I woke up the next morning with a headache and my tongue pasted to the roof of my mouth. I struggled to stand, wobbled on my feet, and crashed back down onto the bed. My stomach was churning in a way that was becoming all too familiar. I opened my eyes and looked down. I couldn't see my toes for the bulge around my middle. That's it, I told myself. No more binging. No more French fries, peanut butter, or caramel lattes until the weight comes off. And no more sugar. I knew very well what would happen with the last one, but I figured if I had to exercise, it had might as well be something I enjoyed.

I did the shower and shaving things, brushed my teeth, and did a half-assed job with my hair and makeup. Then I poured myself into a pair of black jeans, a black v-neck tee, and pulled one of Ranger's black hooded sweatshirts over my head. It was unflattering. Big and bulky. At least three sizes too big, which made me feel three sizes smaller.

I was sitting at the foot of the bed, lacing my boots, when I heard Ranger's key in the lock. He dropped his keys on the silver plate in the entryway and stood watching me from the doorway. I straightened a pants leg over the top of a boot, and then stood and smiled in his direction. He returned a half-smile back. He looked a little worse for wear. His hair was undone and his hands and face were dusted with dirt. He smelled carnal. Not unpleasant, but not refined like Bulgari, either. It was a combination of earth and sweat. And blood?

My eyes locked onto a dark stain pooling just under the Rangeman logo on Ranger's right side. A fist clinched around my chest and I rushed over. I tugged upward on Ranger's T-shirt, but he caught me by the wrist. "Babe," he said.

"You're hurt. Let me see."

"It's not mine," he said with a shake of his head. The heaviness in my chest let up and relief tingled through my body. Ranger kissed my forehead. Then he moved into the bathroom and shut the door.

I washed my hands in the powder room and answered the door to Ella. She set two place settings while I tossed Rex a couple beans and half a cracker, and then she excused herself. I sat at the table and loaded a bagel with cream cheese. Then I poured a mug of coffee and took a swig. See? I told myself. That wasn't so bad. Sure, it would be better with a splash of one of those flavored creamers, and maybe a few dozen sugar cubes. But black coffee is okay, too. I took another drink and grimaced.

Ranger walked out clad in loose black jeans and a black T-shirt which he had left untucked. He ran his fingers along my neck as he passed, and seated himself at the table.

"You're home late," I said. Ranger nodded, his mouth full of bagel. "Wanna talk about it?"

He watched me for a moment, almost like he was sizing me up. Then he said, "Maybe later."

I nodded, and popped the last bite of bagel into my mouth. I glanced at the clock in the kitchen. Eight-fifty. "Gotta go," I said. "Are you going to be around for a while?"

Ranger shook his head, no, while sipping his coffee. "I have some things to take care of this morning. But I should be in my office by two."

I walked to the counter and plugged a near-empty mag into my gun before I secured it to my hip. Then I clipped my cell phone to the waistband of my jeans. "No sleep?"

"Not today."

I made a tsk-tsk sound. "That can't be healthy."

"Healthier than a doughnut," Ranger said.

Since Warner was now Rangeman's top priority, I had gotten a reprieve from my responsibilities as background-checker. This was a good thing. I also had more than my share of so-called help watching my every move in case I chose to make a run for it. This was a bad thing. Especially since I couldn't tell whether they were watching me because I had been targeted by a maniac, or because I'd been caught playing hide-the-salami with the boss. Neither one was appealing.

I spotted Tank and Butch hovering over one of the monitor banks where Vince and Manny were listening to police scanners. The room went Ranger-quiet when I approached and I willed myself to keep my composure. Tank caught my eye and gave me the patented Rangeman mini-nod, and I walked back to my cubby. I flipped open my desk drawer and dropped the gun in with two fingers. There were a couple manila folders on my desk. Warner's bank records and Erika Bartlett's file.

I opened the Bartlett file first and began sorting through. There were magazine and newspaper clippings listed in chronological order, with some bits of text highlighted or underlined. Whoever had compiled the file had been thorough, listing cross-referenced materials in the margins. I opened my drawer and pulled out a legal pad and a bottle of Advil. I washed two Advil down with a mouthful of black coffee, and then opened the legal pad to a clean page. By noon, I had three pages of drabble, a sick stomach from the coffee, and a killer headache. I had gone through half the file and so far had nothing. I pressed my palms to my eyes until I saw stars. Then I dragged myself into the staff kitchen and in search of a Tastykake. I settled for chicken salad on a bed of lettuce and a bottle of water, and carted it back to my desk. Then I picked up the phone and dialed Morelli.

