All characters named in this story were created by Janet Evanovich, except the rookie cops and the teen gang members and Jacob Stanton (the House Monster), 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.

Steph's POV

I had expected Morelli's lead to be in center city. Instead, we seem to be heading for the shore.

"So where is this office? Point Pleasant?" I asked hopefully.

"Close. The address is nearby a marina."

"Why would a good-will organization in Trenton have a main office at a marina?" I wondered. "That's not very convenient."

"A very good question. I'm sure it's convenient for something I'm not going to like. I'm seriously questioning this organization's good-will intentions at this point. Aren't you?"

"So, what marina is it?" I wanted to know why Morelli was being so secretive about our destination. I have him an expectant look.

"Pachetco Inlet Marina," Morelli said with more of than a hint of irony. This was the place where I had taken Morelli into custody on the first case we had worked together. I had locked him in the back of a freezer truck with a few dead bodies.

I felt a devious smile spread across my face. "Oh really?"

"Don't get any bright ideas, Cupcake." He gave me what was supposed to be a warning look, but I just smiled. I had him worried.

In the interests of peace, I decided to turn on the radio and avoid conversation until we arrived. Morelli seemed to be relieved. Still, every once in awhile, he would glance over at me to see if I was still smiling. And every time I caught him looking my way, that smile would creep back across my face. Without a doubt, that had been one of my best days as a bounty hunter. Even Ranger had said it couldn't be done. But I'd done it. I'd brought in the street-wise, tough guy cop, Joe Morelli, and I'd brought him in all by myself. Sometimes I really was Wonder Woman. And that had been one of those times.

We passed the old gas station with the pre-historic gas pumps and advertising for live bait painted on the back of an old piece of paneling. The little shack with a single public pay-phone looked as forlorn as it had the first time I had seen it. I watched it grow smaller and smaller in the side mirror before leaning back in my seat and looking out towards the water.

"Well, what have we here?" Morelli gave a low whistle as we crested the hill overlooking the marina.

"What?"

"Moving van."

I looked up and down the dock, and then I spotted it. It was a short moving van, the kind you would use to move if you lived in an apartment. Now the question was how to get close enough to make a positive ID without giving ourselves a way.

"Hey! Wasn't there a sign back there about a scenic overlook?" I asked.

"So?"

"Well, don't overlooks usually have those binoculars you can use for a quarter?"

"They used to be a quarter, but now it's more like a buck fifty." Morelli pulled over and stopped.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Other than barging in there, nope," Morelli admitted, making a U-turn and heading back the way we came.

We took the fork the in the road by the gas station and were soon winding upwards. In minutes we were rewarded with a magnificent view of the river and of the van. Morelli, being a bad boy by nature, got the binoculars working without feeding the meter the buck fifty. From the scratch marks on the face of the frame, I would say this was the usual method of operation.

"Is it Stanton?" I asked.

"Bingo. And he's got some help. Looks like he's got two carloads of Bloods working for him. They're standing beside the moving van, and it looks like Stanton is talking to another man about a shipping container down by the docks. They appear to be going over a contract or something. Nothing's happening yet. The lock is still on the truck, and the hired help is looking bored. They've been here a while."

"Probably he's got the guns in the van, and he's going to stash them in the shipping container. And when they do, you can call for backup and go down and bust him right?"

"No. I would have a hard time showing probable cause if I attempted to arrest him now. I can't explain that you had Stanton's house bugged and that's how I knew about the trap he set and the guns being moved. I don't know for sure what's in those crates. It may be guns, but maybe not. We can't afford to take any chances with this guy. We need to bring him down on something big to give us enough leverage to make him tell us where Gaspick is. To do that, we need is enough evidence to secure a warrant and then come back and search the shipping container. That way whatever we find is admissible as evidence."

"What's the difference?" I asked. It all seemed the same to me. "Call the cops now and take the guns or get evidence, get a warrant, take the guns, and then go hunt down Stanton. He's here now. Why can't we just go down there and get him?"

"Because I'd also like to know who's paying for the container first. You know, I'm starting to see how you stumble into so much trouble, Cupcake. You need to have patience."

"We don't have time for patience. And neither does Gaspick."

A pained look crossed his face, and I knew I'd said the wrong thing. "You think I don't know that?" he hissed in a near whisper, his eyes narrowed. "We've only got one shot at this."

