"Happy Birthday!" Connie said as I entered the office on October twelfth. "I picked up birthday donuts."

"Thanks," I said, heading over to the box. I picked up a Boston Crème and put it on a napkin. "Any new skips?"

"A few," she replied, reaching for a stack of files. "One guy in here is real interesting. Named Terrell Jones. He was on the news last month when he broke in a woman's house and tried to claim it as his own, calling himself a sovereign citizen. Sawed off her locks, put his own on, and it took the SWAT team to drag him out. Apparently the group he is in is some sort of cult."

"Fun," I said dryly. "He sounds like he won't come easily, being a sovereign citizen and all that."

"That's what he told me on the phone," Connie said through a mouthful of donut. "That group's a real pain in the ass for police and FBI."

The other skips weren't nearly as interesting, though a couple sounded like they could be violent. An armed robbery, attempted murder, petty theft, and a guy caught smoking meth in his car in the hospital parking lot while his girlfriend gave birth to their fourth child.

"Where's Lula?" I asked, checking my watch. It was already after ten. I had let myself sleep in since I had only my family to celebrate my thirty-fourth birthday with. It was sort of depressing.

"She's sick. Said she ate something bad last night on her date."

I shrugged, threw away my napkin, and picked up the files along with my messenger bag. "I guess I'm on my own today. That's not always a bad thing."

I appreciated Lula's help, but sometimes she was more of a nuisance than assistance. I especially didn't think she would do well with the cult guy.

I organized my day starting with the most difficult cases so that I could get the physical stuff over and done with. My work with Jill was making me stronger and I had even kicked in a door the other day. Granted, it wasn't the sturdiest door, but I couldn't have done that two months ago.

Jones had listed an address in downtown Trenton on his bond application, so that was where I headed. I had a picture of him and a description. He was 5'4", spoke with a Jamaican accent, and had a tattoo of a blue flag with three white stars. He went by the alias Jean Twilight. I arrived at the address Connie gave me fifteen minutes later and took a minute to figure if it was the right place. My GPS had taken me to a condemned building that used to house an Indian grocery store. Window chalk had been used to write on the building's windows that the grocery store had moved to a new location a few blocks away. The window held a blue flag with three white stars. I assumed the sovereign citizen brigade Jones belonged must have claimed this as their own and no one had realized it yet. I parked my car on the street behind a black truck and headed up to the building. I had my gun in the waistband of my jeans covered by my t-shirt, pepper spray clipped on my right and flexcuffs looped through a belt loop on my left. I pulled on the door handle, but the door was locked. I knocked and waited for an answer.

A man in his thirties with a shaved head appeared at the door.

"What?"

"I'm looking Terrell Jones. Or Jean Twilight. Whatever name he's using around here," I told the man.

"Why?"

"That's between him and me," I replied. One thing I'd been able to accomplish was to speak with authority, not letting my voice quaver. I could handle myself.

The man eyed me for a second, surveying me in the way men who had absolutely no regard for women do. He yelled back into the room for Jones and I waited at the door until the man in my file showed up.

"Terrell Jones?" I asked.

"Jean Twilight," he replied. "Who are you?"

"I'm Stephanie Plum. I work for your bond agent. You didn't show up to court."

He pulled himself up to his full 5'4" and still had to look up at me. "I'm a sovereign citizen of the country of Dawning Glory. I'm not a subject of your laws," he replied with a sneer.

I reached out for him and yanked him out of the doorway, pinning him to the ground and cuffing him before his friends knew what was happening.

"They can't help you," I said as I stood Jones up, who was yelling for his friends. I walked him over to my car and stuffed him into the backseat.

"What's going on?" asked the man who had initially answered the door.

"Your friend didn't show up to court, so I'm taking him back to jail,'" I informed him as I buckled the seat belt across Jones.

"You aren't taking him anywhere," the man said, getting closer to me and trying to intimidate me as I closed the door and leaned against it.

"Yes, I am," I said, more calmly than I felt. "And unless you'd like to go to jail with him, I suggest you back off."

"Bitch, you aren't going to do anything to –," the man began as he reached for my right arm. I grabbed his arm, twisted it behind him and took him to the ground with my knee in his back. I saw another guy in the doorway pull a gun. I reached behind me and pulled my own.

"I have no qualms about shooting you," I told the guy, my gun raised. "So I suggest you get back in the building and mind your own business."

