WARNING: Still a little angsty, with a little sexual content. Of course if you've gotten this far, warnings are probably no longer necessary!

Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money. Recognizable characters belong to Janet Evanovich. Song lyrics belong to Linkin Park.

oOo

Part IV—Somewhere I Belong

I wanna heal, I wanna feel what I thought was never real
I wanna let go of the pain I've held so long
Erase all the pain till it's gone,
I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I'm close to something real
I wanna find something I've wanted all along
Somewhere I belong
—Linkin Park (Meteora)

Chapter 33

The same day—Wednesday, December 17

"What do you mean, gone?" I asked Morelli, my heart leaping up through my throat pounding against the top of my head, threatening to blow it off.

"She left me a note. Hand written, her writing. It says, 'I can't do this anymore.' And she left her engagement ring and my house key. But her car is still out back."

I felt a bolt of triumph, instantaneously replaced by sick fear.

"Did you check with her family?"

"Yes, and Mary Lou. None of them heard a word from her all day."

"Did you try her cell phone?"

"She didn't take her handbag. Just her wallet."

Fuck.

"Let me do some checking and I'll call you back," I said.

I was still in my office, and I ran the recording back to the point where Stephanie left the house, zooming in on the taxi. I could see now that it wasn't her father, and the high-tech image was good enough for me to read the company name and cab number off the vehicle.

I called the cab company. "This is Ranger Manoso of RangeMan Enterprises. We have a missing person, possible abduction, who left home in your cab number 7485 at 1155 this morning. Could you please give me the drop-off location?"

"Just a moment, please," the dispatcher responded.

Silence for several minutes, during which I paced back and forth in front of my desk, praying a silent prayer. Dear God help me be strong, for Stephanie. Don't let me fall apart.

After eons a different voice came on the line. "This is Abner Sartorio, the night manager. Can I help you?"

I repeated my request, telling him it was a possible abduction and throwing in my Defense Department credentials for good measure, offering to fax them over.

"That won't be necessary. I know about RangeMan. You guys provide security for my brother's jewelry store. Sartorio's on South Broad. Just a minute, let me look up the log book…. Uh… 7485?… Uh… Pickup 11:55 a.m. at 387 Slater Street, drop-off 12:20 at Stark and Tyler. Fare 12.50 cash."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

One of the worst parts of town, the corner near the Stark Street Gym where Benito Ramirez used to work out before he was killed trying to break into Stephanie's apartment.

"I'd like to speak with the driver. Can you reach him right now?"

"He's off duty, but let me see if I can get him at home. Hold on."

Another few hours of pacing, and then he was back. "I'm conferencing in Pedro Gutierrez, the driver." Clicking and then the manager's voice again. "Pedro?"

"Si, I'm here," in Spanish.

I answered him in the same language. "Pedro, this is Ranger Manoso of RangeMan Enterprises. The woman you drove from Slater Street to Stark and Tyler around noon today has possibly been abducted. What can you tell me about her?"

"Ah, yes, I remember. Very pretty, classy-looking lady, skinny, curly hair, wearing jeans and a black jacket. Sad. She didn't make any sound during the ride, but when she paid me I saw the tears."

"Did she say anything at all while she was in the cab with you?"

"Just Stark and Tyler. I drove and she sat quietly. She gave me a big tip when I dropped her off, and she said thank you, very polite. That's when I knew she was crying."

"Did you see which way she went when she got out of the cab?"

"No, she didn't go anywhere. She just stood there on the corner and watched me make a U-turn and drive away. I kept looking in my mirror, not feeling quite right about leaving such a nice-looking lady in that part of town, but she never moved."

"Was there anyone else on the street?"

"Just a couple of hookers a block down Stark toward Comstock. One tall and Latino wearing purple feathers and black leather, might have been a guy, and one short, black, lots of cleavage, wearing a real fluffy gold-and-black tiger-stripe jacket and short red skirt."

"Is there anything else you can remember?"

"No, that's all."

"Thank you, Pedro. If you think of something that might help us find our lady, please call RangeMan." I gave him the number of the control room and hung up.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I dialed Tank. "Stephanie's disappeared again. She took a taxi to the corner of Stark and Tyler. Call everyone available and we'll meet there at 2030." I hesitated for a moment, then added, "Ask Lula if she'll come along. It's not that far from her place, and she might still know some of the neighborhood people."

