"You made the paper."

Ranger was already showered and dressed by the time I made it into the dining room. I tightened his bathrobe around me, taking the seat opposite his. He passed me the Metro section of the Times, which featured a full-color spread on the Midnight Gala. I was in the center shot, talking to Forbes, arms crossed and face scrunched in. Grandma was right. I looked like the Clamato guy. I passed the paper back to Ranger with a sigh and helped myself to an English muffin.

"Did you have any luck last night?"

Ranger's lips locked in a wolf smile. I tried to ignore the heat rushing to my cheeks and reached across the table. I pulled a yellow legal pad from the middle of the pile of papers from Warner's file and studied it for a while.

"Does this make any sense to you?" I held up the pad for inspection.

Ranger shook his head. "No. What is it?"

"My notes from last night."

"Babe."

I dropped the pad on top of the other papers and halved another muffin. "This is going nowhere."

"You're over-thinking it. What are you looking for?"

I shrugged and swallowed. "A link. Something to connect Erika Bartlett to Grayson Warner. I know it's there, I just have to find it."

"Wrong answer, babe," said Ranger, shaking his head. "You'll go crazy thinking like that." I questioned him with my eyes. "Remember what I told you the day we met. The how and the why don't matter. You're the where person. You find Warner, you bring him in. The rest is cop stuff."

Mental head slap. He was right. I had been more focused on solving the puzzle than on securing the prize. I felt like such an idiot. My time was running out and I was back to square one.

I let out an exasperated sigh and rested my chin on my palm. "So what now?"

"Do what you've been doing. Start over if you have to. The truck's yours if you need it. I stand by my part of the deal. All of Rangeman's resources are at your disposal. Use them while you can, because as of the start of business tomorrow, I'm pulling you off the case."

Then he stood, pulled me into him by the front of his bathrobe, and kissed me. A rush ran through my body, landing in a tingle down below. Ranger pulled away and I realized I had a handful of T-shirt.

"You think you can get away for lunch?"

"Not the kind of lunch you're looking for," said Ranger, "but dinner is a definite."

I nodded and released my grip, smoothing away the fingernail marks I had left on his shoulders. Ranger holstered his Glock and pocketed his keys. And then he was gone.

At just after noon, I was still sitting at the dining room table. I had decided to work from the apartment. For one thing, the files were already there. The fact that I didn't have to change out of my pajamas was also a plus. But the real reason I wanted to stay was the cake. Ella had brought up a three-layer German chocolate cake when she came to tidy up the apartment. I was already five slices down, with five slices to go. As it turns out, cake is conducive to research.

I looked down at my list. I had separated the sheet into two columns. One was information on the missing girls and Erika Bartlett. The other was information on Warner. The only thing common denominator was the hand in my freezer. I tried to push that out of my head and concentrate on the tangible evidence, like the pictures from last night. There was another body out there, which meant Warner was still around.

And stalking me, I added with a sick stomach.

My cell phone chirped on the sideboard. It was Grandma Mazur.

"Did you see it?"

No doubt she was talking about the paper. "Yeah, I saw it."

"Sally says it's fucking fantastic. Too bad you had to go and get tear gassed. The phone's been ringing off the hook all morning. That Elaine Minardi called and wanted to know when you got work done and whether or not you're going to sue. Said you looked like Farrah after her last nose job."

"Oh, for the love of -"

I stopped short while my mother and grandmother clamored over the phone.

"Is that Stephanie? Give me the phone. Let me talk to her," my mother was saying.

"Hold on," said Grandma Mazur. "Your mother wants to talk."

"Has she been tippling?" I asked.

My mother was already on the line. "No, I have not been tippling. Where are you? You sound like you're in a tunnel."

"I'm at the office," I said.

"Are you coming to dinner? We're having meatloaf. And lemon meringue pie."

The lemon meringue was tempting. "Sorry, I can't. I've got plans."

"What kind of plans?" Hot, sweaty, sex-with-Ranger plans, I thought to myself. My mother continued. "Whatever it is, I'm sure Joseph won't mind. Just bring him with you. We have plenty."

"These aren't Joe-plans," I said. "These are work plans. Joe and I are broken up, remember?"

My mother went silent, and I could have sworn I heard the clink of a bottle. "That's ridiculous. You were together last night."

"No, we weren't. We had dinner, that's all."

She was quiet for a moment. "When did this happen?"