The guy seemed shocked, both that I had his friend on the ground and a gun pointed at him, so he stepped back in the building and disappeared.

"Now, I'm going to let you go," I told the man underneath my knee, who was yelling. "You're going to walk back into the building and stay there. Got it?"

I let go of his arm and got off his back, standing up with my gun pointed at him. He righted himself, looked like he might try something, but when he saw the gun, he resisted. He walked back into the building, locking the door behind him. I could hear Jones in the car yelling, asking his friends what the hell they were doing.

"You dumb bitch," he kept saying as I drove him to the police station. "Your laws can't hold me."

"I don't write the laws. I just drag you back to jail when you don't show up for court," I replied casually. "What happens to you after I give you to the police doesn't mean a thing to me."

He spent the time not calling me a dumb bitch reciting his country's constitution. I was glad to hand him over to the police just so I didn't have to listen to him rant and rave any more.

"We hated having this guy here," the officer told me while he issued my body receipt.

"Yeah, he wasn't exactly a joy to ride with in the car," I replied, accepting the paper. I waved at Jones as he called me a dumb bitch one more time and left the police station.

I went for the armed robbery next. Thankfully, I had woken him up and had the benefit of surprise on my side so that he hadn't the chance to go get a gun. He was only in boxers, but I didn't care. We weren't on our way to a fashion show. I grabbed him by the arm and cuffed him before he was even fully awake. I grabbed the attempted murder next. She was a woman around Grandma Mazur's age who had tried to kill her husband by poisoning his breakfast. He had survived but was now living with their daughter. Hopefully I wouldn't have to manhandle an old lady.

"Suzanne Collier?" I asked as a woman with long gray hair answered the door. She wore a linen dress and slippers.

"Yes, that's me," she replied sweetly.

"I'm Stephanie Plum. I work for your bail bonds office. You forgot to go to court."

"Oh, was that yesterday?" she said. "I thought I forgot something."

"I'm here to take you to get rescheduled," I told her.

"Oh, I can't do that today. I have so much to do."

I pulled the flex cuffs out from my pocket. "Mrs. Collier, this isn't a negotiation. You have to come with me."

Mrs. Collier's eyes grew wide. "You're going to handcuff me?"

"That's the rules," I said, sliding one onto her nearest wrist. She didn't fight as I put the second on her other wrist.

"I only did it because he's annoying me," she told me as I helped her to the car. "We've been married fifty years and I can't take another day of it. Men are useless. Do you know what I mean?"

As angry as I had been with Morelli and Ranger, I'd never once considered murder. "They aren't always great, but murder isn't the answer."

"Talk to me again after you've been married for fifty years. You'll come around to my way of thinking."

The petty theft girl wasn't home, which was fine with me. Her bond was only worth $50 for me. My last stop was for the latest father of the year. Randy Porter was twenty-three, unemployed, having his fourth kid in as many years with his girlfriend, Rhonda. He had been busted for marijuana before, but meth was a new thing. He had listed his address as his mother's house.

I knocked on the door and Randy answered. He was my height and had the distinct look of someone standing on the edge of a cliff.

"Hi, are you Randy Porter?" I asked. I knew it was him, but identification was important. Arresting and bringing in the wrong guy would get me in trouble.

"Yeah. Who are you?"

I gave him the line about court and rescheduling. He burst into tears and didn't resist as I cuffed him and walked him to my car.

"Rhonda hates me and won't let me see the kids now," he cried as we headed to the police station. "I told her I'll get clean, but she said it doesn't matter."

"Maybe if you do that she'll let you see the kids," I said. I kind of felt sorry for him. It was clear that no matter what he had going on, he missed his kids. "But you did this to yourself. And you can't blame her for wanting to protect them."

He sniffled and nodded. "I know."

I dropped him off at the police, collected by body receipt, and took all of them back to Connie. She wrote out my checks and I left for the day. I was tired, but in a good way. It was the fatigue of a job well-done, not a day spent in constant anxiety.

Training with Jill had turned out to be the best investment I had ever made. Over our three months of training, I found myself bringing in skips much faster and more efficiently than I ever had. Even the ones that fought didn't turn into disasters like they had in the past. I still got the occasional scrape or bruise, but I was coming out on top in the end. It felt amazing, even though it hadn't made me love my job anymore.