I disconnected and then dialed Morelli back. "She took a taxi to the corner of Stark and Tyler. I've got a team assembling. Pull in everyone you can and meet us as soon as possible. We'll be there in twenty."

"How the hell did you find that out so fast?" Morelli asked.

"Got the taxi number from the recording off your front camera. Called the cab company. And after you rally the troops, call the phone company and see if Stephanie made or received any calls this morning."

"Already done. Waiting for a callback. See you in twenty minutes," he replied.

I had Vince pull a full-face view of Stephanie from the security footage from Morelli's house. It was from three weeks ago when she returned home from her last Princeton appointment, and she was wearing the same black parka as when she left today. Vince printed out several dozen 5x7s that we could show around as we interviewed people.

I also took a few minutes to print out a large-scale map of the area from the internet and mark it off into grids to help us divide the search area. Then I put on a heavy wool coat and tucked my hair under a black watch cap before climbing into my Cayenne and setting off to find Stephanie. Again.

oOo

Chapter 34

Luminous stars twinkled from a crystal-clear black ice sky, and a brilliant moon lit up Stark Street, disguising its destitution. Our breath created clouds of vapor that billowed and dissipated as we congregated under a flickering streetlight. I had a total of fifteen from RangeMan counting myself—Tank and Lula, Bobby and Lester, Hal and Ram, Manny and Zero, Vince and Woody, Cal and Junior, and Brett and Binkie.

Morelli had eight off-duty cops, including Stephanie's close friend Eddie Gazarra, Robin Russell, Carl Costanza and his partner Big Dog, Brian Simon, Marty Sanchez, Tom Bell, and even Picky Gaspick.

Morelli was clamped down tight, vibrating with fear or fury or a combination of the two, so I took control of the search team.

I explained the situation, describing the two hookers the cabbie had seen, and assigned each set of partners to a section of the grid, passing out copies of the map and photos. Their purpose was to interview people on the streets, visit any businesses that were still open this late, and knock on doors. Any leads, including names and/or locations for the two hookers, were to be reported immediately to me via cell phone.

I asked Lula and Tank to try to locate the hookers by using whatever contacts Lula had in the neighborhood. Because I'd remained sequestered in the office for the past four months, it was the first time Lula had seen me since before Miami, and she valiantly tried to hide her shock at my altered appearance.

"Sure thing, Batman." Lula's face and voice were serious. "We'll start with my friend Jackie. She's still working these streets, so she might know who the two ho's are."

She whipped out her cell phone and they set off down the street, leaving Morelli and me standing there on the corner.

"Did you bring the note?" I asked, wanting to see it.

Morelli pulled a plastic baggie from his pocket. It certainly looked like Stephanie's handwriting.

"The tape showed Stephanie leaving the house under her own power," I volunteered. "Did you hear back from the phone company?"

He was despondent. "Yeah. The only call in or out of the house all day was her calling the cab company at eleven thirty."

"How about her cell? Did you find it and check it for calls?"

"Steph doesn't have a new cell phone yet. She said she was planning to go to the phone store in the mall and get one, but she hasn't gotten around to it."

I was appalled and let it creep into my voice. "Do you mean to tell me you've been letting her drive around in that piece-of-shit Nissan alone without a cell phone?"

"She hasn't been driving it."

"What about her doctor appointments?"

"Her family has been taking her."

"Morelli, I've looked at the security camera footage. Her family hasn't driven her anywhere in over a month. She was driving herself for a while but she stopped. She hasn't left the house since Thanksgiving except for Sunday night dinners."

"What?! You're shitting me. She's supposed to be going to Princeton twice a week."

I let my voice go glacial. "You fucking asshole. You don't care enough to even check on your so-called fiancée. You don't deserve her."

His chin came up. "And you think you do, you fucking psychopath?"

I was considering whether decking him would be helpful or harmful to our search when my cell phone rang. Tank.

"Talk," I ordered, my eyes still holding Morelli's.

"Lula got names and locations for both of the hookers that were out there at noon. The one in the feathers and leather is LaShondina, no last name, transvestite who lives on Stark between Rose and Fountain, over top a video store. The other goes by Pussycat Princess, lives on Gordon Street."