"Two months ago."

"Maybe it's a PMS thing," she said. There was a sloshing sound, followed by a gulp. "Maybe it's not what you think."

"It's not a PMS thing. It's an it didn't work out thing."

My mother sighed. "I don't get it. I just don't get it."

That made two of us.

"Well," she continued, "if you can't make dinner, maybe you can stop by for lunch."

"It's almost one. I've already had lunch."

"Humor me," she said. Then she hung up.

I showered and dressed and did a respectable job at the hair thing. Then I grabbed my bag and headed for the elevator. The doors opened, and Ranger stepped out.

"I thought you couldn't do lunch."

"I found a few minutes. You going out?"

I nodded. "I'm having lunch with my mother."

Ranger sighed. Then he pinned me against the door and kissed me lightly on the lips.

"You can be late," Ranger said.

"I'm already late."

"Then it won't matter."

He kissed me again, harder this time, and slipped his hands around my waist, pulling me against him. I heard the door unlock and he walked me backwards, into the apartment, and into the bedroom.

"What took you so long?" said Grandma when I arrived.

"Something came up," I told her. One thing in particular. And it had come up more than once.

I followed Grandma into the kitchen where my mother was ironing a dress I hadn't seen her wear since I was twelve. I dropped a slice of pie onto a plate and carried it into the dining room.

"Glad you could make it," my mother said, coiling the cord around the handle of the iron before stowing it away in the cabinet above the washing machine. She sat down and watched as I forked a couple bites of pie to my mouth. I recognized the look on her face. It was the same one she'd given me when my sister Valerie had moved back to Trenton a couple years ago and needed a job. I sighed and braced myself for the worst. Please, God, don't let anyone need a liver.

"What?" I asked thickly.

My mother and grandmother exchanged glances. Then my mother went in for the kill. "How would you like to save your sister's wedding?"

"Uh-oh."

"The quartet Sally booked cancelled at the last minute," said Grandma. "And we can't find anyone else to play on such short notice."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

A couple months ago, I had accidentally let it slip that I knew how to play cello. It was a stupid lie that ran amok up until the day the cello went kablooie, along with Morelli's garage and SUV. It hadn't been mentioned since.

I chewed my pie slowly and took another, larger bite. The more in my mouth, the longer I would have to keep it closed, I reasoned. Finally, I swallowed. Time to bite the bullet.

"If this is about the cello-" I started, but my mom cut me off with a shake of her head.

"We're not asking you to play," she said. "Joseph told us how nervous you are in front of large crowds."

I could've kissed Morelli.

"Then what?" I asked, scraping the last of the meringue off the plate.

"We want you to talk to Bill Forbes," my mother said. "See if he can't pull a few strings. If your sister bails out of another wedding over something like this, I... Well, I just don't know what I'll do."

I scrunched up my face and thought for a moment. "Wait a minute. Bill Forbes? The meat guy? What's he have to do with anything?"

"You know, for a big time bounty hunter, you sure don't know much," said Grandma. "Bill Forbes is more than a meat guy. Only keeps that place 'cause he can't sell it. Used to serve on the Board of Trustees for some symphony orchestra before moving upstate. Says here he's with the Garden State Philharmonic nowadays."

"Let me see that," I said, taking the paper from Grandma.

"So you'll talk to him," said my mother, wringing her hands nervously. "You'll talk to him, and Valerie will get married, and everything will be okay."

I shrugged. I had planned on stopping by his office, anyway. Probably couldn't hurt to try. Especially if that reinstated tipple-free nights in the Burg.

"Fine," I conceded, "I'll see what I can do."

My mother smiled. "That's wonderful. That's great. Now, about this thing with you and Joseph."

I pulled into the lot at B & S and parked in one of the slots directly in front of the main office. I stepped out of the truck and stifled a gag as the smell of livestock wafted up my nose. The bell chimed when I stepped into the office, and Kathy's head shot up.

"I'm here to see Bill Forbes."

"He's in is office," she said. Then she excused herself and retreated back behind the whit1e door. I took another long look behind the counter, but didn't find anything useful this time. Instead I took a seat in one of the orange-and-purple chairs against the wall, ignoring the dull throb which had started at my left temple.

The door opened and Kathy sat back down at her desk. Bill Forbes offered me his hand, and ushered me through the hall and into his office. The turntable had been moved to a space near the door. Forbes turned the knob back and the music stopped.

