The noise startled me, causing me to jump backwards in my chair. It wasn't so much the sound of a shotgun as it was the sound of a holiday cracker, or one of those exploding snaps you throw on the ground. My first thought was that it had been a bomb. I'd opened a bomb, and now I was dead. But I knew that wasn't true for several reasons. Number one, it has been my experience that when bombs go off, people from miles away know about it. And from what I could hear on the control room floor, no one seemed to be paying much attention to the goings on of my cubby. Not the kind of reaction I would expect from Ranger's men if I had just set off an explosive. Number two, for me to be considering the possibility of a bomb, I would have to be alive. Which means there was either no bomb at all, or that it was a dud. Either way, bomb zero, Stephanie Plum one.

And then there was number three: Five seconds after I opened the box, the searing pain set in.

I cried out and slumped onto the floor. My eyes felt like they were on fire, slowly melting down my face. I used the palms of my hands to wipe the gunk from my eyes and made a futile effort to call for help. My chest was tight and my throat ached, and I was having serious mucus-control issues. I felt the shuffle of boot-clad feet rushing around me, followed by a lot of yelling. A pair of thick arms secured my arms at my waist and half-carried, half-dragged me out of my cubby, through a series of doors, and into the locker room. There was the squeak of the faucet and a rush of ice-cold water hit me in my chest. I fought to pull my hands free, but they were secured at my waist. A free hand held my head steady, and pressed my face under the water.

"Easy, Bombshell," Tank said. "Easy."

The water was a mixture of relief and agony. I forced myself to open my eyes, even though the pain came back threefold when I did. I sputtered and strained and twisted my fingers in knots.

"Try and take in some air." I gasped for air and my chest seized. I coughed and gagged, choking on water while Tank coached me. "Smaller breaths. That's it. You got it. Good."

I sucked in a few small breaths and little by little, the pain my chest subsided. When the stinging in my eyes died away, Tank released his iron grip and turned off the water. Then he lowered me to a sitting position on a bench near the sinks and held open one of my eyelids. He nodded once and lifted the other. I blinked a couple times and the world began to come back into focus. I was cold and shivering, and suddenly very aware that I wasn't wearing a bra. I pulled a towel from a stack on the counter and wrapped my arms over my chest. Tank walked over to a small closet opposite the shower stalls. He pulled out what looked a large tackle box and set it on the floor. Then he brought out a liter-bottle of clear liquid, removed the protective seal and screwed on a dispenser cap, and tilted my head back.

"Saline," he said, lifting my eyelid. "It's uncomfortable, but it shouldn't hurt." Tank flushed out my left eye and then my right one, and tossed the empty saline bottle into the trash receptacle under the sinks. He closed the tackle box and said, "Calamine lotion should help with the skin irritation. We don't have any here, but I'll ask Ella to pick some up for you. Symptoms usually don't last more than an hour, so let someone know if you start to feel worse."

"It's not that bad anymore. Thanks." Tank dipped his head a fraction of an inch. "This sort of thing happen a lot?"

"Didn't used to."

I could read the lines on that one.

I reached up and pulled a couple paper towels from the dispenser. For some reason, I still had that mucus-control issue going on. "What was that, anyway? Pepper spray? It didn't feel like pepper spray."

Tank shook his head. "Weapons-grade CN is my bet. Tear gas. Standard government issue, but you can find it in any bargain-basement defense store. It's not life-threatening, but it stings like a bitch."

"No kidding."

Tank helped me to my feet, bracing me while I regained my balance. "You should go upstairs and take a shower. Throw out those clothes. They 're contaminated. I'll check in with Ranger and let him know you're okay."

I grimaced. "I don't suppose there's any way we can sugar-coat this."

Tank was quiet for a moment. "The building was just compromised. You know of a way to sugar-coat that?"

"How about we leave him a Hallmark card. One that reads, Look on the bright side, it could have been a bomb." Tank looked as if he was almost going to smile, but caught himself. Then he escorted me back through the control room and into the elevator.

