I woke up wearing nothing but a smile, the sun streaming in through the curtains. Sure, my muscles ached from yesterday's training session and my ribs still weren't entirely happy, but going multiple, pleasurable rounds with Ranger had a way of painting a goofy smile on my face in spite of it all.

I took my time with my morning routine, spending significant time exfoliating, shaving, plucking, and moisturizing in the bathroom. I tamed and dried my hair and, for the hell of it, used a styling wand to soften my usually tight curls. I did the makeup thing, applying two coats of mascara and, because I was being so extra today, a small amount of blush and eyeliner. My bruising had faded enough I'd been successful in covering it, and to top things off, my cut had healed to where it was nearly undetectable. Two points Plum.

I dressed in skinny ankle jeans, brown boots with a three-inch heel, and a silky, pale pink popover top. I examined my reflection in the mirror, trying to determine if the look would meet Lula's approval for "sexy." I was pretty sure it wouldn't, so I added some gold bangles to my wrist and some gold hoops to my ears. Hoops qualified as sexy, right?

I wandered out to the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee. I could see Ranger in his office studying documents, so I selected a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator and took it to him.

"Good morning," I greeted, setting the bottle in front of him. "Did you get enough rest?"

"Babe," he said, giving me a slow, full-body scan. I took this as a 'yes' and that he liked what I was wearing, but he'd rather see it on the floor.

"What's the plan for today?"

"I have some contracts that can't wait any longer to process," he said, pushing back in his chair and opening the water. "After that, no plans until we attend Lula's function. You?"

"I think I'm on target with work for Ximena, but I still have a ton of files to clear," I admitted. "Do you have a progress report on the files I handed off?"

"They've been cleared," Ranger said.

"Wait, really?" I said, disbelieving.

Ranger nodded.

"How is that even possible?" I asked.

"Babe, there is only one of you. I have a lot of employees, and we have a lot of connections on the street. The FTAs you handed off may have been violent or serious offenders, but none of them were particularly smart."

I took a minute to process that information, feeling a little disappointed in myself that I hadn't made more progress in clearing the files myself.

"Are there other files you'd like to hand off?" Ranger asked.

"Of course!" I exclaimed a little too happily. "Have you told Connie about the cleared files?"

"Not yet," he said. "I have a file of body receipts in my office on the fifth floor. You can take them to her today if you'd like."

"She's going to be relieved."

Ranger nodded.

"Pull the next batch of files to hand off and give them to Ram. He's in the control room until three o'clock today. It's Saturday, so in theory, you've got the day off. If you plan to do your BEA work, you can go out with me this afternoon or you can call Morelli. Ximena is still in Newark, and Lester is off today."

I leaned over the desk and gave him a quick kiss.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll go sort through my files. I'll see you in a bit."

I selected an everything bagel off the glass-domed serving board in the kitchen, smeared it with cream cheese, grabbed my messenger bag, and headed for my office on the second floor.

It was almost eleven o'clock by the time I had sifted through my e-mails, handed off a pile of files to Ram, grabbed the file of body receipts off Ranger's desk, and prioritized my eight remaining files in order from 'look for today' to 'maybe next week.'

I considered checking on Ranger to see if he was free to ride with me, but I decided against it. He'd had a long week, and he deserved time to himself—whether that time was to catch up on contracts or to detail the Batmobile. I pulled out my phone and dialed Morelli. He answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Long time, no see. What are you doing?" I asked.

"Is this a trick question?" he asked in his cop voice.

"No. I need a partner for today. I was going to see if you were available."

The line was silent.

"Joe?"

"I guess binge-watching Netflix can wait," he said. "What exactly are we doing?"

"Hauling in FTAs," I said.

"You mean getting shot at?" Joe said humorlessly.

"I hardly ever get shot at," I said. "And I got shot at already this week, so statistically speaking, chances are good we won't get shot at today."

"That's great news," he said, deadpan.

"If you don't want to go with me, just say so," I said, my voice conveying my annoyance.

"Do I have to wear black?" Morelli asked.

"I don't care if you wear a Mr. Clucky costume as long as I have another warm body in the car."

