Navigating Nine Chapter 12
Disclaimer:The plot of To The Nines, and the entire Plum universe is the creation and property of Janet Evanovich. I am toying with it and making no money from it and will put it all back where it belongs when I am through.
Note: Thank you to everyone for being patient with me while I laze about and procrastinate and a special thank you to Fina for poking and prodding me to stop procrastinating and write. Unfortunately for the story this will probably be all I will write for a while fan fiction-wise. I'll try to update it, but I figured I would give fair warning.
CSIQueen: I am glad you're enjoying this! And if I have time, I might to some more books in this universe... I do have an outline of what Steph is going through in Alyssa's old life, but I can't write it until this one's done with or it might spoil the fun.
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I watched through the window as Ranger opened the apartment door and walked across the room. He slid the window up and I swallowed hard at his unreadable expression. "It wasn't my fault!"
He shook his head. "Is it ever?" And he dragged me through the window into the apartment. I ignored the question and the rough handling and looked around. If possible it looked even more bleak in person than it did from outside.
"Where's the computer?" I asked. I didn't see anything technology wise beyond the ancient tv set, so I headed toward the bedroom.
"Computer?"
"Singh is a computer geek. Howie probably is too. I don't think he's sharing this place, so if they're keeping touch it's probably e-mail or something." I stopped in my tracks as I entered the bedroom. There, on the floor, plugged into an outlet, sat a laptop with a cracked screen. But I didn't have enough computer hacking knowledge to deal with it, I was betting. I also didn't have a spare CD on me to save any files…
"Can we take the hard drive and copy it and get it back before Howie gets back from McDonald's?" I asked Ranger.
He raised an eyebrow. "Babe?"
"Well, can we? Or should we do a fake robbery?"
"You've been watching too much television."
I narrowed my eyes. "We need that hard drive. He's a computers person, he probably has all those stupid fire wall password thingies on there. I do not hack. So unless you do, we need to take it to someplace it can get copied and or hacked and…" I stopped as another option hit me, a little belatedly. "Hey, it's connected to the internet! Do you have any hackers at RangeMan?"
Ranger's head moved a fraction of an inch to the side, in a gesture I wasn't sure how to interpret. I guessed it to mean a combination of 'yes' and 'remind me why I don't ship you to Zimbabwe.' But he didn't say that and when he flipped open his phone his first words did not sound like a request for a box of car parts or large shipping crates. The conversation was short and if not sweet, at least to the point.
"It's taken care of," he said as we headed out of Howie's space.
I nodded and flashed him my biggest teen-crush grin. "Thanks for saving me, hero."
"Welcome." And he did his almost-smile.
"Too bad I'm still pissed at you," I added.
Ranger's eyebrow went up. I tossed my hair, feeling much more in the mood to tease him than to actually rake up the coals after the TriBro incident. After all, with the evidence from the computer, I could relax. The hacker people would discover some sort of info on the game, nab Clyde, all while I would be free to hop off to Vegas for a celebratory take-down and after party. Stress on the after party.
Oh, wow, I'd need something to wear… I could shop in Vegas though…
"Earth to Babe," Ranger's voice was quiet and I was electrically aware that he was a bit to close for political correctness as his breath slid along the skin of my throat.
"W-what?" I stuttered as I simultaneously attempted to slip back to reality and into a highly erotic fantasy. "Sorry, I was thinking about the case." Sort of. "I think Singh's somewhere else. At Rose-erm, BriTro—I mean, TriBro—" Ranger was smirking and his hand on the nape of my neck was short circuiting my brain.
I batted the hand away. "Stop that."
The smirk turned into a real smile. The one that made people walk into large immoveable objects occasionally called walls.
"You're doing it on purpose and you know it," I said, attempting to be pissy and pretty much failing.
"Doing what?"
"Making it hard for me to think."
His grin got very predatory. "I am?"
Shit. Never match wits with a mercenary. "Yes, and you know it. Now turn off the sexy and get with the scary. I'm going to Vegas." And if you're all scary while I'm gone, I know no sane chick is going to try to sleep with you.
"Vegas?" he asked, leaning back slightly. I guessed it was a tactical retreat to assess the situation.