"Shot…hey!" That gave me an idea. "Is there any way we can get a picture of Stanton unloading the crates? Would that help?"

"Yes," he said slowly, nodding. "That's exactly what we need. I'm open to ideas."

"Since this scenic overlook is close to the gas station," I reasoned. "Maybe they sell disposable cameras. If we had a disposable camera, could we take a photograph through the binoculars?"

"Not likely, and even if it worked we're still too far away. I can't read the identification numbers on the side of the shipping container. We have to get closer. A lot closer."

The binoculars clicked shut as the timer wound down. Morelli tripped the coin slot again and scanned the length of the marina. "You're not afraid of heights are you?"

My stomach lurched in anticipation of what was coming next. "Why?" I asked, my voice an octave higher than usual.

Morelli pulled back from the binoculars to give me a chance to look. "You see that boat salvage and repair outfit on the opposite side of the fence from the storage container?" I stepped up onto the concrete platform and carefully took hold of the binoculars so I could see where Morelli had the binoculars pointed.

He didn't have to explain the plan to me. There was a crane with an arm long enough to swing over to within 100 feet of storage container. "Oh no, not me!" I shook my head vigorously and took three steps back. "Why can't you do it?"

"Do you know how to operate a crane?" Morelli asked smugly.

"Maybe I do," I said.

"No, you don't," he said, turning and walking back towards the Hummer.

"We need a different plan," I said, running after him. I climbed in and buckled my seat belt.

"First things first. And first, we need a camera." Morelli started the engine and took off at top speed back towards the gas station.

Ten minutes later, I found myself following Morelli towards the repair yard, a disposable camera in one hand, and a used microwave popcorn bag in the other, just in case I lost my lunch.

Morelli knew how to work me. He'd pushed all the right buttons from appealing to my maternal instincts, telling me how Gaspick's mother was going to miss him, to begging me to help him – he even gave me the big brown puppy dog eyes. He'd finally resorted to calling me a chicken and then he actually dared me. I think he had me at chicken, but the dare cinched the deal.

Morelli flashed a badge to the poor sap at the repair yard who was working at scraping barnacles from a dingy. We ran past him, up to the crane, and found the keys were in it. Morelli located a safety harness and lanyard to secure me to the line dangling far below the arm of the crane. I needed to be hidden as much as possible, so Morelli and the barnacle guy wrapped a pair of tow straps around the ends of the dingy and I climbed in. Morelli made sure I was secure, and then disappeared up the ramp that lead to the crane's operating platform.

I had a death grip on the popcorn bag, and I was trying desperately to tell myself this was going to be fun. This was going to be just like a carnival ride at Point Pleasant. I was going to swing over, snap the picture, and be back behind the fence and safely on the ground before Stanton even knew what was happening.

I head the crane start up, and there was a good deal of noise as the rusty gears started squeeking and squealing. I wondered if Morelli had a clue what he was doing. It sounded like someone was trying to drive off with the parking brake on. There was a sudden lurch. I dropped the popcorn bag and grabbed the sides of the boat. I was swinging wildly in the dingy. I didn't dare look over the side. I just held on and stared down at the little seat ahead of me. My knees were knocking, and the swinging was getting worse. I was moving, wind blowing my hair, and my stomach was lurching in the opposite direction of the dingy. I didn't dare let go of the sides, so I just bent forward, put my head between my knees and heaved onto the floor of the boat. I put my feet up on the seat in front of me, trying to keep my shoes clean.

I was trying to breathe. My eyes were closed tight, and I was sitting up as straight as I could, trying to get away from the puke smell. Now I was glad for the breeze. The swaying was getting less violent. I had stopped. I opened one eye, and looked over the side of the boat towards the shipping containers. I scanned the dock for the yellow moving truck. There it was, about 200 feet away. There was another lurch as I was suddenly moving out and down instead of up and away. I bent over and heaved again, and then, gathering myself, forced my hands to let go of the sides so I could look through the camera lens.

I was about 150 feet away and closing on the scene below. There was the big yellow rental moving truck, two cars – both ricer-mobiles and both probably stolen – and a half dozen black teenagers dressed in red gang colors. Stanton was giving orders as the young men unloaded long wooden crates from the moving truck into the shipping container. I took photos of it all, making sure to get the container's numbers as I moved to within 100 feet.

