All characters named in this story were created by Janet Evanovich, except the teen gang members, created by AutumnDreaming for this story.

All of Morelli's cop experiences in this story have been creatively adapted from the experiences of Ralph L. Dettweiler, former Sergeant of South Carolina Sheriff's Department, found at

Additional inspiration was gleaned from Charles Martin's novel Chasing Fireflies.

It was coming up on lunchtime when Lula's Firebird went blowing past me going in the opposite direction. Steph was in the passenger seat, and someone else was in the back. I turned around, but they were long gone. Unless they were headed for the cop shop, I didn't know where they were off to. Since I was supposed to be taking the day off, I just drove casually by to see if the Firebird was in the lot. It was. I guessed Steph finally got her man. That meant she would be heading over to the muffler shop to get her car out of hock.

I was sitting in my SUV, waiting for her in the muffler shop parking lot when Lula dropped her off.

"Spying on me, Morelli?" she asked, giving me the once over as I met her at the door.

"Just wondered if you'd like to have lunch," I said. "My treat." There was nothing like food to put Steph's mind at ease. The way to her heart really was through her stomach.

"What did you have in mind?" She forked over the money to the attendant behind the counter and signed the work order.

"Our usual spot," I told her. That was Pino's.

"I'll meet you there," she said, grabbing her keys from the attendant.

I waited until our subs had arrived and she was busy chewing before I asked the question that had been burning in my mind for the past hour. "Who was the FTA you were after at the mall the other day?"

"Melon-head." Only Steph would have an FTA named after a fruit.

"You mean Sam Sporky?"

"Yep."

"So, how'd that go?"

"Fine," she said, quickly taking a sip of her drink and another big bite of her sandwich.

I chewed on a potato chip and waited until she was closer to being able to answer my next question.

"What was he charged with?" I asked.

"He skipped out the check at Marsilios," she said. "Bobby V. caught him when he came back for his sports jacket." From the look on her face, I gathered the responding officers had to mop him up before taking him in.

"Ouch," I said, laughing. "So, you caught him at the mall?" I knew there was more to this story. There was always more to the story.

"Well, not exactly," she admitted. "He kind of got fired when his boss found out he wasn't at work the other day."

"Where was he working?"

"Lens Crafters. He was supposed to be sitting in a little booth grinding lenses all day, but he stole a mannequin from American Eagle Outfitters and left it in the chair while he was taking a little time off. He might have gotten away with it, except that when I asked for him, the manager noticed that the mannequin had a smaller head and was way better dressed."

"Not to mention he didn't respond," I surmised.

"That too."

"So, you got him canned?"

"I still owed him for last time," she said defensively.

"Last time?"

This got me a grimace. "Last time I had to chase him through three yards. A dog bit my pants, an old lady shot at me, then he rolled me in garbage. After I had him in cuffs, he spit on my shoe. I owed him."

"Nice guy," I said. "I guess you're even now?"

"Not hardly," she said, "But I'm working on it."

"Maybe next time." She had me grinning, and it felt good.

"So, how are you doing?" She looked serious again, and I wasn't in the mood to come down from this temporary high.

I looked up as Richie Biglo, Pino's bartender, came around the end of the bar carrying a couple crates of booze without breaking a sweat. I hadn't really noticed that Richie was that strong. I'd usually been more concerned that he was pouring my beer from the right tap. He wasn't usually paying as much attention to what he was doing as he was to what was being said. Richie was one of the few who got the Burg gossip first hand. He had his finger on the pulse of the city.

"Hey, Cupcake," I said, flicking my finger towards Richie. "Look at that."

Steph followed my eyes and watched Richie hefting the crates. "What?"

"Muscle," I said. "What do you think?"

"Richie? He's always here. He never leaves."

"Maybe he should get out more," I suggested. "You could ask him. Besides, he mostly works nights. Maybe you could pick up some of these skips during daylight hours, huh?" I knew I would prefer that.

"Huh," she said, thinking it over. "Well, I guess it couldn't hurt to ask him. He's got the goods on everyone. Might come in handy to know what he knows."

"Exactly," I said, trying not to press her too hard, but not wanting to let the moment get away from her either. I motioned for Richie to join us. And hour later, Steph had another name on her list and I had one more reason to sleep well at night.