"At TriBro they mentioned something about Singh going to Vegas. Have we checked with the airlines- and by we I mean you and the Justice League?"
Ranger looked like he had a slight migraine, or maybe a small gunshot wound. "RangeMan, I assume?"
"Sure, if you want to be all mundane."
We had reached the foyer and Lula clomped toward us on her big platforms as we walked out into the less-than-dazzling Jersey June sun. "You find anything?" she asked.
"Just a computer. But we should go check with Howie anyway. You coming with?" I turned to Ranger. His head moved slightly to the right.
"Business meeting."
"Bummer. Try not to get shot." I leaned in and what was meant to be a kiss on the cheek mysteriously turned into a bone-melting—okay, 'kiss' didn't cover it—experience. Yeah, experience. That was a good word.
Then Ranger got into the truck and drove off. I was still trying to recover my brain when Lula let out a long whistle. "Damn, I'm getting a hot flash."
"You aren't," I rolled my eyes. "It's June. Summer. It's hot outside."
"It's 70."
"Oh."
We were reverently silent.
"Ready for a McDonald's-based interrogation?" I asked. When I had all my neurons functioning again I was going to kick Ranger's ass for that parting… territory-staking… whatever it had been.
"You bet your ass."
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We pulled into Mickey D's a little while later, and I followed Lula in. I figured it was best not to get between her and her McNugget fix. The manager, a girl who looked like she needed a dip in grease-remover but who was probably pretty underneath the shiny coating, told me Howie was outside on his lunch break. Sure enough, I found him at one of the concrete McTables out front.
I took a deep breath and dusted off my disarming Midwestern Girl Charm.
"Excuse me sir, could I ask you—"
"Go away," Howie said quickly, with a horrid scowl. "I am on lunchbreak. I am eating. I am not serving."
"I'm not asking about McDonalds," I said, my friendly smile and non-threatening posture dropping away like last year's earrings. "I want to talk to you about Samuel Singh," I explained, shifting my weight forward and moving my hands so I could more easily get at my stun gun. Hey, one more book and I'd be in danger of having to tangle with Anton Ward. I needed to get some kidnapping practice in early.
"So sorry," Howie shrugged. "I do not know anything. Crazy Americans. Always asking questions… In my country—"
I gritted my teeth, and thought about how small a box of car parts Howie might fit into. He was small and scrawny- total computer geek look. Bet he wouldn't cost much for shipping…
"But the games are good," he added with an odd look of satisfaction. My hand was on my stun gun. I wondered how it got there. It was a squicky feeling to recognize that if Clyde Cone hadn't gotten to him, this was probably the type of kid who joined Al-Quaeda.
"Look," I said through gritted teeth, "about the games—" but that was as far as I got, because Janet took over.
The shots were loud, deafening me, and Howie's head seemed to explode. I shut my eyes and shied away on reflex, but I wasn't Super Girl. My face and arms were splattered with something warm and damp as I dropped to the floor. Ketchup, it felt like.
I lay on the concrete, among the scattered fries, paralyzed with fear. Gun. Oh my god, where was my--- my hand. My gun was in my hand. When did that happen?
No more shots were being fired, I realized.
"Jesus, white girl!" Lula dropped down beside me, and I blinked at her yellow sweater. That spandex had to be cutting off her circulation. I levered myself into a sitting position. "I thought you was dead too," she said looking at me with an odd expression.
"Howie—"
"Howie's dead. I think you got half his—"
"Ketchup on me, I know."
"That don't look like no…" I gave her a Look that must have been scary, "normal ketchup. Must be that McDonald's ketchup or barbecue sauce…"
I nodded, stood up, walked a few feet away, and threw up.
Lula handed me a Coke. "You gonna be okay?"
"Sure," I said, trying to get back into character. This wasn't a big deal, being around when some guy got his head blown off. Normal. Everyday thing. No big. "Sure, I'm fine. I just need a shower." And to get out of this life.
A couple police cruisers were turning into the lot, and by the look of the beat up 'inconspicuous' cop car a block away, Morelli wasn't too far behind. Neither was the black SUV which had materialized from somewhere even before the cops had put their cars in park. The cavalry had officially arrived in official Cavalry timing.