Suddenly, there was a loud thump as the bottom of the boat hit something, tipping it half over. My hand instinctively went to my chest, and needing both hands free, I did what any woman would do…I shoved the camera into my sports bra and held onto the sides of the dingy with both hands. There was another thump as the boat swung into the solid object again. I looked down and saw that the boat was knocking against a large section of fence made from old pilings. This fence was the same color as the weathered wooden fencing ahead of me. Morelli probably couldn't see the pilings. I tried to waive my arms, but I had to hold tight to the boat as it nearly overturned. Morelli was still guiding me towards the outer fence, but there was no way that I was going to clear the pilings.

I may not have attracted Morelli's attention, but I certainly had attracted the attention of a large German Shepherd who was serving time inside the yard. He was growling and barking, following me with hungry, ferocious eyes and baring his teeth. My knees were really knocking now. I screamed at the top of my lungs for Morelli to get me out of there.

Morelli couldn't hear me, but Stanton could. There was shouting from the ground, and within a few seconds, shots were fired. I fell backwards into the bottom of the boat, and immediately regretted it. I was lying in sick, rocking violently, my hands and feet pressed against the edges of the boat as it began tipping over. Wood splintered around me as automatic gunfire erupted from Stanton's position. I held tight as the boat scraped clear of the pilings and I swung free, the boat righting itself again.

Morelli seemed to have heard the gunfire because he stopped the forward movement and drew me back. The boat hit the piling again, this time going the other way. There was another waive of gunfire, and the strap holding end of the boat towards my feet broke loose. The little boat fell away from my feet, then slipped from the strap holding the other end, and suddenly, I was suspended in mid-air, held only by the safety harness, swinging wildly from the lanyard ten feet below the hook and ball of the crane.

The dog had skittered away as the boat fell, but he was charging back towards me now as I dangled from the lanyard. I heard a woman's terrified screaming, and at first thought someone was concerned about me and maybe help was coming…then I realized I was the one screaming. I fought for control. The bullets had stopped. Stanton had run out of bullets!

Then I saw one of the crates being opened and realized they were moving guns and AMMO! Suddenly, I was being lowered to the ground, and the German Shepherd was closing in. I swung my legs wildly, trying to get enough momentum to make it to the top of the pilings. I tried to get a toe hold, but I was still too high, and only managed to kick off, swinging away from the Shepherd. As I approached the fence separating me and the dog from Stanton, I heard the gunfire erupt again. Hard as I could, I kicked against the fence. The dog's teeth closed on my shoe, and I let him have it. It was just a Nike…easily replaced…unlike my foot.

As he ripped the shoe off, he put me into a tight spin. I struggled to get my bearings as I quickly approached the pilings again. I had hoped to swing high enough to clear them or land on top of them, but I crashed into them with my back. The air was knocked out of me, and I was pinned there. Morelli was trying to bring me back as low as possible, which I would have appreciated under normal circumstances. But now, I just wanted to be back in the air.

The Shepherd had not been satisfied with the single Nike. He wanted the other one…and the leg attached to it. I turned, still suspended, and put all my effort into scaling the pilings. I cleared the top and leapt into the air towards Morelli. I had an image in my mind of a graceful swan dive. Instead, I was tripped from the last piling as the Shepherd's fangs dug into the leg of my jeans. We both sailed over the top, my jeans pulling the Shepherd up and over the last few inches, and then we were both falling. There was a sharp yank as the lanyard caught. That dog hung on like a pit-bull. He wasn't letting go, and thanks to all those doughnuts I'd been eating, my waistband was holding tight. Morelli was pulling me up, finally, but with the extra momentum, I was swinging wildly high. Then, like a pendulum, Kujo and I were swinging back towards Stanton.

There they were, standing in a line, all guns trained on me. As I cleared the fence, I did the only think I could think to do. I unbuttoned my jeans and let 'em fly…and the dog, too. No one was more surprised than the pooch. The look on his face was priceless. "You should have kept the shoe, Greedy!" I yelled to him.

Stanton caught the dog square in the chest. He rocked back onto the hood of the gold Eclipse and went down to the ground. The dog was growling, biting, and putting up quite a fight as I swung out of sight. I was higher now, easily clearing the fence and making my way back to Morelli. I thought it was too bad I hadn't gotten just a little closer to Stanton. I wished I could have grabbed his gun, because I was going to kill Morelli.

I could hear cars starting. Large metal doors banged closed, and tires squealed. Stanton and his boys were getting away.

To be continued…