As I walked her to her car, she turned to me, biting her lower lip. "I don't suppose you're free tonight?"

"What's up?" I asked.

"Dinner." She looked up at me expectantly. Her big, blue eyes were even more difficult to refuse than Bob's.

"Six o'clock?"

"Same as always," she said, looking hopeful.

"See you there, Cupcake," I said, pulling her close and kissing her lightly on the lips.

She felt my vest under my long-sleeved tartan shirt. I was wearing the shirt untucked, covering my vest and gun. I saw her eyes register worry.

"I still don't know anything, Cupcake."

"Would you tell me if you did?"

I touched my forehead to hers. "If I show you something, you have to promise me that you won't go off investigating on your own. Got it?"

She nodded, and I fished my digital camera out of my SUV. I showed her the photos I had taken that morning. I explained what she was looking at. She swallowed hard as she took in the threatening messages against Trenton's finest.

"You don't think the shootings were accidents, do you?" she asked, reaching out and touching my vest again.

"I don't have any evidence yet, but I'm working on it."

"How can I help?" She wasn't going to stay on the sidelines. I knew that. But at least if I tried to keep my hand in, agreeing to work with her instead of shutting her out, maybe I could maintain some level of control. It was worth trying, I thought.

"Just keep your eyes open," I told her, "but don't go looking. I'm hoping to find a rival tagger, so if you see anyone painting, call me right away, okay? But don't approach them. I don't want you becoming a target like you usually do. I have enough to worry about," I said, taking her face in my hands and kissing her again.

"I know you do," she said, being more agreeable than I had expected. She pulled back slowly and walked around to her car. "See you at six?"

"See you at six," I said, climbing into the SUV.

I watched her pull away, heading back to the bonds office.

I stopped by Little J's middle school and had a look in his locker. Nothing helpful turned up. He was a poor student, and he wasn't popular, according to the school counselor who had seen him off and on for depression. He'd been suspended twice for verbal outbursts in class, but he hadn't been notably violent. He'd been resisting authority more and more, but that was to be expected if he was involved with a gang.

I searched the halls for another "bling bling" message, but didn't see anything. I asked if Varela had been a student at the school. He hadn't been. At least, not with that name. The other problem we had with tracking some of the Hispanic kids was that they would take their mother's surname sometimes after they had run into trouble with the law. It gave them a fresh record for awhile, but usually they were in twice as much trouble once we put two and two together and realized who we were dealing with. I wondered if Varela wasn't one of those. I was trying to look at all of the possibilities, not ruling anything out.

After running home to shower and change, I pulled up to the Plum house at ten to six. I sat down in the living room with Steph's dad, Frank, and we watched news footage of a five alarm fire at a chemical warehouse. I had always liked Frank. I thought someday, if I married into this family, I would end up just like him. He was a retired postal worker. He stoically put up with all the craziness around him, trying to escape it once in a while by driving a cab part time and hanging out at the lodge with his drinking buddies. We had enjoyed a nice cigar behind the garage together on occasion. Frank was an okay guy.

Steph came tearing through the door with about thirty seconds to spare. Frank and I got up and wandered into the dining room behind her, taking our assigned seats. Grandma Mazur appeared from the kitchen with a large serving bowl piled high with Chicken Tetrazzini.

Steph's mom appeared with a bottle of wine in one hand and a half full glass in the other. I could tell from the look on her face that Valerie, Albert, and the kids had been over. She looked overwhelmed. Still, a good Burg housewife would let nothing short of nuclear disaster cause dinner to be even a minute late.

"Joseph," she said, suddenly beaming. "What a nice surprise!"

"Good to see you, Mom," I said, standing and giving her a warm hug. She seemed to be satisfied that things were on the mend between me and Steph since I had called her Mom. I had never called her Helen. She was always Mom or Mrs. Plum to me. When I turned to take my seat, I caught a warning look from Steph. I gave her the same warm smile, but she looked away, fiddling with her napkin.

Once Steph's mom and Grandma Mazur were seated, the customary passing of the plates began. Frank usually spent ninety percent of dinner absorbed in his plate, refusing to look around or be dragged into conversation. While this was a relief from the typical grilling by a girl's father, it also meant it was me – alone – against three women. Stephanie would gladly feed me to the wolves. There was no mercy to be had at this table.