I slid the key in the lock to Ranger's apartment and pushed the door open. Once inside, I dropped his keys onto the silver dish on the sideboard and kicked off my wet shoes. I took Tank's advice and tossed out my clothes, and then climbed in the shower. I dropped one of Ranger's tees over my head and relaxed on the bed. My eyes ached in a worn-out sort of way and a dull pounding was starting in the middle of my forehead. I slid my hand under one of Ranger's pillows and hugged it to my chest. Then I closed my eyes and listened to Rex spinning on his wheel in the kitchen.

I woke up and my breath caught in my chest. Either I was having an allergic reaction or Ranger was in the room. I rolled onto my back, praying for hives. Ranger was standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in his usual bad-ass black. His arms were folded over his chest, his left eyebrow cocked, his mouth set grim. I sat up and pulled the T-shirt down to my knees.

"Uh-oh," I said. "You've got that look." Ranger questioned me with his eyes. "The one that says you're about to throw me out the window."

"Too late for that," he said with a shake of his head. "Besides, I'm all of a sudden running low on black T-shirts. I should probably be conserving what I have left."

He was joking. Probably.

"You're mad."

Ranger leaned forward against the bed. "I'm not mad."

"You look mad," I said.

A hint of a smile danced on his lips as he said, "Babe, you've never seen me mad."

Gulp.

Ranger motioned me down to the edge of the bed. His expression was pained, concerned. "What happened?" he asked.

"I thought Tank filled you in."

"He did. Now I'm asking you."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "There was a package on my desk. It was addressed to me, so I opened it. There was a box inside. It was wrapped." Ranger motioned for me to go on. "Anyway, I unwrapped it, and lifted the top. There was a noise, like a bang. And the next thing I know..."

I trailed off at the end. Ranger watched me for a beat and then shook his head. "This should never have happened."

"I know," I sighed. "I'll be more careful from now on."

"That's not what I meant. This building is supposed to be secure. That package never should have made it to your desk." Ranger was quiet for a moment. "Walk me through this. What else was in the box?"

I sunk back onto the bed. "There was a card."

"What did it say?"

I shrugged. "Don't know. I didn't have time to open it."

Ranger nodded. "Get dressed. We're going downstairs. And, Stephanie?" I stopped halfway to Ranger's dressing room and turned to face him. "Wear a bra this time."

We stepped out of the elevator, and the control room went dead quiet. I had dressed in a pair of black cargo pants and a long-sleeved black tee, with a black nylon vest over it for warmth. The cubby had been wiped clean, my gun and cell phone stowed in the top drawer. The card was on top of my inbox. The box was gone.

I picked up the card and handed it to Ranger. "Here," I said.

He looked it over and passed it back to me. "You want to open it?"

"Not sure."

I hesitated for a moment and then took the envelope from Ranger's hands. I was shaking so badly the paper keeps slipping. Probably there wasn't anything in there but a Christmas card. And maybe some Anthrax. No, I told myself. Don't say that. I loosened the seal on the envelope and pulled out the card. I opened it up and two pictures fell onto my desk. One was of me and Lula, taken while in queue at the drive-through at the McDonald's on Lincoln. The other was a picture of a dead body, the head and hands removed. The timestamps on both were from today. I crashed onto my chair and looked at the inscription on the inside of the card. HAVE A NICE DAY!

"I shouldn't have opened that."

Ranger pushed the pictures back into the envelope and handed them to me. "You'll want to give these to Morelli."

"I will?" I handed the pictures back to Ranger.

"Yes."

"Any particular reason for that?"

Ranger looked at me for a second or two. "You're being stalked, Babe."

"So what else is new?"

"The police have another body to find. This isn't exactly the time to be withholding evidence."

I sighed and took the pictures back, and threw them into my drawer along with my gun and cell phone. "Fine," I said. "And I should let you know that Morelli called while you were out. He sounded grumpy. You'll probably want to put another man on the floor tonight."

"I don't like the sound of that."