"Outstanding work. Tell Lula thanks. You two see if you can find Pussycat Princess and we'll go after LaShondina. Call all the RangeMan teams with the intel, and I'll have Morelli call his guys, but for now they should remain on their grids."

I repeated the information to Morelli and he began making calls as we climbed into my Cayenne and drove down Stark. I pulled to the curb in front of the video store and we found the door that led to the upstairs apartments.

Nobody answered the first door. The second was opened by a stoned-looking guy wearing nothing except a huge pair of jarring flowered boxers that hung like a tent on his emaciated body.

"LaShondina? Sure, lives upstairs, 3C, but she wouldn't be there now. Spends evenings over at State and Warren. Lotta legish…" he stumbled over the word and regrouped, "legislators… want what LaShondina has to offer, know what I mean?"

We knocked at 3C anyway, but no response.

"Go down to the car," I said to Morelli. He gave me a look, knowing what I was about to do, but turned and left anyway, shaking his head.

It only took me a couple seconds to pick the lock, but there was nothing helpful in the apartment, just lots of extra-tall hooker clothes and feathered boas in all colors.

Minutes later we were at State and Warren. Nobody there. I parked at the curb just down the block and within five minutes a Lincoln Navigator pulled up and LaShondina swung out and strutted back to the corner.

We got out of the car and approached her.

"What can I do for you, officer?" she sneered.

I turned to Morelli. "Would you excuse us for a couple minutes?"

Morelli held both hands in the air, palms out, turned and walked back to the Cayenne.

I stared hard at LaShondina, letting her see all the frigid barrenness I could muster. "Do you know who I am?" I asked.

She nodded, her prominent Adam's apple bobbing up and sliding back down as she swallowed.

"We're looking for a woman, and we have information that you know where she is. You can tell me now or you can tell me later, in a cell in the basement of my building." I held out the picture of Stephanie.

"Hey, no sweat there, Mr. Ranger, sir. I saw your little woman, sure I did. She was on Stark today. She came down to Pussycat and me where we was just mindin' our own business and asked us where she could find some goods to do up. She offered a double sawbuck so we told her."

Oh dear Lord, I thought, she was looking for drugs. We needed to find her, and now, before she OD'd.

I kept my voice even. "What did you tell her?"

"We told her down to South and Oxford, Biggie and the Bear could hook her up."

"And did she go there?"

"Well now, Mr. Ranger, sir, I can't say for sure, but that's the direction she was headed."

I pulled a hundred out of my pocket and held it so she could see it.

"Anything else I need to know?"

"No, sir, told you all I know."

I handed her the hundred and raced for the truck.

oOo

Chapter 35

We were at South and Oxford in a matter of minutes.

"Wait here," I said to Morelli. "They all know you, and they're not going to talk to a cop. I'll call when I get the information."

He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but then nodded and settled back in the seat, pulling out his cell.

I knew Biggie and the Bear, having done some business with them during a large sting operation run by the DEA. When their supplier got picked up they never suspected I was in on it with the Feds. They were both convicted, but as low-level dealers they were back on the streets in a year.

As I rounded the corner where they dealt out of the trunk of their car I slowed to a saunter, shoving my hands casually in my pockets.

"Heeey, there, if it ain't Ranger, big bad honcho. What the hell happen to ya, man? Yaw look like shit." Biggie was a short but enormously obese black man who must have spent all his ill-gotten gains maintaining his hugeness. The Bear, on the other hand, was rail-skinny, jittery, always in motion. He'd gotten his nickname because legend had it that when fucking a woman he roared like a bear.

I gave them both the empty El Trucidor look. "I'm looking for a woman."

"Man, we got all kinds of women. What you looking for, man? Black, white, pussy, dick? We got them all."

"This woman," I said pokerfaced, holding out the photo. "She was looking for some shit this afternoon. Her old man's paying me to bring her back. I'd be sure to show my… uhh… gratitude, to anyone who helped me find her."

"Oh, yeah, man, we saw her. She picked up a bag and a virgin sharp. She had the cash."

"Where'd she go?"

"She lookin' for a place to party so we done sent her back to the farm."

"She still back there?"

"Ain't seen her leave."

I walked past them toward a large abandoned warehouse. The farm. The place the hypes went to shoot up.

I was so filled with anxiety that I felt physically ill. In spite of the acid-neutralizing medications I was still on, the acid bubbled up into my throat, bringing with it the acrid taste of bile.