Jill had become an actual friend, not just my trainer. We would meet up for lunch or drinks about once a week. We had even gotten together with Connie and Lula. I had learned a lot from her and not just defense training. She had owned her business for over ten years, in a field dominated by men. She knew how to handle assholes, but how to still be herself. She wasn't afraid of being a woman in a world full of men. She had been married for seventeen years and had three kids.

"I think I want to find a different job," I told her as we wrapped up our last training session. "Even though I can do this one better now, I still hate it."

"Well, yeah. It's a terrible job," she said, wiping sweat from her neck. "What are you looking for?"

I shrugged. "Something that pays decently with benefits and vacation time. Somewhere that doesn't have me chasing down criminals."

Jill sized me up for a minute. "What about an office job where the boss is an asshole, but he knows that and needs someone to keep him in line?"

"If I can keep him in line without getting fired, it wouldn't be too bad. He's not the kind that's going to grope me, is he?"

"Not unless he wants his wife to cut him into small pieces."

That didn't sound too bad. "What kind of job is it?"

"My brother Mike owns the family construction company. It's just a few blocks from here. He needs a new assistant. He hasn't been able to keep one for more than six months since he took over from our father five years ago. Mike's a real hard ass, but he respects people who work hard, tell it to him like it is, and aren't afraid of being kept on their toes. Most people who came to work there were looking to just sit behind a desk all day answering phones, but as his assistant you have to sometimes be out at job sites, running errands, things like that. It seems like something you would be good at."

I had always avoided office jobs because I felt like I would be bored. But this didn't sound boring. I would work in an office where I could tell my boss to go fuck himself if he got too short with me, then I'd also be able to go out and do things that didn't require sitting at a desk.

"That actually sounds like it would be a good job," I said. "How do I apply?"

"I'll call Mike and have him reach out to you," she said. "He's not a very formal guy. They even get to wear jeans every day."

It sounded like my kind of job. No high heels and I got to tell the boss to kiss my ass? Sign me up!

"Thanks. I'll owe you if this works out."

"And if it doesn't, we'll beat the hell out of my brother. It's win-win, really," Jill said.

The chill of November hit like a wall on my sweaty body as I headed out of the fitness studio. I had only brought a zippered sweatshirt with me because I was always so hot after I got done working with Jill. I hadn't paid attention to the forecast to realize it was going to be spitting snow and the wind chill would mean the sweat was going to freeze in my hair. I hurried to my car with my arms wrapped around me.

I cranked up the heat as I headed back to my apartment, the snow blowing across the road in a way that threatened to stick but didn't seem like a promise. Traffic had slowed to a crawl as people in Trenton remembered that snow was a thing and suddenly forgot how to drive in it. I got behind a city bus that stopped every couple of blocks. People in the left lane steadfastly refused to let me over, so I was stuck until the bus decided to turn. I was sitting at a stoplight at State Street and Lincoln Highway when I saw two people in my peripheral vision walk out of a large building next to me. I glanced over, then did a double-take as I realized one of the people was Ranger. He was dressed in his normal Rangeman attire with a black coat and black hat. He was engrossed in conversation with a man in a business suit. Probably the guy who ran the building or something. I did my best not to keep looking at him and slouched down a little in my seat. The light had turned green, but the damn bus just had to keep letting people on. I fiddled with my radio as I snuck a quick peek to the right. I couldn't be certain without turning my head too much, but I thought Ranger might be looking at my car. The bus finally pulled away from the stop and I followed it through the intersection, glancing back in my mirror every few seconds until Ranger was out of sight. He didn't watch my car pull away but had returned his attention to the other person.

It had been over three months since I had cut both him and Morelli out of my life. I had seen Morelli a couple of times in passing as I drove through the Burg, but we hadn't acknowledged each other. This was the first time I had seen Ranger. Getting over Morelli had been surprisingly easy, but Ranger was another story. I had tried sticking with my old friend Denial for a while, telling myself that I would stop feeling this way, but it hadn't changed. The truth was I missed him. I was having some regrets about the way I had ended things with him. I didn't regret telling him off for how he treated me, but I hadn't given him the chance to say anything. Maybe it wouldn't have made any difference in how I felt or the decision to distance myself from him, but now I wouldn't know.