I didn't, either. Morelli and Ranger were many things to each other. Friends wasn't one of them. Civil happened on occasion. Ranger thought Morelli was a good cop and a somewhat decent human being. Morelli thought Ranger was a nutcase who operated a little too far left of the law. They both carried guns and had tempers more volatile than nitroglycerin. Because of this I preferred keeping them at a distance from one another.

I opened my bottom drawer and pulled out my messenger bag. I shoved the phone and pictures into it, but hesitated at the gun. Ranger was watching me closely, so I threw that in, too. I checked the clock on my desk. Five-thirty. Quitting time.

"I don't suppose I could talk you into staying in the building tonight."

"No can do," I said, going through my bag to make sure I had everything, "I have plans."

Ranger folded his arms and leaned against the desk. "I could make you forget about your plans."

"I'm sure you could," I said. "But that's not a good idea. I'm supposed to be at my parents' house for dinner."

Ranger shook his head. "You're a masochist."

"Yeah," I said. "A masochist without a car. Give me a ride?"

We rode silently to the underground lot and got into the Turbo. I melted into the comfy leather seat and zoned out while he drove us into the Burg. Before too long, we were idling at the curb in front of my parents' duplex on High Street.

"Thanks for the ride." I shifted my bag onto my shoulder and reached for the door. "You're not just going to sit out here, are you?"

"That was the plan."

"Sounds like a sucky plan to me. You'll get cold. And hungry." Not to mention that the last time Ranger waited outside my parents' house, one of the neighbors had called and reported him as a terrorist. "You're welcome to come in, if you want."

Ranger's eyes darted to the living room window in front, where two Grandma Mazur-shaped eyes were watching through the blinds. He shook his head and tried hard not to grimace.

"Bad idea, Babe. Besides, I think the extra seat is already taken."

A flash of light appeared in the rearview mirror. Two headlights were approaching. They slowed and turned into the driveway behind Big Blue, and I noticed they were attached to a red Ford Expedition. The driver's side door opened, and Morelli stepped out. He threw a sour look toward the Turbo, shuffled onto the stoop, and waited by the door.

I met Morelli on the stoop.

"Jesus," he said at the sight of my face. I had checked it in the side mirror on the way. I hadn't thought it was that bad. Sure, I was still kind of squinty, and my cheeks and nose were kind of red. But it wasn't near as bad as the time Joe's Jeep exploded and my eyebrows got singed off. I opened my mouth to say something, but Joe put a finger to my lips.

"No," he said. "Don't tell me. I don't care what it is. I don't want to know."

"Actually, I think you might."

I took the envelope out of my bag and passed it to Morelli. He opened the flap and dropped the contents into his palm. He looked at the first picture and his brow furrowed. He looked at the second, and his jaw clinched.

Morelli sucked in some air and dropped the pictures back into the envelope. Then he folded it in half and shoved it in his back pocket.

"How did you get these?" he wanted to know.

"Off the record?"

Joe looked at me and his eye twitched.

"Fine." I blew out some air. "The abridged version it is. They were delivered, along with a package."

"What was in the package?"

"A bomb. Sort of. It was rigged with tear gas."

Morelli ran his hands through his hair, but didn't say anything. Then he went palms-down on the rail and nodded toward the Turbo. "Does he know about this?"

I nodded.

Morelli did some more impressive cursing.

"You're being targeted by a nutcase, and he has you starting bar fights and God knows what else." Morelli's grip on the railing tightened and he shook his head. "I really hate that guy."

"What's going on out here?" The door opened and Grandma Mazur poked her head out. She was all decked out in spikes and black vinyl. It took me a moment to take it all in. Hair spray-painted blue, teased into peaks and horns. A thick ridge of black eyeliner caked onto the tops of her wrinkled lids. Lips the color of gunmetal. She was wearing a bright red long-sleeved corset top pulled tight, and a black-and-gray tartan skirt that hit just above her knees. I stood with my mouth open until Grandma spoke again.

"Who's that in the car? That Ranger?" Grandma waved at the Porsche, her flabby upper arm jiggling in the cold night air. "He coming in?"