"Fine."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," I said, and disconnected.

I went to the apartment and assembled a peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich, which I ate standing over the sink. I washed the sandwich down with a glass of orange juice. I did a quick assessment of the items in my messenger bag-wallet, hair brush, lip gloss, pepper spray, cuffs, travel size hair spray, stun gun with half a charge, open files, two pairs of flexi-cuffs, a few stray bullets, and miscellaneous garbage. I threw away the garbage and added a handful of snacks from the pantry cupboard. You could never be too prepared, right?

I begrudgingly went into the closet to retrieve my concealed carry holster and gun, placing the gun at the small of my back. The gun was cold and uncomfortable, but I knew Ranger wouldn't be happy if I refused to carry it. I let out a sigh and dropped my blouse over my waistband, covering any visible trace of the gun.

I grabbed my messenger bag and the keys to the Mercedes, and I was off.

I pulled up in front of Morelli's house with the sunroof open blaring 90s pop music. He strolled out dressed in faded jeans, running shoes, a dark green t-shirt, and a blue and white plaid shirt unbuttoned in the front, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I knew the shirt was to cover the gun that sat at the small of his back. He opened the passenger side door and raised his eyebrow at me.

"What's the occasion?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" I said, failing to understand his implication.

"You're not dressed in your normal bounty hunter attire," he said, sliding in. "You look like you're going on a date or to girls' night."

"Oh! Lula's grand opening," I said in explanation.

"Is this really necessary?" Morelli asked, covering his ears and scowling.

"Sorry," I said, turning the music down and laughing. "I was having a moment."

"I bet," he said. "I wouldn't use to mind, but the noise really bothers my head."

"Since you got shot?" I asked.

He nodded. "I'm still figuring out my new normal."

"I'm sorry," I said. "That has to be tough."

Morelli shrugged. "Yeah, well… it could have been a lot worse. The fact I'm alive, walking around, and speaking are all fairly miraculous."

I swallowed hard. He was right. I could have lost him. Even if our relationship didn't work out—and even if I wanted to strangle him occasionally-a world without Joe in it would be awful.

I drove to the bonds office, and I parked the Mercedes next to Connie's Hyundai in the small lot behind the office. I'd usually park on the street, but I feared a door-ding on the new car. After the untimely demise of the Jeep, I felt overly protective of the Mercedes.

We entered the office through the back door and found Connie sitting at her desk reading the latest Star magazine.

"Good morning," I greeted. I poured myself a cup of coffee and took a seat in a club chair. Morelli followed suit, pouring a mug of coffee and sitting across from me.

"Hey," Connie said, a devilish smirk on her face. "Looks like you had a good night."

Morelli scowled at the implication, but I gave Connie a small smile, saying nothing about my night with Ranger.

"How was your date with Lester?"

"It was great," Connie said, fanning herself with the magazine. "If he keeps this up, I may burst into flames."

We both laughed, and Morelli looked like he'd like to disappear into the club chair. Morelli wasn't into girl talk.

"Did Lula invite you to her event tonight?" I asked.

"Yeah. Do you know what they've got going?" Connie asked.

I shook my head. "No clue. I'm planning to go, though."

"Me too," said Connie. "Lester agreed to be my plus one, so even if the grand opening sucks, the rest of my night is guaranteed to be good."

"Well, I've got good news for you," I said, pawing through my bag and retrieving Ranger's file. "All of files I handed off are cleared. I handed a second set of files off today, so we're well on the way to cleaning up this mess."

"Impressive!" Connie exclaimed, taking the file from me. "This is great news. Our accounts will be far less messy this month. Not that I have Vinnie breathing down my neck anymore, but we still have to keep Ranger happy and the business solvent."

"Anything new come in?"

"Nope, but I have been writing some bonds. Things are starting to normalize here."

I pulled two files out of my bag and showed them to Morelli.

"These are our plan for today," I explained, opening the first in my lap. "I haven't put any real effort into looking for these two yet, so hopefully they aren't too hard to haul in. The first is Chet Kirkbride, but the file says he goes by 'Boots.' Caucasian, blonde hair, in his forties. Wanted for writing some bad checks. Lives alone. Gives his address as an apartment over a dry cleaner on Stark Street."