It took me twice as long as usual to get home, which meant I was even more tired and hungry by the time I unlocked the apartment door. My cat, Veronica, greeted me enthusiastically as I closed the door and headed to the kitchen. She was a five-year-old gray-and-white cat with three legs and a hatred of men. We were a match made in heaven. I had decided to get a pet after a couple of weeks in the apartment. It had felt lonely being in the new place because I had been so used to Morelli or Ranger showing up whenever they felt like it at my old apartment. I'd considered another hamster, but I felt like I needed a pet that would interact with me, so I had gone to the animal shelter to find a cat. Dogs were great, but too much work. I quickly discovered that cats were made for lazy people. She had an automatic feeder I could fill once a week and it would put the food in the bowl at the designated times. She had a water bowl that I usually only had to refill every few days, and a litter box that scooped itself and only required me emptying a tray into a trash bag on occasion.

I gave the cat a few salmon-flavored treats while I stuck leftover pizza in the microwave. My new apartment was much nicer than my old one and I usually took a few minutes each day to walk around it in awe. I had been forced to be more conservative with my spending to make sure I could pay the rent, but it was worth it. I never once had someone appear unannounced at my door, the bathroom didn't look like the set of a seventies' porn shoot, and there was plenty of natural light that came in through tall windows. The kitchen had a bar, which allowed me to just have tall chairs instead of a dining room table that I would just throw stuff on and never put away. My bedroom wasn't huge, but the apartment made up for that with lots of closet space.

I kept thinking of Ranger the rest of the evening. I wondered what he was doing and if he missed me. Did the things I said to him make him think, or did he push them out of his mind as he left my apartment? He wasn't going to have to deal with me anymore, so why would he bother worrying about how he had treated me? I hadn't once seen a Rangeman vehicle following me or even giving me a second look. I occasionally checked under my car for trackers, but never found one. I figured he knew where I had moved after staying with my parents because Ranger didn't feel like he had lived unless he knew everything about everyone. I kept trying to push him out of my thoughts, but he managed to work his way in whenever I let my guard down.

I got a call from Mike Kowalski two days after my last session with Jill. He asked if I would be available for an interview the Monday after Thanksgiving and I agreed. Even over the phone, he sounded exactly as Jill had described him. He had a strong Jersey accent, which made me think part of it may be put on. He told me not to dress up too much for the interview so that the other people didn't think I was a mob representative.

I kept my interview with Mike Kowalski quiet through the holidays because I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. I also didn't want to freak Vinnie out just in case I didn't get it and he brought in someone else to do my job. I googled Kowalski & Sons Construction and learned that it had been opened thirty years earlier by the Kowalski father. He had retired five years ago and his youngest son, Mike, took over the business. They had bought out other companies in Vineland and Camden since then to "reach all of New Jersey", according to the blurb on the site. They advertised all aspects of residential and commercial repairs and remodeling along with new construction.

I spent Thanksgiving Day with my parents, Grandma Mazur, Valerie, Albert, and the four kids. It was controlled chaos as usual. Albert rambled on about his job and stuck his foot in his mouth so often it may as well have been an appetizer. Valerie talked about how great Angie was doing in school and Mary Alice had finally outgrown her desire to be a horse and now just wanted to ride them. The littler kids had brought toys to play with, but completely ignored them and spent their time trying to break everything they could reach. I left first because I couldn't handle hearing my mother tell the kids to stop touching something one more time. I knew she wouldn't want me to leave, so I quietly told my father goodbye and snuck out outside. I practically ran to my car before my mother could come out to stop me.

I didn't go straight home, but decided to see where the Kowalski office was. I knew it was downtown on a small side street I had never heard of, so I headed through the quiet streets of Trenton to get there. I was surprised to find it only a couple of blocks away from Rangeman. I could sit in the parking lot of the construction company and see the seven-story Rangeman building in the distance. Kowalski & Sons was a smaller affair. It was a three-story brick building with a private parking lot. I saw a large warehouse across the street that also advertised being Kowalski & Sons. There was a large fence around it and numerous security cameras. While I sat there, I watched as a Rangeman patrol car drove by slow past the warehouse. It appeared Kowalski was one of their commercial accounts. I pulled out of the parking lot before they came over to inspect who was sitting there on Thanksgiving Day.

"I wish you were psychic," I told Veronica that evening as we sat on the couch watching The Barefoot Contessa. "It would help if you would bite me every time I started thinking about Ranger."

Veronica's only response was to keep purring. She wouldn't bite me, but she probably wouldn't hesitate to bite him if he ever showed up at my apartment. Not that I had any visitors. The only people to ever be in my apartment other than myself were the IKEA delivery people and my father and his friends when they came help me assemble my furniture. My mother and grandmother hadn't even been here. Nor had Lula or Connie. Connie had never been to my old apartment either, but Lula had. I had been here almost three months without a single visitor. I had invited people to come over, but they had always had something else to do.

