The TV was still on the chair which was still in front of the door. This was okay since I could watch the TV and keep an eye out the window at the same time. There was nothing happening in the parking lot, yet it was still more interesting than anything the 116 channels had to offer, which was really pitiful. I turned off the TV and vegged.

A car pulling into the parking lot caught my eye. A black BMW, new and shiny. It pulled in a couple spots away from Dougster's tan BMW, old and denty. It wasn't very interesting until the door opened and the driver stepped out.

Terry Gilman, looking cool and sleek in a pearl gray designer suit with perfectly matching heels. I bet she had her shoes dyed to match her suits. I groped on the bed for Ranger's gun (don't go there, Steph) and watched as she walked into the office. A couple of seconds later, she was out again and was headed down the walkway towards my room.

With the lights off and the sheers drawn, I knew she couldn't see much into my room, but I ducked down behind the bed anyway. She glanced into my window and for a moment I thought that she was going to try to open my door, but then I heard the key in the lock and heard her enter the room next door. I sat on the bed in shock. What was she doing here, and, more important, who was she meeting? I really didn't want to know that answer.

I sat with my eyes glued to the entrance to the parking lot. It was like waiting for a train wreck. I knew what was coming and yet there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I wasn't surprised when, after five minutes, I saw Morelli's SUV pull into the parking lot, but I was flaming angry. Stay low and out of sight? Why? So he could sneak out for a little afternoon bumping uglies with his favorite mafia princess?

My hands were shaking as I popped the cartridge out of Ranger's semi automatic. I just didn't trust myself to be holding a loaded gun when Morelli and Gilman were going to be doing who knows what in the next room.

Morelli parked the SUV right next Gilman's BMW. His glance at Dougster's Beemer was no more cursory than the way he eyed everything else. He was in cop-mode, subconsciously scoping out everything within sight. The asshole knew exactly where he was going and walked right up to the door of Gilman's room and entered without knocking.

I threw the cartridge under the bed so I wouldn't be tempted to shoot.

I ran to the bathroom to grab the drinking glass. I put it up against the wall and listened. In the movies, you could hear what was happening in the next room if you listened through a glass. In real life, all you got was a squashed ear. I put the glass down.

I didn't need the glass. The walls in this cheapo motel were paper thin. If they raised their voices even a little bit, I could hear them clearly. I sat on the bed, hugging my knees.

This was just like watching a train wreck.

I heard Gilman say something so low that I couldn't make out the words, but I could make out the tone: it was soft and sultry and inviting.

I dived under the bed for the cartridge, which is why I didn't make out Morelli's reply. My hands were shaking when I heard Gilman's response.

"What do you mean?" she asked, not quite so sexy, not quite so soft.

"You heard me." Both the gun and the cartridge slipped from my hands onto the bed. Whoa! Morelli's voice was cold and hard, I could hear the barely controlled anger.

"You dragged me out here in the middle of the day to ask me about my Confirmation money?"

"I'm asking you right now, to your face: what did you do with your Confirmation money?"

"Are you serious? I don't remember. I invested it."

"You got nearly forty grand for your Confirmation and I remember that you spent it all on something in our senior year. You're going to tell me right now what you spent it on."

Forty grand? For Confirmation? Damn! I got a hundred and twenty bucks, a personalized bible and the right to use the car for three weekends. I want to be a mafia princess when I grow up.

"I don't remember."

"Fucking liar." Oooh. Joe better never use that tone of voice to me.

"I DON'T REMEMBER!" I'm betting they could hear Terry from the off-ramp.

"Yes or no. Did you use your Confirmation money to hire a mob hit on Stephanie Plum."

WHAT?

"WHAT?"

That's what I said... WHAT?

"Yes or no."

I couldn't hear a sound from the other room, but I'm guessing that whatever Morelli saw or heard gave him his answer.

"You fucking bitch. You fucking cow bitch."

"Well what did you expect me to do? You're screwing me but thinking about her!"

WHAT????

"Once! I called you Stephanie once! And you hire a mob hit? What are you, sick?"

"Eight times!"

WHAT???????

"Like hell."

"A woman doesn't lie about something like that, Joey. Eight times your fucking me and calling out for her." I could tell she was crying and I could almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

"You're sick."

"I loved you, Joey. I was giving you everything I had and you kept eying some scawny, flat-chested sophomore. It was all your fault."