"No doubt he's wanted for a lot more than bad checks," Morelli said, his tone dark. "I'm familiar with Boots. He's mob."

The look on Morelli's face let me know he had a history with this guy, but I didn't pry. I presumed the relationship wasn't amicable.

"That's right," Connie said. "If you catch him on a good day, he should go in without a problem as long as it's on his time and on his terms. He probably had some wet work to do on the day court was scheduled. He won't want to draw any more attention to himself than necessary."

"I guess that's good news," I said with uncertainty. "We'll check in on Boots, then I've got Alan 'Romeo' Lloyd. Twenty-six years old. African-American. Lives with a roommate in Hamilton Township. He was caught selling stolen merchandise out of the trunk of his Cadillac. He doesn't have a high bond, but it looks like he's had similar run-ins with the law in the past."

"Romeo hawks his wares at the 7-Eleven on Maple," said Connie. "It's a Saturday mornin', so he's probably doing quite a business right now. If you swing by late this afternoon, you might have more luck when it slows down."

"Let's do this," I said to no one in particular, shoving the files back in my bag and standing. I told Connie I'd see her tonight at the grand opening, and Morelli and I were off to hunt some FTAs.

I parked the Mercedes on the third block of Stark Street in front of Fong's Dry Cleaning and More, praying it was a nice enough car that the local 'entrepreneurs' would assume I was a drug dealer or high level gang member. These 'entrepreneurs' knew it was bad for the local economy to mess with drug dealers, and they knew it was bad for their health to touch cars belonging to upper echelon gang members. I'd had cars stolen on Stark Street before, and it wasn't one of my favorite things.

I scanned the second story windows of the building, noting that lights were on. It was possible Boots was home.

"Let's go knock and see if he's around," I said, shoving cuffs into my back pocket, plus pepper spray and my stun gun into my front pockets.

Morelli checked his gun, and I stepped onto the street, locking and alarming the Mercedes. We took the door to the left of the entrance to the dry cleaner and took the rickety, wooden stairs to the second floor. I knocked on the door to apartment 2B, with Morelli standing behind me.

Thirty seconds later, the door was opened by a blonde man with a beer gut wearing nothing but a condom. Beyond him in the apartment, a woman was sprawled on the couch wearing nothing but a purple lace bra. She was young, maybe twenty at the most. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she looked totally strung out.

"Hey gorgeous. How can I help you?" the man asked, looking me over.

"Hi, you must be Chet," I said.

"Friends call me Boots," he said, putting his hand on his hip. "So if you're not a friend, who are you, baby?"

"My name is Stephanie, and I represent your bail bondsman," I said, trying to avoid looking at his penis. "I wanted to check in to see if we could get you re-bonded and a new court date."

"I'm a little busy right now, as you can see," he said, gesturing to the woman on the couch. "But I'm willing to let you play with us for a while if you'd like, then we can work something out."

I could feel my lip curl back in disgust, but I tried to contain it.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'll have to pass."

"What? Your boyfriend doesn't want to share?" Boots asked, glaring at Morelli.

"I'll check back with you next week," I said. "So sorry to have disturbed you."

I turned to walk away, but Boots grabbed me from behind, pulling me tight to his body. Before I could react, he had grabbed my breast with one hand, his other hand rubbing small circles over my pubic area.

In an instant, Morelli had his gun drawn and pointed at Boots.

My blood ran cold, and I could feel every hair on my body stand on end as I felt his penis pressing into my jean-clad backside. His hands made once-pleasurable touches feel like torture.

"You sure you don't wanna play, baby?" he asked in my ear. "You're awfully hot for an old bitch. I'd fuck that."

"Let go of her," he said, his voice cold. "Now."

"Or what?" Boots responded as he violently grabbed my lady bits, making me cry out in pain. "You'll splatter my brains all over the wall? I'm an unarmed man. I never took you for the jealous type, Morelli."