I had gotten to know my neighbors, which was a relief. There was a young couple in their late-twenties who lived across the hall. They both worked in healthcare so they would leave and come home at odd hours. Another couple lived next door to me. They were about my age and were expecting their first child. They only had a few more months on their lease before they would be moving out. There was a single guy who lived next door to me, but he mostly kept to himself. I knew his name was Keith, but rarely saw him. He worked from home and didn't seem to go out much. I didn't spend much time in the community room on the first floor, but on the couple of occasions I had gone in there, it had been filled with people about ten years younger than me. It gave off hook-up vibes, which I wasn't interested in. The gym was nice and where I followed the plan Jill had created for me. I was definitely stronger and my muscles were more defined. I hadn't lost weight but had dropped a clothing size from toning up.

I left my apartment Monday morning in plenty of time to deal with the post-holiday traffic as everyone went back to work. I had put on a pair of black dress pants with a gray V-neck sweater and black ballet flats and pulled my hair back in a ponytail, since it hadn't been willing to cooperate that day. I didn't consider myself overly dressed up, but still felt like I needed to make a good impression during an interview.

"Any advice for meeting your brother?" I asked Jill as I made my way downtown.

"Be yourself, and don't be afraid of being direct. He's going to want to see who you really are in your interview so he knows you can put up with him and the bridge trolls he employs," she said, her voice filling the car through the speakers.

"Sounds like a fun place," I commented. "Is it much different from when your father ran the place?"

"Nope, which is a big part of the problem. Mike's view of the world hasn't progressed past 1982. He still calls women broads."

I wrinkled my nose. "Yuck."

I arrived at the construction office five minutes early. I checked my hair and makeup and headed inside.

"I'm here to meet with Mr. Kowalski," I said to a receptionist on the first floor. She looked to be in her late-seventies' with a hair style similar to my Grandma Mazur's.

"And your name?" she asked sweetly. I gave it to her and she pressed a button on her phone.

"There's a Stephanie Plum here to meet with Mike," she said slowly, as though reading the words from an unfamiliar script. She nodded and hung up the phone. "You can take the elevator or the stairs up to the third floor. His assistant with help you."

I took the elevator and arrived on the third floor within seconds. It opened to a reception area with a few chairs and tables. A water cooler sat next to a small countertop with a coffee bar. There was a long hallway to the left that showed a few doors. A large, crowded desk sat off to once side of the reception area next to a closed door. A woman in her mid-fifties sat there typing on a computer. She had short brown hair and wore a green, long-sleeved shirt that had the company name on the left side.

"Hello, Stephanie," the woman said as she stood up to greet me. "I'm Sara, Mike's wife. I'm filling in here while he interviews new hires. Jill said a lot of great things about you."

"Thanks," I said. "She's a good friend."

Sara walked over to the closed door and opened it. "Stephanie's here," she said to the man sitting in the room.

"Send her in," Mike Kowalski said.

Sara stood aside and I passed her to go into a large office. The walls were covered in awards from the Better Business Bureau and other local organizations. There were a few photos of commercial buildings that I imagined were built by the company.

Mike Kowalski was a big man around 6'4" with a sturdy build. He struck me as the kind of guy who would jump in on a project and start putting up drywall if he didn't think his workers were moving fast enough. He had thinning blonde hair and the same blue eyes as his sister.

"Stephanie, thanks for coming in," he said, shaking my hand with a grip so firm I thought I heard a bone crack. "Jill thinks you'd be perfect here."

"So I heard," I said, reminding myself to relax.

"What do you know about construction?" Mike asked, leaning back in his desk chair.

"Absolutely nothing," I replied. "But I'm a fast learner."

Mike laughed. "I like that. Most people try to bullshit their way through some answer. Have you ever managed an office before?"

"No, but I know I have what it takes. I'm pretty good on a computer and I'm organized. I have good problem-solving and people skills. I've watched the office manager at my current job for four years and learned a lot from her."

"Jill said you're a bounty hunter? Like Dog the Bounty Hunter?"

"I can legally carry a gun and I don't wear leather vests," I said. "But kind of the same."

"I'm sure you've put up with a lot shit doing that job," he said. I immediately flashed back to times I'd rolled around in literal shit.