"Now what?"

"I'm sorry about last night. I should've called you."

"Yeah, you should have." Morelli blew out some air. "How's Bob?"

"He's doing well. Dr. Walsh wants to do some more blood work before he's released, and he'll be on a special diet for a few months, but I think he's going to be okay."

I took a bite of salad and gagged into a napkin.

"Jesus," said Morelli, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Having lunch." I wiped my tongue with the napkin. "I can't live like this! Everything here is no fat, no carbs, no sugar. No nothing. Hey, stop laughing! It isn't funny!"

"Sorry, Cupcake," Joe said, his voice still shaking with silent laughter, "it just feels good to know that I'll always be able to satisfy you in a way Ranger never will. Later."

And he hung up.

I turned back to the Bartlett file after lunch, trying in vain to ignore the slip-n-slide feeling in my gut. After about an hour, my eyes glazed over, so I stood up to stretch my legs. I stretched my arms over my head and did a few neck rolls. I checked the clock by the phone. One-thirty. I walked onto the control room floor, toward Tank.

"Ranger in yet?" I asked.

Tank nodded, and I reciprocated with a nod of my own. Then I crossed the floor to Ranger's office. I was just about to knock on the door when it opened and I found myself face-to-face with Jeanne Ellen Burrows. She was head-to-toe in black. Black shirt. Black cargo pants. Black boots. And she was wielding a new bottle-blonde 'do. Jeanne Ellen was a bounty hunter. She worked high-stakes cases for Les Sebring at True Blue Bonds, one of Vinnie's competitors. Except unlike me, she was good at it. Ranger-good. Her cars never went boom, she never went dumpster-diving for her FTAs, and probably she never found body parts in her apartment. A while ago, we had found ourselves working the same case and she stole my car. I assumed this was the reason I felt the urge to punch her in the nose, but in all honesty, I couldn't even remember which car she had stolen, I had blown up so many since then.

I closed my mouth once the shock wore off. A devilish grin danced across her lips. She nodded behind her to Ranger, and said, "He's all yours." Then she swept past me and made her way to the elevator.

My eye twitched. "Can I shoot her?"

Ranger was leaning against his desk, his arms folded. "No. She'll shoot back. And no offense, Babe, but her aim is better."

I threw one last disgusted look at Jeanne Ellen and turned toward Ranger. Our eyes met, and he looked like he was thinking about smiling. He pulled me inside by the elbow and shut the door. Then he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to him. "Did you need something?"

The Bulgari infiltrated my senses, and left me with brain-fog. "I can't remember," I stammered.

Ranger searched my eyes for a moment and then leaned forward and brushed his lips across mine. He pulled away and leaned back against his desk. "Jeanne Ellen did the search on Bartlett," he said. "I asked her to drop it off this morning. She does contract work for Rangeman when things are slow." Ranger paused for a second. Then he gave me the same sizing-me-up-look he'd had at breakfast. When he spoke again, his tone was somber. "An eviction went badly last night. One of my men got shot."

The blood. I swallowed, and asked who it was.

"Hector Alvirez. He worked in Security Ops."

I knew Hector. He had once installed a security system in my apartment. "Is he okay?"

Ranger was still. "No."

I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. My throat was scratchy and my chest tingled. Ranger pulled me to him and I buried my face into his chest. There was a knock at the door. It opened and Tank's voice boomed out, "We need you in the control room."

Ranger and I pulled apart. He nodded in Tank's direction and followed him onto the floor. And I went back to my cubby and muddled through the rest of the Bartlett file.

I finished the file and moved onto the bank records. The deposits had been consistent. Every two weeks, like clockwork. The checks had all been made out to Grayson Warner on behalf of B & S Slaughterhouse. All were issued and signed by James Springs.

I nodded off sometime after four and jerked awake when I felt someone behind me. I wiped some drool off my chin, and caught a glimpse of Ranger out of the corner of my eye. He was slouched in the chair beside my desk, flashing all two-hundred watts.

"Better than Clooney?"

I tightened my ponytail and checked in the mirror for desk-face. Then I turned to him, and shrugged. "There was ice cream involved."

Ranger watched me for a moment. "What kind? I'll have Ella pick up a case tomorrow."

I burst out laughing and slumped back in my chair.

"How's it going with the Bartlett file? Find anything?"