"So, Joseph," her mom started. "I have been following the news about the shootings. You didn't know any of those poor officers, did you? I mean, if you did, I'm sure I would have heard." I was sure she would have too.

"No, I didn't know them personally," I assured her, forking up some chicken, buying time.

Grandma Mazur piped up, as expected. "I heard from Bertie Greenstein at the beauty parlor that you were almost killed yesterday."

Mom's fork fell to her plate with a loud clank. Frank looked up, and Stephanie stopped chewing, waiting for my answer.

"Well, not exactly," I said, trying to downplay the drama. "I wasn't standing anywhere near Gaspick when he was shot."

"But you were there," Grandma Mazur said, trying to clarify the facts.

"Benny Gaspick?" Mom asked, shocked. "The cop who arrested Mo?"

"The same. He's in serious condition, but we're expecting him to make it," I said, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty that I hadn't called the hospital for an update. I was sure I would have been notified if there had been any change.

"Mavis Rheinhart said you were the detective assigned to all four cases and that they must be related," Grandma Mazur continued, ratcheting up the tension in the room.

"No. Actually, I'm no longer a homicide detective," I said, wrapping some noodles around my fork and reaching for my glass. "I'm working as a Field Training Officer, helping some of the rookies learn the ropes."

"You were busted down?" Mom gasped.

"No, no," I said, trying to calm her nerves. "I just needed a break. It was voluntary. Actually, I requested the assignment."

She didn't look like she believed me. "But, Emma Rogers was sure you were working the cases too," she added, looking back to Grandma Mazur for confirmation that their sources of gossip were in agreement.

"I am working the first three, but not Gaspick's shooting. And as far as I know, all of these incidents are unrelated." I saw Mom shoot a quick look from me to Stephanie. Her mother's intuition was humming and she was silently pumping Stephanie for information.

"This is great Tetrazzini," Steph said, stuffing her mouth full and looking down at her plate, doing a poor imitation of Frank. Frank was trying not to smile.

"Stephanie," her mother said in that tone only a mother can deliver, "what do you think about Joe's new job?"

She choked a little and took a long swig of her wine. "It's great. We'll be able to spend more time together," she said, looking to me for help.

"I hope so," I said to her, my eyes lingering, showing her I meant every word.

"Well," her mother said, seemingly satisfied with that answer. "I hope that we'll be seeing you at dinner more often then, Joseph."

I was still watching Steph's startled expression. She bit her lip nervously, waiting for my response.

"That sounds great, Mom," I said, smiling at Steph and then turning back to her mom. "I've really missed your pineapple upside-down cake," I told her. That was Steph's favorite, and if I could get her mom to make it more often, that would be kudos for me in her book.

"I'll make sure to have it ready if you'll come back tomorrow night," she said, trying to tempt me.

"I'll be here," I promised, turning to see Steph's glazed expression as she contemplated not only having her cake, but taking home the leftovers. It was all I could do not to laugh out loud. She was too funny.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat with you people, but I have to get ready for my date," Grandma Mazur said, folding her napkin and rising from the table.

"Date?" Mom asked. "What date?"

"Carl is picking me up. We're going to a meeting of the Rogue Taxidermists."

"What?" Mom gasped. "Where is this meeting?"

"Out on Black Canyon Road."

"After dark? What are you thinking? You can't go out into the woods with a man you hardly know to meet a bunch of Rogue Taxidermists. Are you crazy?"

"You don't need to worry about me," Grandma Mazur assured her. "I'm packing." She was referring to the .45 long-barrel she'd borrowed from her friend, Elsie, ages ago. She had never given it back, and Elsie would probably never remember having had it in the first place.

"What exactly is a Rogue Taxidermist?" I asked her.

"Some of them just do roadkill, and some like to mix and match to make their own creations."

"Excuse me?" I said, "Mix and match?"

"Yeah, you know. They can make anything you want. Two headed frogs, squirrels with sharks teeth, fish with feathers. You name it."

"Exploding beavers," Steph muttered under her breath.