"Samson et Delilah," he said. "Sometimes I listen to it to break up the monotony of the day." He paused for a moment before adding, "But something tells me you're not here for a music lesson."

I shook my head, no.

Forbes sunk back into his chair and exhaled slowly. "I've already told you all I know about Grayson Warner. I don't know how much help I'll be."

"I'm more interested in your partner, James Springs."

Forbes sat up and straightened his tie. "Jimmy?" he laughed. "You don't think Jimmy's involved in this."

"Don't know," I said with a shrug. "Do you?"

He shook his head. "Absolutely not. I mean, Jimmy, he's a model citizen."

"Doesn't explain why his car was used in a drive-by shooting a couple nights ago."

I watched Forbes closely. He was toying nervously with a stray paperclip. He swallowed once, and asked, "Do the police know about this?" I dipped my chin in a nod and Forbes leaned back in his chair. "Of course you understand that anything I tell you is hearsay. It's just speculation, that's all."

"Of course."

"When Jimmy called me yesterday, he sounded... odd. At first, I chalked it up to stress. He's got a sick wife. Hasn't been sleeping well. Probably stressed about work. But the moment I mentioned Warner, he froze up. He seemed kind of agitated."

"How can I get in touch with him?"

Forbes sucked in some air. "I don't know. As far as I can tell, no one can. His cell phone's been disconnected. The hotel says he checked out yesterday."

"What about before, when he worked here. Did you notice anything suspicious?"

Forbes shook his head. "Nothing comes to mind. Like I said before, I have business elsewhere that keeps me away. I come in and sign some papers. That's it."

"The report I got said his car was in storage. What about his other property?"

Forbes shrugged. "He and Elaine sold their house a couple years ago. Too much upkeep. They rented a condo in Hamilton Township for a while. He used to have a rental property in Point Pleasant, but I don't know he's kept that up."

I asked Forbes for the address and waited while he jotted it down on the back of his business card. He handed it to me and stood, signaling the end of our conversation. I got to the door and stopped.

"There's just one more thing," I said. Then I explained the situation with Valerie's wedding.

Forbes grimaced. "I'm not sure what I can do on short notice, but I'll make a few calls and check in with you if I find anything."

Tank was waiting beside the truck when I exited the building. I walked over and the window slid down.

"You guys up for some B and E?" Tank nodded. "Good. Meet me at Vinnie's. We'll take the Explorer."

I parked the truck in the lot at the rear and entered the bonds office through the back door. Lula and Connie were in the front, sorting through two weeks worth of files.

"Uh-oh," said Lula, picking herself up off the floor. She straightened her orange snakeskin miniskirt and fluffed her 'do. "Last time you came in through the back, you had a price on your head. Shouldn't you be wearing Kevlar or maybe some sort of psycho repellent?"

"I don't think I need the Kevlar," I said, swiping a doughnut from the box on the counter. "The repellent might come in handy. Vinnie in today?"

Connie shook her head and dropped a stack of files in one of the tall cabinets along the wall. "Nuh-uh. Vinnie had a colonoscopy this morning. Won't be back until after Christmas."

"Good," I nodded. "I need to leave the truck in the back for a couple hours"

I climbed into the backseat of the Explorer and brought Tank up to speed. I passed him the address and he punched it into the GPS. A little yellow line appeared, marking the trail, and we took off south down Hamilton Avenue.

Tank caught my eye in the rearview mirror. "You think he's hiding out there?"

I wasn't sure he was hiding at all. "No," I said. "He's staying close. But I think there's a possibility Springs is involved in this somehow. I thought maybe I'd shake him up a bit."

The drive to Point Pleasant was long and quiet. Neither Tank nor Butch said much, except the occasional monosyllable to each other. I rested my head on the glass after a while and was prodded awake by Tank once we'd reached our destination.

The house was a small two-story Cape Cod with beige siding and a brown slate roof. There was a small covered porch on the front, with two bay windows on either side. The house was charming, but unkempt. The foliage along the walk had died away. The plastic flowers in the flower boxes were faded and frayed. I followed Tank and Butch up the walk. Tank boomed on the door a couple times and we waited for an answer. Nothing. He gave it another couple of booms and nodded to Butch.

Butch kneeled in front of the door and pulled out a small pick. He forced it into the lock, pulled it out, and twisted it to the side. The deadbolt clicked unlocked and the door swung open.