"No," said Morelli and I in unison. I glared at him, and he glared right back.

"Huh. Too bad," Grandma continued, "I was hoping I could touch his gun. You know, get a feel for it." God only knows which gun Grandma was referring to. "Oh, well." Grandma ushered us inside, taking Joe's coat and instinctively reaching for mine. "Stephanie, you're not wearing a coat. Why aren't you wearing a coat? And what happened to your face?"

"Tear gas," Morelli offered. Then he excused himself to make a call.

"You don't say?" asked Grandma. I shrugged. "Well, isn't that something. I never met someone who got tear-gassed before. Just wait 'til they hear this at the beauty parlor tomorrow. Except I'll leave out the part where you look like the Clamato guy. What's his name? Stewart French."

"French Stewart," I corrected. "And I would appreciate that. What's with the getup? Pretty glam for a Tuesday night."

"I'm going out," she said. "Sally's band's playing a rave tonight. I'm gonna be a groupie."

Dinner was more subdued than usual with the absence of Valerie and Albert and the kids. My mother made a vague comment about my face and excused herself for a quick tipple before bringing out the lasagna. Morelli's cell phone went off somewhere between the lasagna and the dessert. He opened it and checked the readout and then passed it to me. It was a text-message from Ranger. One word: TAG.

Morelli gave me a half-smile as he sipped his water. Then he folded his phone and clipped it to the waistband of his jeans. I excused myself from the table and made it outside just in time to see the Turbo make a left at the end of the street. In its place was one of the black Ford Explorers. I walked up to the passenger side and knocked on the glass. The window slid down. Hal and Bobby were in the front. The back was empty, except for a small arsenal of semi- and automatic weapons.

"You gonna fill me in, or do I need to call Ranger?"

Hal smiled. "I can tell you what we know. A blue Nissan Xterra was found abandoned half a mile south of the turnpike. Good chance it belongs to our boy. Ranger went to check it out."

I nodded. "Anything else?"

I knew there were probably several other things, but Hal wasn't about to divulge. He wasn't the oldest player, or the biggest or smartest, but he was smart enough to know better than to answer, and just big enough to keep me from pushing. It was getting cold, so I said goodbye and walked back to the house. Joe was waiting for me on the stoop.

"Looks like you've been left on a stoop again."

"Looks like."

Morelli relaxed against the door, hands in pockets. He peered over at the Explorer and shook his head. "The left tail light's cracked. I could pull them over on that and make an arrest for what's inside. Know why I won't?"

"You're cracked," I said. "And the reason you won't is because you know if you do, you'll spend the rest of your days on the force working traffic. Pulling over people with cracked tail lights and giving them tickets."

Morelli's eyebrows went up slightly. "Yeah, there's that. But the real reason is because it keeps you safe. Don't get me wrong. I don't like Ranger. And I sure as hell don't trust him. But he's put the fear of God into those men. I'll bet any one of them would rather chop off his own hand than tell Ranger he let you get killed." I suspected he was right about that. Morelli and I locked eyes for a moment. Then he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his coat. "Cupcake, you're shivering."

I tried to pull away. At least, I thought about it. But it had been a long time since I'd been that close to Morelli, I'd almost forgotten what it was like. Sure, we had fooled around a bit since we broke up. That was different. That was hormones. This was comfortable and familiar. Almost cozy.

Morelli dipped forward and kissed me on the lips. It was long, but light. No tongue, but a myriad of bells went off in the pit of my stomach anyway. He pulled away a couple inches and said, "I just got a call from the station about an abandoned SUV. It's not in my jurisdiction, but I want to check it out anyway. With any luck, Ranger will have left some evidence for the rest of us. In the meantime, I want you to be safe, even if that means you're with him."