It was pitch black and freezing inside the warehouse, and I pulled a penlight from my pocket.

Patience, I told myself. Exercise caution. You don't want to miss her in the dark.

Taking my time, picking my way, I turned to the right and began to walk the perimeter of the building, flashing the light on faces as I passed the sleeping addicts. They were slumped against the walls and huddled up against pillars, mostly unconscious, but my light elicited an occasional groan. On a night as cold as this there'd be some that wouldn't wake up.

I reached the back wall and turned left, my foot disturbing a rat that went scuttling away, looking for easy pickings among the shooters.

As I approached the other rear corner and was preparing to turn toward the front of the building again, a tremor passed up my spine. I stopped, flashing my light at the corner. A sleeping body huddled there under a filthy blanket.

I moved closer, muttering a prayer under my breath. I bent over and pulled the blanket back, revealing open, dead eyes.

My breath huffed out a steamy cloud of relief. Not Stephanie.

I still felt the vibration resonating across my flesh, and I turned, sweeping my light in a wide arc.

There.

Slumped against a pillar near the center of the room was a shape wearing a black parka. Not daring to hope, I swung the light up. Wild brown curls.

Four long steps and I was there, studying her, desperate to discern a faint rise and fall of the chest.

I touched her face with my fingers. Icy cold. I put my ear to her nose and heard a sound more beautiful than Bach or Beethoven, sweeter than Schubert or Chopin. It was faint, but there. She was breathing.

I opened my coat, picked her up in my arms, crushed her against my chest and ran for the door.

I don't even remember passing Biggie and the Bear, but I was at the Cayenne, pulling open the passenger door and shoving the keys at Morelli.

"You drive. Helene Fuld is the closest."

Morelli hoisted himself over into the driver's seat and started the engine. I cranked the heat as high as it would go and squeezed Stephanie against me, pulling my coat around us both, willing her to absorb some of my body heat.

"What the hell happened to her?" he asked as he careened around corners toward the hospital.

"I don't know," I lied, "but she's half-frozen."

At Helene Fuld I jumped out of the car with Stephanie and barked "Hypothermia" at the triage nurse. She took a quick look and gestured me into a small room, pulling heated blankets from a warmer and spreading them on the bed. I laid Stephanie down on them and the nurse swaddled her with more warm blankets.

By the time Morelli caught up with us, Stephanie was starting to warm up and her breathing was a little deeper. We replaced the cooling blankets with more heated ones and the nurse began taking vitals.

"She fell asleep in her car," I outright lied when the nurse asked me what happened. "She's on pain pills for a back condition, and they must have knocked her out." A look of shock harpooned across Morelli's face before he covered it with blankness.

I helped pull Stephanie's right arm out of her sleeve so the nurse could take her blood pressure. I was relieved when the nurse inserted the IV into the back of her left hand, keeping the warm blankets snug around her. It would be best if they didn't find the needle marks on the inside of her left elbow. The doctor came in and gave her a cursory exam, nodded, and told us she was going to be fine.

I took care of the insurance information and then sat with Stephanie for about an hour until she began to show signs of awakening. Morelli and I were on each side of her when her eyes opened, revealing all that blue. Her pupils were small, but not the telltale pinpoint pupils like when I found her in Miami. The single dose of heroin wouldn't have been enough to renew her physical addiction, although mentally, emotionally, she might crave more.

"Are you crazy, Cupcake? What the hell did you do?" Joe was in her face the minute her eyes focused on him. She winced and her eyes wandered to the ceiling and then to me.

"Babe," I said, framing her face in both my hands, trying to let my feelings for her show in my eyes. "It's going to be okay. Don't worry. Everything will be all right."

"Ranger," she slurred. "Take me home."

"I will, Babe. I'm going to go check you out right now."

I returned fifteen minutes later to find the nurse had removed the IV and Stephanie was asleep again. Morelli still had my keys and I said, "Pull the Cayenne up to the door. I'll carry Stephanie out in a few minutes."

He opened his mouth to argue and then seemed to think better of it, pulling the keys from his jacket pocket and stomping out the door.

The second he was out of sight I had Stephanie enfolded in more warm blankets and in my arms. I carried her down the hallway toward the back of the building and to the rear exit where Tank and Lula waited.

TBC