"I'm not a cop anymore. I don't have to play by the rules," Morelli growled. "Now let her the fuck go."

Boots hesitated, apparently weighing his options, before shoving me in Morelli's direction, slapping my ass and taking my cuffs as a parting gift.

"Fine," Boots sighed, scratching his balls. "I'll just have to hang with…." He paused. "What's your name, baby?" he asked the woman on the couch.

"Melinda," she said quietly through her apparent drug-induced haze.

"I'm gonna fuck Melinda now. I'll save these for us to use later," he said, winking at me and twirling the cuffs on his finger. "You have a good day, Plum. I'll be seeing you," he said, slamming the door.

I nearly collapsed into Morelli's arms with relief, and he held me close.

"Are you okay?" he asked me, his voice soft and filled with concern.

"I'm fine," I whimpered. "He just scared the bejesus out of me."

"Me too," he whispered in my ear, stroking my hair. "Did he hurt you?"

I shook my head no. "I'll be okay."

"Do you want to file charges?"

"I just want to get out of here," I said, holding back tears that were threatening to fall.

Morelli hustled me out of the building and into the driver's seat of the Mercedes.

"Are you okay to drive?" he asked me, his eyes worried. "I still can't. I'm sorry."

I nodded, buckling myself into my seat.

I drove on autopilot out of the neighborhood, my brain in a total daze. Once I'd put the car into park, I realized I'd parked in front of Tasty Pastry bakery.

Morelli gave me a sideways glance. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I just drove. Now that we're here though…" I said, my voice trailing off.

Morelli gave me a knowing smirk, though he still looked a bit rattled.

I turned off the engine and grabbed my wallet out of my messenger bag.

"You coming?"

We went inside the bakery and waited in line behind two women I didn't know who were selecting an assortment of baked items from the case. Morelli stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the items in the case.

"Do you want anything?" I asked Morelli.

"I'd eat some Italian cookies," he admitted.

Once it was our turn, I ordered Italian cookies for Morelli, plus Italian cookies, two cannoli, a Boston crème donut, and a slice of lemon zucchini bread for myself.

Morelli gave me a look like corn was growing out of my head.

"I'm going to try mental health eating," I said. "Lula does it all the time, and it seems to work for her."

"You really need to see a therapist," Morelli said, crossing his arms.

"You're not the first person to tell me that," I said, rolling my eyes.

Morelli sighed, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration.

"How often does that kind of thing happen to you?" he asked.

"Mental health eating?" I asked.

"Not that," he said, clearly exasperated.

"A takedown gone wrong?" I asked.

"I already know that happens to you all the time," he scoffed. "I'm talking about getting sexually assaulted on the job. That's not sitting well with me." With that admission, he pulled a roll of Rolaids out of his pocket and popped two in his mouth.

If I was being honest, it wasn't sitting well with me either, but I had no desire to say it out loud. My heart was still racing, and I had a boatload of tears that I was refusing to cry dammed up behind my eyeliner. I had the overwhelming desire to sanitize my entire body with Lysol.

"Not too often," I said, placing two bottles of Coke on the counter in front of the cash register. I pulled my credit card out of my wallet and paid for my carb haul.

"Once is too often," Morelli said, putting on his cop face. "We really nee…"

I cut him off. "Can we please not talk about this?" I begged, my voice cracking.

Morelli looked like he wanted to respond, but he closed his mouth and carried our purchases to the car without a word. We sat in the car for some time, eating sugar-filled treats and washing them down with caramel colored high fructose corn syrup.

Once my heart rate had returned to nearly normal, I had decisions to make. Where to next?

Since it was Saturday, Connie would have closed the office already. We still had some time before Romeo might consider re-bonding, so that was probably out. Since I was in the neighborhood, we could ride by Dickie's office and house, but I wasn't sure what that would accomplish. At least now I knew he was in town, so that option did have some appeal.

"Ready?"

Morelli nodded, still wearing his emotionless cop face.

I pulled the Mercedes into traffic and, a few minutes later, we were idling on the street in front of the Law Firm of Fitch, Rhoads, and Orr. The building was dark and closed for the weekend.

