULD STAY TOGETHER AND BE HAPPY! AND YOU CAN'T POSSIBLY TEL ME THAT IN ALL THE TIME WE WERE A COUPLE YOU NEVER ONCE SLEPT WITH MANOSO! THE GUYS BEEN IN YOUR BED SINCE THE MOMENT YOU MET HIM! DON'T TRY TO PIN THIS ALL ON MY WHEN YOU'VE BEEN JUST AS BIG A SLUT!"

Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

I don't think the mall has ever paid witness to so much lack of noise in all its history. Every single eye and ear in the food court was now focused on unfaithful, Joseph Morelli, and his screw up, slut of an ex Stephanie Plum. Or so Joe would have them believe. And unfortunately, I was so shocked by the slur that I couldn't find my voice to whisper a denial, let alone shout it so that every one of the onlookers could hear. All I could do was stare at him, open mouthed and breaking just a little more inside. I'd worked so hard on getting over Morelli the last few weeks. On avoiding the inevitable confrontation with the Burg that would want to know all of the details straight from the horse's mouth, just to confirm their suspicions. But here I was facing down an even bigger betrayal.

When we first broke up, I honestly believed that we could have remained friends. We'd tried so hard to fit ourselves into the little box the Burg had made for us, but had never quite fit properly. But that was okay, because we'd realised before it was too late, and now we could take a step back and move on to a relationship that was easier.

Now, I knew it could never happen.

As I stared at the man I'd once fooled myself into thinking I loved, my heart beating a million times a second and threatening to jump up through my throat and burst out of my mouth if I so much as parted my lips to draw a breath, I realised it could never be. We weren't just incompatible romantically, we'd spent so much time mashing ourselves together in that box that we'd damaged the friendship we might have had. The trust wasn't there. I would never be able to look at this man again and not think of what he'd just called me.

We were still standing there, so still, and silent despite the fact that if felt that every inch of my body was coming apart, our gazes clashing so violently that I was almost surprised there were no sparks between us, when Cal arrived by my side. Apparently, while everyone in the area had frozen in anticipation of what would happen next, Cal had donned his shining armour, swung himself up onto his white horse and galloped through throngs of people to rescue me.

"Come on, Steph," he said gently, laying a hand on my shoulder. "We should go."

Morelli flicked his eyes to the tattoo-headed man briefly, before an even less-kind expression took over his face. "And don't think I don't know about all the others," he informed me, his voice projecting clearly in the quiet. "No one has that many men trailing behind her without offering them a little taste of the honey pot from time to time."

An audible gasp arose from the congregation, and I knew I should have turned and left him in the dust. But it wasn't just my reputation on the line anymore. He'd attacked the Merry Men. And no one got away with that on my watch.

"How dare YOU!" I finally burst. My hands shaking as they formed tight fists at my side. For once, I was too angry to let them fly. If I allowed my arms to move from my sides they would most likely plant my fists in the middle of his face and even with all these witnesses to testify that it was provoked, I didn't think I could get away with such an action. "I have NEVER been unfaithful to you!" I shouted. "I have NEVER slept with another man while we were together. And I have NEVER slept with any of Ranger's men!" I jerked forward a step, my face ending up inches from his, but not in the good way. Never again, in the good way. "They follow me around because we're friends and they care about my safety and probably at least partly because of direct orders from their boss, but I have NEVER IN MY LIFE GIVEN THEM A TASTE OF MY HONEY POT. I'm sure your reputation has taken a big hit from the rumours that have been circulating about your infidelity, but that doesn't mean you have to attack mine. I didn't tell you to have sex with that woman. That was all you. So don't go taking out on me!"

Having uttered the last words I ever wanted to speak to Morelli, I turned on the heal of my beat up trainers, ignored the cold cling of my still wet t-shirt and took a single step away from him before he found his voice again, sneering out a final blow in the hopes of tearing me down completely.

"You're a slut and everyone knows it," he said quietly. There was no need to project anymore. Everyone could hear just fine. And everyone knows words hurt more when they're stated calmly than if they're shouted in your face. "You've probably been shacked up with Manoso and the rest of your male harem for the last two months. No wonder no one's seen you around. It's hard to find the energy to actually earn a living when you have that man men reaming you out daily. I'm surprised you can even walk.

An incoherent noise left my throat as I spun back around, arms flailing in a poor preparation of a punch I never got the opportunity to throw. Because just as I was stepping forward to land a physical blow, Cal's fist exploded onto the scene, colliding with Morelli's gut and following it up with a swing at the face. As Morelli doubled over, spraying blood over the white mall tiles, Cal leaned down and whispered something threateningly in his ear.

I was breathing hard, staring wide eyed when Cal straightened once more, dusting off his hands and turning to face me. I didn't know what to do. I mean, I was glad Morelli's face was bleeding now. That had been my intention. But now I had all this pent up energy that I didn't know what to do with. It wound tightly in my gut, growing larger and larger until it was encompassing my entire body.

"Come on," Cal uttered, taking my elbow and ushering me out of the food court and the mall altogether. "You're gonna crash any minute. We need to get you decent donuts."

As always I would like to express my gratitude to all your lovely souls out there who read and review my work. Without you I wouldn't be the writer I am today.