He took a deep breath and pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. "I'm not going to pretend I like this arrangement. Ranger's a man with a motive, Cupcake. Whatever you think you know about him, you're wrong." I moved to interject, but Morelli continued, unfazed. "I'm through with the threats and ultimatums. You're an adult. You can make your own decisions. I just don't want to see you get hurt." He kissed me again, harder and deeper this time. Then he released his hold on my waist and made his way to his SUV. "Tell Ranger the blue-and-whites went out five minutes ago. And ask him about Auggie, if you get a chance."

Then he cranked the engine and backed out of the drive.

I shut the door behind me and relayed Morelli's message to Ranger via text-message. I left out the part about Auggie. Something told me that whatever Auggie was, it was probably off-limits. I waited for confirmation that the message was received and then carried myself into the kitchen. My mother was bent over the sink washing dishes while my grandmother put the leftovers in tiny disposable containers and stacked them in the fridge. I grabbed a dish towel and started drying the dishes already in the drainer.

The doorbell rang at seven on the dot and Sally bustled in. Salvatore "Sally" Sweet is six and a half feet tall, with a wild mane of dark hair and red roses tattooed on both biceps. He used to work as a school bus driver, but had to give that up once the school board realized his license had expired. Now he does event planning for the Burg social elite, like Grandma Mazur. So far this year, he's planned two sweet sixteens, one big five-oh, three baby showers, nine funerals, and four weddings (two of which were Valerie's). He's also the lead singer for a band called the Lovelies, and dresses mostly in drag. Today he was clad in a classy black suit, complete with monogrammed cufflinks to match his pearl drop earrings.

"What's with the pants?" Grandma said. "I thought the skirts helped you breath down there. Nevermind. Let's go. I wanna get my funk on before my heart pill kicks in."

Sally shook his head and gestured wildly with his hands. "I have bad news. There's been a mix-up. A big fucking mix-up. I've double-booked a gala with a rave. I have no idea how it happened, either. I was just-What the hell did you do to your face?" he asked me.

"Tear gas," said Grandma. "Ain't that just the coolest thing?"

Sally nodded in agreement. "Except you kind of look like that Clamato guy. Check you out!" Sally turned back to Grandma Mazur, giving her a spin. "Fucking fantastic!"

"I wanted to try the dog collar, but it kept poking me in the chin."

"Bummer."

"Fucking A. So what's this about a gala? I could go for a gala. I'm flexible. And Stephanie can go, too. Especially if it's one of them fundraiser deals. We'll just tell them she's got some sort of Asian flu and that's why her face is all scrunched up."

"It's a fundraiser for music awareness. The Midnight Gala. I'd signed up to do it pro-bono back when I was transporting the little dudes. It's going to be huge this year."

"I saw a movie like this once," said Grandma. "It had Merryl Streep in it. You should get her to play you if they decide to make a movie. She looks sorta like a man."

Personally, I thought Howard Stern was more of a fit. But then, Grandma did have a point.

I checked in with Hal and Bobby and the three of us piled into Big Blue, with Sally at the wheel. We pulled up to the rear entrance of a ritzy hotel on the outskirts of town and parked in one of the slots marked Reserved. I climbed out of the back while Sally helped Grandma Mazur out of the front seat. She had changed into a silver sequined number with a blood red shawl. Her hair was tame and curled. Still blue, but at least she'd done away with the gunmetal-gray lipstick.

We followed Sally inside through a side door and gravitated toward the kitchen. A small sandy-haired man caught Sally by the elbow and whispered something in his ear.

"What do you mean the fucking swans are fucking sweating? And why is he here?" Sally motioned to a photographer, busy reloading his camera. "Shouldn't he be taking the fucking pictures after the guests arrive?"

Sally rushed through a set of double-doors into the reception area, with Grandma and me hot on his heels.

"Not bad," said Grandma. That was an understatement. The area was huge, done up in rich primary hues. Several long tables were along one wall, ordained with large pearl centerpieces. The floor opened up into a circular ballroom, with a well-lit spot for accompaniment in the far left corner. A large round table sat in the middle, covered in what I suspected had once been an oversized ice swan. Now it just looked like a huge block of ice.