"Definitely."

"Jill and my wife are always telling me I need to get with the times," he said, as though the suggestion were some vague theory. "But I don't care about political correctness. I don't care about pronouns and lifestyles and all that bullshit. I build stuff. If you don't like what I say, hire someone else is my opinion. You won't get as good work, but your feelings will be protected."

I shrugged. "Nothing is stopping you from having that view, but the problem is if you're coming off as misogynistic or bigoted, people are going to think about themselves, or their kids, siblings, friends, and they will go somewhere else because they won't believe you are working in their best interest because you think less of them for not being what you think they should be. They won't want their money going to the company where the owner calls them derogatory names or mocks them. On your website, you talked about wanting to be able to reach all of New Jersey. If you keep up that attitude, you won't even reach all of Trenton. I don't know much about owning a business, but I do know you have a responsibility to your employees and if you don't uphold that then you're going to lose them to the competition and eventually lose your business entirely."

I had never, ever, in my wildest imagination, considered speaking to a potential employer like that in an interview. But Jill told me to be myself, and this was me.

Mike studied me for a minute. "I am who I am, but I need someone like you to tell me like it is. You're right that I don't wanna lose my business. I wanna expand it. I already bought out two other companies and I'm in the beginnings of negotiations to buy out another in Newark, though I can't talk about it. I need someone who knows people and knows what they need. I go out on the sites some, but it would be better to have someone like you out there. You know what to say and how to say it without offending people. You also seem like you'll call me out on my bullshit and won't be offended if I or one of the other guys act like an asshole."

"I've rounded up criminals in Trenton for the past four years, and before that I spent three years selling lingerie in Newark. I can put up with just about anyone."

"That's the kind of attitude we need around here," Mike replied and he reached for a piece of paper that he then handed to me across the desk. "Here are the details of the job. Tell me what you think. I would want you to start at the beginning of the year. Sara said she doesn't mind sticking it out until we close for Christmas, then she can show you the ropes for a week or two."

The job paid $25 an hour, provided medical, vision, and dental insurance, offered five days a year of paid time off, plus two weeks of paid vacation for anyone who had worked there less than two years. After two years, you could earn an additional week for every two years employed with a max of six weeks per year. Company vehicles were provided for any work-related travel. The dress code was casual with company shirts required, but also had to meet OSHA standards due to going out on job sites which meant long pants year-round and no opened toed shoes. I would be given ten different shirts to wear with the company logo, five long-sleeved and five short-sleeved. It listed the extensive job requirements, including time spending running items to job sites or assisting with client needs. Hours were from eight in the morning to five in the afternoon with an hour lunch break. No weekends or holidays. The office was closed from December 23rd to January 2nd every year. It was slightly less money than I had been hoping for, especially not knowing what the cost of health insurance would run me.

"I want $30 an hour," I told him. "You've made it clear I'm going to have to put up with a lot of assholes, especially you. I may not be easily offended, but I'm still a human being who deserves respect and if I'm going to be speaking on your behalf to help keep you in business so you don't alienate at least half of the potential clientele, then I want compensated accordingly."

Mike laughed heartily. "Boy, you're a real ballbuster. You wanna come in here and say you need that much more on the hour than I'm offering?"

I leaned back in my own chair and crossed my legs. "Take me or leave me," I said. "But I think we could work well together if we can come to terms."

He took a minute, swiveling in his chair. "I'll offer $27.50 an hour, and if you prove as good as you promise, I'll give you the $30 after six months."

I smiled and nodded. "I can work with that," I said. I placed the paper back on his desk and hoped my hand wasn't shaking. Who the hell was this woman and where had she been hiding? I was negotiating salary like I did it every day.

Mike went reached for his phone and pressed a button. "Yeah, Joe, I'm interviewing for my assistant position, and I offered her the job. But pay is going to start out at $27.50 an hour and if she does well, then we'll increase to $30 an hour starting in six months. Type that out in whatever HR lingo you use. I'll send her your way in a few minutes to sign and get all the paperwork done."

"So I have the job?" I said, surprised. I'd expected to be told to wait for a call once all interviews were completed.

"Yeah, if you want it."

"Definitely."