"What's up?" Morelli asked.

"I thought we'd do a quick drive-by. I ran into Dickie yesterday, but I didn't manage to snatch him."

It was clear that news had caught Morelli off guard. He looked at me for a few beats.

"He's not dead?"

"He wasn't yesterday," I said, shrugging. I told him about the Avalos capture, and he listened intently.

As I finished the story, a white Jaguar pulled up behind me. I couldn't tell who was in the car past the dark window tint, so I locked the doors of the Mercedes.

"We've got company," I told Morelli, watching Gerwin Fitch step out of the car behind us.

Fitch was wearing a white dress shirt, tan chinos, tan boat shoes, and aviator sunglasses. His dark hair was gleaming in the mid-day sun, and if he didn't creep me out so much, I might have labeled him movie-star handsome.

I cracked my window a few inches, and Morelli sat at attention with his gun under his leg.

"So we meet again, Ms. Plum," cooed Fitch. "I thought we'd come to an understanding that you wouldn't return to my firm."

"Last time I checked, the street is public property," I said, being sure to exude confidence I didn't feel.

Fitch flashed a wicked smile that made my hair stand on end. "You're excellent at making a nuisance of yourself. Really, I prefer when women are seen and not heard. Who have we here?" he asked, staring at Morelli.

"This is my partner, Morelli," I answered, and Morelli gave a nod.

"Romantic partner or business partner?" Fitch asked. "Or both, perhaps? Sometimes we like to keep the lines blurred, eh?"

I gave him an annoyed stare to let him know I wasn't going to play his games, and he smiled.

"Well, I should be going. So should you," he said, propping his sunglasses on the top of his head. "Get out of here. I don't want to see you again. If I do, you'll regret it. That's a promise."

He dropped his sunglasses back over his eyes and strolled back to his Jaguar, climbing behind the wheel and pulling away.

"You're a magnet for assholes," Morelli observed, holstering his gun.

"Hazard of the job," I admitted, putting the Mercedes into drive.

"Well, you know how I feel about your job," admitted Morelli. "But I guess that doesn't matter much anymore. The irony that I'm now your enabler is not lost on me."

Morelli had a point I hadn't considered before, and I couldn't help but cackle.

"Can you name one part of your bounty hunter job that doesn't suck?" Morelli asked condescendingly.

"That one is easy. It pays the bills."

He looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. "Besides the obvious."

I considered the question again.

"Well, I set my own hours. And I can pretty much wear whatever I want," I said.

"As bad as it would be for my employment status, you should really give this gig up and stick with your Rangeman corporate work," Morelli said.

We drove across town to Dickie's house, where we sat at the curb observing. I wasn't sure what I expected, but no stone left unturned, right? After twenty minutes with no lights turning on, no cars pulling in, and no visible activity, I gave up and headed for the 7-Eleven on Maple.

"Maybe we should stop by the Handlebar later to see if Avalos is there," I suggested to Morelli.

"Is she the chick that shot at you?" he asked, cutting his eyes to me.

"Yes."

"And you want to pay her a visit at the bar where she works? Are you crazy?"

"No. I wanted to see if we could get any info out of her about Dickie. Plus, she was totally strung out when I picked her up. If she sobered up to work, she might be more cooperative."

Morelli looked like he wanted to pop more Rolaids. "For someone with what I believe to be a slightly above average IQ, you have a really shitty sense of self-preservation," Morelli scoffed.

With that, I flipped him the bird. He smiled in response.

"I'll get Ranger to go with me after Lula's grand opening," I said. "Are you going tonight?"

"No way," said Morelli. "My sense of self-preservation says to avoid it, and I'm going to listen."

It was just after three o'clock when I parked in the lot at the 7-Eleven. A guy wearing baggy jeans and a white ribbed undershirt had a lime green Chrysler 300 parked at the curb with a piece of hot pink poster board stuck under the wipers that read 'Romeo's Ragz.' A woman was browsing through items he had displayed in his trunk and on two folding tables he's set nearby.

"He's not very discreet, is he?" Morelli asked, unbuckling and opening the passenger side door.