"Exactly," Grandma Mazur exclaimed. "Well, I'm off," she said, bounding up the stairs like a school girl.

"She's off alright," Frank said. "Off her rocker."

Mom poured herself another glass of wine, emptying the bottle, then emptying her glass.

"Well, I'm certainly glad that you're going to be keeping us safe on the streets again, Joseph," Mom said, trying to turn the conversation back to me.

"I'll do my best," I told her.

She reached out and patted my hand. "I know you will. And if you can, keep an eye out for Stephanie while you're at it."

"She's doing fine, Mom," I told her, flashing Steph a reassuring smile. "She's putting together her own team to help her with take downs. Isn't that right, Steph?"

She shot me a look that said I'd just cancelled out the points I'd earned with the cake.

"Uh, yeah. That's right. I'm working on it," she told her mom, her voice two octaves too high.

"Who do you have working with you?" she asked, sounding nervous.

"It was Joe's idea," she sputtered, defensively.

"I didn't ask whose idea it was. I asked who you were working with."

"Well, of course, Lula. And Sally." She paused, gauging her reaction before continuing. "Dillon Ruddick, Mary Lou, and Bernie Kuntz."

"Don't forget Richie Biglo," I reminded her.

"Mary Lou has children," her mother argued. "You can't let Mary Lou go chasing rapists and murders down the street. What if something awful happened to her? How would you ever explain it to her children?"

Steph didn't have an answer. She just sat there with her jaw working up and down.

"I don't think Mary Lou will be chasing after anyone dangerous," I told her. "She just felt left out, so Steph told her she could come along when they pick up some of the easier cases, like the shoplifting grannies or the potato chip addicts."

Steph smiled and I knew I had earned my cake points back.

"Oh," her mother said with a sigh of relief. "Well, I guess that would be okay."

I was thinking the wine was finally making her mellow. I was proved right when Grandma Mazur reappeared wearing head to toe camouflage and carrying a butterfly net. Frank snorted some coffee out his nose, and Stephanie grabbed my arm, trying to maintain composure.

"Well, I'm ready to go!" Grandma Mazur sang out as she strolled down the hall and looked out the front window. "Here's my sweetie now."

The doorbell rang, and Grandma Mazur opened the door for Crazy Carl Coglin. He stopped to pet the stuffed black cat he'd given Grandma some time ago. She'd made a perch for it on the table in the foyer. He pressed a hidden button and the cat meowed and his eyes lit up yellow. It was truly scary.

"Blackie says he's missed you," Grandma Mazur told him, planting a kiss on him that made us all look away.

"Ready to head out into the wild black yonder?" he asked, opening the door. "I found a new route on the map I want to try. There's heavier traffic on it, and we will have a better chance of picking up some large game. I got the big freezer working again."

The door shut behind them, and we all jumped up to look out the front window to see what he was driving. It was an old black hearse with what appeared to be a full size freezer sitting in the back.

"Do you think the old bat would fit in there?" Frank asked hopefully.

"Frank!" Mom said, smacking him on the arm. He still looked hopeful as we all returned to the table for spice cake.

After dessert, we were dismissed after giving promises to return for dinner the next night. I walked Steph to her car, and leaned in to kiss her goodnight.

"Thank you," she said between teasing little kisses.

"For what exactly?" I asked.

"For coming to dinner," she said, rewarding me with a more lingering little kiss. "For helping me with the team building." Another little kiss. "But most of all, for trusting me," she said, pulling me into a real lip lock.

By the time she released me, I didn't think I'd ever be able to keep another secret from her again. I was sure I'd change my mind about that once there was some distance between us, but I was definitely seeing the benefits to spilling some of the details.

"I love you, Cupcake," I whispered.

"I love you too, Joe."

"See you tomorrow," I said, pulling her door open and forcing myself to let her go.

"At six," she said, finishing my sentence.

I shut her car door, and watched her pull away. Frank waved at me from the door, signaling me to meet him around back.

We sat on two over-turned paint cans behind the garage and smoked two fine cigars in the dark.

"We survived another night," Frank said, blowing out a lungful.

"Yeah," I said, following his example. The smoky haze around us might not have been physically healthy, but emotionally, it was better than a million dollars worth of therapy.

To be continued...