"My fault. Sheesh." I could hear the springs on mattress whine. I imagined Morelli sitting on the bed in disgust. I thought I could make out Gilman sobbing. I crept as close as I could to the wall.

It was too quiet in there.

"What happened?"

"He missed. Three times."

It was quiet. I don't know if Joe actually said something or if Terry knew he wanted to know more. I know I wanted to know more.

"First time was when she was walking down Culver Street. She slipped on the ice in front of Drake's Hardware and the bullet missed, taking out the entire storefront. The next time, near as I can figure, she forgot her homework, and when she turned back to get it, he grabbed Carla Bellotti by accident. He let her go when he figured out his mistake. The last time, he was trying to run her down on Dunton Street and he skidded out and wrapped his car around a pole, getting himself killed."

Another very long silence. I was shaking again, but since I couldn't tell if it was from anger or fear, I put the cartridge back under the bed. Just to be on the safe side.

"Does Vito know about this?"

"Yeah. I had to use the company cleanup crew to retrieve the bullet from Drake's. That, and the discovery that a Chicago soldier unexpectedly turned up dead in Trenton gave him a clue. That's when he sent me off to Boston for that cheerleader gig."

"Shit."

Again, it was a long silence.

"Joey..." My forehead was against the wall, trying to hear, her voice was so low. "I'm sorry." I think she was crying, but maybe not. "But it's partially your fault." I heard Morelli snort in disgust. "You can make a woman crazy, you know." I knew exactly what she meant.

The sound of their door opening sounded so loud that I nearly squeaked. I didn't move as I saw Gilman walk by my window. Her mascara was down her cheeks and her pristine hair was a mess, but she walked like a runway model, her chin in the air. You could never tell from her walk that she was even slightly upset. I watched as she got in her car and used her rear view mirror to fix her hair and her face. She drove out without looking back.

I walked back to sit on the bed, shaking like a leaf. Morelli was still in the next room. I hugged my knees, took a deep breath, and sat there not moving. I couldn't hear any sounds of movement from next door either. I think we were both a little shell-shocked.

I raised my head at the sound of the bedsprings next door. I looked to the window to see if Morelli was leaving and I almost screamed when my cell phone rang. I lunged for it, saw Morelli's number and hit the silent button before the second ring. The call went to voicemail.

I was sprawled across the bed, frozen like a deer in the headlights, waiting for the sound of movement from next door. It was awful quiet for much too long. Had Morelli heard the ring?

Then I could barely make out the sound of the knob turning next door. Morelli was moving like a cat. I grabbed the gun and my purse and rolled down behind the bed just in time. I could see his shadow peering into the window. I grabbed the cartridge and crawled over to the bathroom. Joe moved to the door and I heard him working on the knob. I quietly closed the bathroom door, locked it, and forced open the tiny bathroom window.

It was a real small window and I doubt that I'd have made it through if I'd had the Swedish meatballs and sheetcake. I squirmed out, pulling my purse behind me, and dropped to the ground.

"Cupcake?"

Okay, I screamed like a girl, but I thought he was on the other side of the building. He leaned his arms on either side of me, pinning me against the wall.

"Oh, hi." I said as casually as I could considering I could barely breath. My heart was in full cardiac arrest. "I didn't see you there."

He moved his hand to lightly pull my hair back off my face, exposing my peacock purple bruise. His eyes narrowed. "Whoa!"

"Pretty, huh? I hear in L.A., women pay big bucks for this look. Me, it comes without trying."

He hmphed a little laugh and then got serious. "How much did you hear in there?"

"Hear what?"

"You know what."

I looked off over his shoulder as I thought about what I had heard.

"You want to know why that really scares me? Because I thought I had been imagining the whole thing. I thought I was just being neurotic or something. I didn't know I actually needed to be careful. I thought I was just over-reacting."

His fingers were playing with my hair, avoiding the areas that were cut and bruised. He lowered his face to the my unbruised ear and I felt his breath tickle my neck. "Bob misses you."

I leaned towards him and sketched my fingers over his chest.

"And I miss Bob too."

As my fingers wandered up to brush his cheek and his lips, I felt something large and hard pressing against my hips. "Oh, and I missed Dick as well."

"Oh Cupcake, Dick missed you too!"