"It looks like he's got a good hustle going on here," I said, slipping my messenger bag over my shoulder. "Let's go see if he'd accept a ride back to the court."

We ambled over to where he was parked, with Morelli holding back about six feet behind me.

"How ya doin', beautiful?" the man in homeboy jeans asked, the light reflecting off his diamond-embedded gold teeth. "I'm Romeo. I've got a lot of good stuff on hand for a pretty lady like you."

I decided to start by introducing myself. "Hi, I'm Stephanie. It's nice to meet you."

Romeo reached into his trunk and pulled out a slinky little black dress on a hanger. It had a boat neck and three-quarter length sleeves with a short skirt with a small slit. It was both classy and sexy, and it made me think of the woman I'd seen at the restaurant last night. I was immediately intrigued.

"You'll have to excuse me for being presumptuous, but it looks like you might have a date tonight with that big, strong man standing behind you. Perhaps I could interest you in something a bit sexier than your current outfit," he said, displaying the dress over his forearm.

"It's a nice dress," I said, reaching out to touch the ultra-smooth fabric.

"Nice?" he scoffed. "Honey, this isn't 'nice.' This is Badgley Mischka's summer line. 'Nice' doesn't cut it. This is fashion forward."

"How much?" I asked, my interest piqued.

"Fifty bucks," he said.

I raised my eyebrows. I knew the dress had to retail for at least $500, but I hadn't planned on buying a dress today. Sure, I could probably afford it, but it seemed unnecessary.

"Alright, forty, but that's my best offer," he said, twirling the dress around.

"Deal," I said, handing Romeo forty bucks in cash out of my messenger bag. In exchange, he handed me the dress.

I heard Morelli clear his throat behind me.

"What?" I asked, glaring at him over my shoulder.

"You know those are stolen goods, right?" he asked.

"What? These?" Romeo asked, looking offended. "I'm sorry sir, but you're mistaken. I have personal relationships with many of these designers, and because we've cut out the middle man, I'm able to get my clients outrageously good prices. The women of Trenton know to come find Romeo when their wardrobe needs updating."

"Yeah. Sure," Morelli said, not believing a word Romeo was saying.

I stuffed the dress in my messenger bag, feeling satisfied yet mildly scummy about the transaction.

"Actually, while I appreciate the dress, I stopped by because I represent your bail bondsman," I explained. "I wanted to see if now might be a convenient time to go downtown to reschedule your court date."

"Pfft, honey, I know the drill. I've done this before. You want to haul my fancy ass back to jail. No thanks!" he said, stuffing items from the table into his trunk.

"If now isn't a good time, I can come back later," I said. "I thought since it was getting toward the end of the business day, now might be good."

"Sister, you know as well as I do that court is not in session right now," he said, emptying the second table into the trunk. "A guy like me doesn't belong in jail until Monday morning. I've got better things to do than sit there trying to figure out who to dial with my one call."

He dropped one of the folding tables and shoved it in the back of his car.

"Could we schedule a time for Monday morning?" I asked. "Court will be in session then."

"Hell no," Romeo replied, dropping the second table.

"I'll sweeten the deal with a breakfast sandwich," I said, knowing it sounded pathetic.

Romeo fought to get the second table into the back of his Chrysler, but it wouldn't slide in.

"For Christ's sake, Stephanie," Morelli said, pulling a pair of flexicuffs out of his pocket.

Morelli closed the distance between himself and Romeo, and in two seconds flat, he had Romeo in the flexicuffs behind his back.

"What the fuck?" Romeo exclaimed. "You can't do this! I didn't give you permission to do this!"

"You failed to appear in court. You signed your rights away to your bondsman," Morelli said, shoving Romeo in the direction of the Mercedes.

"That's kind of harsh, Joe," I said, locking up Romeo's car. "I think we could have worked something out."

"Bitch, I ain't workin' out shit with you," Romeo said, trying to pull away from Morelli. "Let me go, you freak," he shouted at Morelli.

"Let's get this finished," Morelli said, looking annoyed. "I've got better things to do than this."