Mike showed me back out to the reception area and told Sara he had given me the job. She seemed happy about this and agreed that it would make more sense for me to start after the first of the year. She would stick around and help me get familiar with the job before she went back to being a stay-at-home mother to their seven kids. I got the impression she regularly had to leave home to fill-in at the office whenever her husband ran off an assistant. I was shown to Human Resources on the first floor, where I filled out the standard forms. My health insurance would kick in after ninety days. I was shown the options for the different styles and colors of shirts I could choose from and I gave my preferences and size. I was given a copy of the employee handbook, OSHA guidelines, and a pamphlet on construction regulations in New Jersey. I was advised that it wasn't an exhaustive list but gave the general overviews. I also signed a noncompete clause saying that I wouldn't be employed or contracted by another construction company while I worked there and that I could be sued for sharing any information about the way the company operated with competitors. I had my picture taken for my ID badge and that, unless I failed the criminal background check, they would see me on January 3rd.

I left the construction office and went straight to the bonds office. Connie and Lula were already there when I arrived. Vinnie was in his office and the door was open.

"I wanted to give you a heads up that I've gotten a new job that I'll be starting after the first of the year," I said to everyone. "So you'll probably start wanting to look for a new bounty hunter."

"Goddamn it," Vinnie said, coming out of his office. "Why are you leaving?"

"Because I hate this job, Vinnie. It's terrible. I'm tired of it. I want something where I'm not chasing criminals around Trenton who then want to stalk me or kill me."

"Where are you going?" Connie asked.

"I just got hired to be an administrative assistant for the owner of Kowalski & Sons Construction," I said.

"Oh yeah, 'cause there's no criminals in construction," Vinnie sneered. "This is a fucking mess."

"Why are you complaining? You always say I suck at my job and I'm losing you money. Maybe you'll find someone better at it."

"But then I'll have to pay them more," Vinnie said. "At least you're cheap."

"What are you talking about? I get ten percent of the bond, not an hourly rate."

"Yeah, and most people demand closer to twenty percent of the bond these days. I was glad when Ranger quit. He was costing me a fortune."

My jaw dropped. "You've been screwing me over?!" I said, my voice going up a half octave. "I could have been making twenty percent of the bond?"

"No, you had no experience, so you got ten percent. Besides, you're family. And you blackmailed me into giving you the job."

I stood there, probably looking like a fish out of water for a few seconds before I picked up Connie's desk lamp and threw it at him. "You fucking asshole!" I yelled as he ran into his office and slammed the door shut. I heard locks click.

"I can't believe this," I said. "I would have demanded more money if I had known it was an option."

"He wouldn't have given it to you," Connie said, picking up the pieces of her lamp and throwing them in the trash can. "I've talked to him about it before."

"Well, I'm here," Lula said. "He can pay me twenty percent of the bond."

"Not a chance in hell!" Vinnie shouted. "You're an even bigger disaster than Stephanie."

Lula gave his office door the finger. "Why someone hasn't killed him is beyond me," she said. "Fine, I'll take the ten percent and do it myself."

Connie and I exchange quick glances. "I saw that," Lula said. "You don't think I can do it."

"It's not that," I said slowly. "You are sort of hot-headed. You can't shoot them unless they are trying to kill you. You'll go to jail."

"I know that."

"Then why do you pull out your gun every time someone calls you fat?"

"Because it's not nice."

"But I'm there to stop you. If you're doing this on your own, you'll have to show more restraint," I told her.

"I have all kinds of restraints," Lula said. "Oh, wait. You're not talking about handcuffs. You mean like impulse control."

"Exactly."

"I have that too," she said. "Just you see."

Connie made the sign of the cross. "I may also see if any of the Rangeman employees would be interested in moonlighting for us."

"Why are you trying to give away my payday?" Lula demanded to know. "You don't think I can do it?"

"I think there are some jobs that are even over your head," she replied. "How many times has Stephanie had to ask Ranger for help with a skip?"

"Not lately. Not since she told him to take his hot ass elsewhere," Lula said. "We've been doing a good job all by ourselves lately."

"Exactly. You haven't been out there alone. Besides, you do know that if you're going to take over as the BEA that you won't get your hourly rate anymore, right? You'll only get paid what you get when you bring me a body receipt."

Lula pouted on the couch while I looked over the newest skips. Nothing huge. I debated leaving them for Vinnie, but decided I wanted to get as much money out of him as I could before I left.

"You should sign on here as well," I told Lula as a I signed my name to the contract. "You need to learn how to do this part and I'll let you run point on these skips so you can figure out your technique."

"I can do that," she said, signing her name to the document underneath mine. "Let's go get some criminals."