I shook my head. "A few random ideas, but nothing solid. There's a lot of information here, but most of it is redundant. Except maybe this." I sifted through the file and pulled out a stack of about fifteen pages, paper-clipped together at the top. I handed the pages to Ranger and he began to skim through. "It's a transcript of Erika's roommate Gina's statement. She says Erika was meeting a friend at a bar outside Trenton the night she disappeared."

Ranger passed the pages back to me. "Which bar?"

"The Fuzzy Hole," I told him. "You heard of it?"

Ranger nodded. "Rough crowd," he said. "Not the kind of place you'd take a date."

"No, but maybe it's the kind of place you'd pick one up."

"Go on."

"Erika Bartlett kept a blog. Sort of an online diary. It's still up, but most of the entries are password protected." I hit a button on the keyboard and pulled up a web browser on the screen, and clicked on one of the bookmarks. "There aren't a lot of details on the public entries, but from what I've read so far, it looks like she's gone out on a lot of these dates."

Ranger moved closer, reading silently over my shoulder. He reached over and put his hand on top of mine on the mouse, and began to scroll. My nipples hardened and I felt warm in all the right places. I noticed a change in my breathing. Ranger slid his gaze in my direction, and I knew he had noticed it, too.

"So you think Erika Bartlett was a prostitute."

"I don't know. Maybe."

Ranger nodded. "It feels good."

"Yeah, it does."

I could feel Ranger's breath on my cheek. I tilted my head slightly and our eyes met, and an alarm sounded in my head. Warning, Stephanie Plum. Danger, danger! I got that fight-or-flight feeling in my gut again and chewed my bottom lip while I went through my options. Probably it was a bad idea to boink him here, I decided. Someone might see. Or worse, I could get carpet burn. I could lure him upstairs, but who's to say I wouldn't change my mind once I got there? Naked Ranger was equal parts arousing and scary.

My cell phone buzzed. Ranger handed me my phone and walked back onto the floor. I took a couple deep breaths to steady my nerves and answered.

"What's this about Joseph not coming to the wedding?" my mother yelled frantically into the phone. I had been wondering when this would happen. She had been way too calm on Thanksgiving, when Valerie and Albert announced that they had rescheduled their wedding. She hadn't crossed herself, not once. It was only a matter of time before she blew her top and started tippling from the bottle in the cabinet by the stove. "He's the best man! He can't not come to the wedding! Did you two have a fight? Is that what this is about? Well, you had better fix it by the rehearsal dinner on Saturday, or I'm cutting you off!"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, no?" she said. "Watch me."

Then she hung up.

I mumbled to myself and punched in Morelli's number.

"Don't tell me," Morelli answered. "Whatever it is, I don't want to know."

He was only half-joking. Or, at least, I hoped he was.

"My mother wants to know if you'll be back in time for Valerie's wedding." There was a moment of nothing but dead air. "You will, won't you? Joe?"

"Give me a minute. I'm trying to find a reason to say yes, and I'm coming up short."

"She'll cut me off!"

"Good."

"But you're the best man!"

"Cupcake, flattering as that may be, there's nothing you can do or say to convince me to get back involved with your family. They're all nuts."

"Albert asked you, and you said yes," I reminded him. "You had an out and you didn't take it. So there."

"Albert asked me because there was no one else to ask. And I said yes based on a set of circumstances which no longer exist."

"Such as?"

"Getting to see you naked afterwards." Morelli paused. "Unless that's still an option."

Another half-joke. I think.

"Forget it," I said.

Morelli let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. I'm in. But keep your grandmother away from me."

"Same to you," I said, and we both disconnected. Then I called my mother and gave her the good news. She seemed much more calm than before. I figured I had a bottle of Jack Daniels to thank for that.

I hung up with my mother and checked my email. There was a carbon copy from Ranger addressed to me and a guy named Leo. A request for the password-protected entries to be sent to me. Thank you, Ranger. I logged off all the search programs and shut down my computer. Then I stuffed my gun into my bag and moved across the control room floor. I poked my head inside Ranger's office and he motioned me inside, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder while he shuffled around some papers on his desk. He made a few brief comments in Spanish and replaced the receiver. He locked a desk drawer, grabbed his windbreaker, and turned to me.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Starving."

Ranger zipped his windbreaker halfway and dropped his keys in his pocket. "What did you have in mind?"

"There's a little bar on the outskirts of Trenton," I said. "I hear it's nice this time of year. And they serve those onion blossom things. I always wanted to try one of those."

"And maybe get a lead on your FTA while you're at it?"

"Yep. That too."

Ranger grinned. "Babe."