"No fucking way! Half an hour to show and it looks like the fucking swan took a fucking piss on the fucking tablecloth! Fucking fuck. Fucking fucking fuck."

Sally had one of the caterers carry the swan away, while another smoothed on a fresh tablecloth. Sally followed the swan. I dropped Grandma Mazur off at the bar and continued to circulate the ballroom.

"Stephanie Plum?" Bill Forbes was standing by a pool of purple silk in an area designated for the band. "I thought that was you. Are you here for the gala?"

I shook my head, no. "Security sweep at the request of the event planner," I lied.

"Ah, I see." Forbes wiped his glasses down with a pressed handkerchief and tucked it neatly into his pocket. "I spoke with Jimmy today. He said something that I thought might pique your interest."

"Go on."

"I asked him about Warner. He said Warner worked in delivery. But when I ran a search, I didn't find him listed."

Imagine that.

"It would help if I could speak with him," I said to Forbes.

Forbes nodded. "I'll pass on your message. And if I think of anything else, I'll give you a call."

I waited until Forbes had shuffled back to the band section and ducked out the back before the guests began arriving. The Explorer pulled up right on cue and I hopped in the back.

"Any word on the SUV?" I asked. Bobby looked at me in the rearview, but said nothing. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest.

Ranger was waiting on me when I opened the door to his apartment. I moved forward and noticed several small stacks of papers and file folders littered the dining room table. I perched on the edge of the table and opened one. I recognized it right away as the file on Erika Bartlett.

"I had one of the men bring the files up." Ranger brought two in two bottles of water. He passed me one and took a seat. "I want to go through these tonight. We'll be more comfortable up here if things run late. I hope you don't mind."

I shook my head and replaced the file. "No problem. Anything in particular we're looking for?"

"A connection," said Ranger. "Something that puts Warner behind the wheel of his boss's SUV."

I felt one of my eyebrows lift. "It was a match, then?"

"The registration came back under James Springs. A receipt shows it was supposed to be in storage until January. Never reported stolen. And we found casings under the seat."

"That doesn't make any sense. He's either getting sloppy or he's just not very bright." I paused for a moment. "It feels off somehow."

"I agree. Start with the Bartlett file. Make notes of anything abstract. I've also pulled some information on missing girls in the past two years. Probably you won't find much, but you might get lucky."

"How lucky?"

It had come out before I could help myself. Ranger's eyes pooled dark and his mouth curved into a devilish grin. "That depends. Wanna tell me what's in the bag?"

He gestured to the yellow Speakeasy bag at the end of the table.

"Oh, that." Ranger gave me a knowing stare. "That's a Christmas present from Lula," I said. "She thinks I'm not getting any."

Ranger stood up and pinned me against the table. He reached over, opened the bag, and looked inside. "Babe," he said, doing a bad job at not laughing. "That present's gonna be hard to top. You got any ideas?"

"I was thinking maybe I would get her Tank, but I'm kind of afraid to stun him."

Ranger's eyes flashed. "Good thinking," he said. Then he shrugged off my vest and kissed me back onto the table. His hand slid up my shirt and rested at the base of my breast, where his fingers drew little circles on the skin. We broke away just long enough for him to strip me down to my Victoria's Secret underwear. Then he reached in the yellow bag and pulled out the bottle of oil and tipped it upside down so that it drizzled across my midsection. Ranger ran his hands over the oil and it began to heat up. An electric charge ran straight to my doodah, and I moaned.

"Babe," said Ranger. He crashed his lips into mine as his hands began working slowly down, spreading the oil across my abdomen, down my hips, all the way to my...omigod!

We lay together on the couch for a while when we were done. Ranger's arm trailed the length of my body, my skin still glistening from the oil. After half an hour, we decided to get back to work. I took a moment to clean up in the bathroom, threw on Ranger's robe, and plopped down on the couch with the Bartlett file.

I fell asleep somewhere between one-thirty and two. Ranger nudged me awake at half-past-three, and half-carried me into the bedroom. Then he helped me out of the robe and lowered me onto the bed.