"We clear?" Tank asked Butch.

Butch nodded. "No security system in place. Also no power, no phone."

We searched the main floor first and found nothing out of the ordinary. The living room connected to the dining room, which was just off the kitchen. The bathroom and master bedroom were clean, the furniture still draped in large white cloths. The two bedrooms upstairs were empty, mainly used for storage. Books. CDs. A dressmaker's dummy and a sewing machine. The whole house had a damp, empty feel to it.

A door in the kitchen led to the basement. I followed Tank and Butch down the stairs, my heart beating in my chest. Tank led the way with his flashlight.

"Do you smell that?" I asked.

"Mm-hmm."

"God, that's horrible. What is it?"

"Urine."

I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep from spewing all over Butch.

The basement was half-finished, containing a small workout area, mud room, and tiled laundry room. There was a door to the right. It was locked.

"No use raking that one," said Butch, taking a few steps back. He gave it a swift kick and the door flew open.

It was a small room, about 10'x10', with cinderblock walls, exposed pipes, and a poured concrete floor. A workbench ran across one side of the room. Various tools and gadgets were secured to the adjacent walls. In the far corner rested a mattress, blood- and urine-stained. Tank moved the flashlight across the room, stopping at a row of pictures duct taped to the wall. There were seven of them in total. Four I recognized from the print-off of missing girls Ranger had given me. One of those was Erika Bartlett. Two I didn't recognize. One was of me.

"I think I'm going to be sick," I said quietly.

Tank pulled the pictures off the walls and scanned the area for anything else worth taking. Then he turned back to Butch and said, "We're done here."

I spent the time on the drive back looking through the pictures Tank had confiscated from the house in Point Pleasant. Tank's cell phone rang and I eyed him closely as he flipped it open. I could tell by his tone that it was Ranger. Tank made a few noncommittal sounds and glanced briefly in his rearview mirror. Then he said, "Got it," and disconnected. He yanked the steering wheel sharply to the left and made a U-turn back down Hamilton Ave, away from the bond office.

I braced myself against the door and straightened up again. "Where are we going?"

"Rangeman." One word. That's it. No explanation. Not that I'd expected much of one.

"Turn around. I left the truck at Vinnie's."

Tank shook his head. "Ranger will send someone for the truck. Right now he wants you back at the office."

"Why?"

Tank threw me a look, but said nothing.

I felt my heart begin to beat rapidly in my chest, and I clinched my teeth to keep my head from rotating a complete three-sixty. No way. No fucking way. I looked at the door handle and wondered if I'd be able to jump out without getting too badly broken up. Probably not. Besides, I was sure Tank had enabled the childproof locks again.

We pulled into the underground lot and I stalked to the elevator. The doors opened and I punched five, not waiting for Butch and Tank to join. They could take the stairs.

Ranger spotted me from across the control room and sidled over. "Upstairs," he said, gently pushing me back into the elevator. The doors closed, and the car began to move silently. I pressed the Stop button and Ranger looked over.

"What the hell are you trying to pull?" I was standing, hands on hips, facing him. He was giving me an impenetrable gaze. "We had a deal."

"Deal's off."

He moved to release the hold on the elevator and I smacked his hand away. "Like hell it is!"

He threw me an exasperated look and pushed me back against the wall, holding me steady with one arm while the other traveled down my waist to the gun on my hip. I hated when he did this. I was already pissed off. Now I was kind of turned on, too. Not sure which was winning out. Ranger pulled the Sig off my hip and checked it.

"Your gun's not loaded, babe," he said. "That was a contingency to our agreement."

He had a point. So what? "Great. You found a loophole." Ranger handed the gun back to me and released the hold on the elevator. The doors opened on the seventh floor and he guided me into his apartment.

"Morelli called. They found the body in a dumpster near the bar on L Street. I'm taking a team to check it out. I expect you to stay here until I get back. Understand?"

I stared at him and said nothing.

Ranger sighed and shook his head. He retreated into his bedroom and came out shortly after, securing a gun to his side.

"I don't want you pulling anything this time," he said. "You get hungry, call Ella. You get bored, watch TV. I've given orders to have a guard by the door at all times. They are to detain you by any means necessary until I get back."

"Is that a threat?"

Ranger studied me closely. "Not unless you make it one."

Ranger moved forward and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I turned away and he let his hand fall by his side. Then I heard the door open and close, and he was gone.