A/N: Fanfic writers need reviews, like everyone needs oxygen. Leave me a breath of fresh air, please!

FIFTEEN

The next morning, I got up at 7:30, showered, dressed professionally, and did the hair and makeup thing. I pulled up to the CampTech guard booth at 8:45. My name appeared on the appointment list this time, so the little security bar went up and I got waved through. I parked in a spot labeled "visitor" and walked into the main lobby. A half-circle reception desk stood along the right wall, staffed by a young woman with short blonde hair and glasses.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm Stephanie Plum, I have an appointment to see the human resources director at nine."

"Yes, she's expecting you. Just take the elevator to the second floor, turn left and follow the hall to the end."

I followed her directions and soon found myself outside the door of Sharon Emerson, human resources director. The door stood open, but I knocked anyway. Sharon looked up from her computer screen. She was middle aged and her pant suit fit just a bit too snug on her body, forming a muffin top. Her brown hair, streaked with gray, had been pulled into a severe bun at the back of her head.

"Stephanie Plum?"

I nodded.

"I hope you realize how many strings had to get pulled to get you in here this morning. We treat our employees like family and we take their confidentiality seriously. I understand you already received George's employment file. I've been directed to offer you whatever other assistance you may need."

Miss Polly Sunshine clearly wasn't from the Burg, because there was no such thing as confidentiality there. "Thank you." I think. "I read over George's file yesterday. Were there any issues with George as an employee that perhaps never got reported to his file?"

"All issues are always addressed in the file. If there is nothing in the file, there were no issues."

Yeah, right. Not in this universe, I don't care how tight a ship you run.

"I was told I would have an opportunity to speak with George's direct supervisor and co-workers."

Sharon's lips pulled tight in a scowl. "That is correct. Follow me."

I moved quickly aside to allow Sharon to pass and followed her back down the hallway. We rode the elevator in awful awkward silence to the sublevel. The elevator's back doors opened into a huge manufacturing floor. Half a dozen different production lines working simultaneously made the roar of machinery almost deafening. Sharon pulled a set of earplugs out of her pocket and shoved them into her ears. She offered me nothing.

I followed Sharon across the expansive factory. Four or five football fields could easily fit inside the space. We finally stopped in the quality management section. Over a dozen workers were busy checking the stitching on fresh-off-the-line tents. A few pitched the tents, expertly erecting them and taking them down in a matter of minutes, over and over again.

A tall man with a full beard, wearing dirty-kneed khaki cargo pants and a green CampTech polo shirt, came forward to meet us.

"Charlie Keefer," he shouted, extending his hand to me.

"Stephanie Plum," I shouted back, shaking his hand.

"You should be wearing hearing protection," he shouted again. He pulled a new set of ear plugs out of one of the pockets of his khakis and gave them to me.

I ripped open the little plastic bag and popped the ear plugs into my ears and the background noise faded to a manageable level.

"I got her from here," Charlie told Sharon. He waited for her to walk away before asking, "So what you want to know about George Fortecelli?"

"What kind of worker was he?"

"Good. Showed up on time, did what needed to be done."

"Was he friendly with any of his co-workers?"

"It isn't like we can have office banter around here. He was social enough during breaks, but no one invited him out for beers after the shift."

"Never any problems? Maybe the kind you handled as his supervisor, but didn't report to HR?"

"Sorry, George really was a good worker."

"Do you know why he quit?" I shouted.

"He told me he wanted to start his own business. Said he wanted to help people and be his own boss."

"Did he work with most of these people? Can I talk to them?"

"Sure." Charlie led me around so I could question the other line workers. No one had anything bad to say about George, and no one seemed to know him beyond work. I thanked Charlie for his time and took the elevator back to the first floor, removed the ear plugs, and went back to the SUV.

I sat in the CampTech parking lot for a few minutes, trying to decide what I should do next. I had other skips to track down. Eventually I needed to decide whether it was worth my time to continue to pursue Fortecelli or just relegate him to the MIA category.

I decided I would give Fortecelli the rest of today, then devote the rest of my week to my other skips. Since I'd hit dead ends chasing after clues in Fortecelli's personal life, I figured I needed to go after professional leads. First up was Gary Lucas, the cop assigned to Fortecelli's arson case. I grabbed my cell phone and decided to pick Morelli's brain first.

"What's up, Cupcake?"

"I'm tracking down an FTA. Gary Lucas is the cop assigned his case, but it's arson, so I'm wondering why it didn't go to Marsh or Hansen?"

"Is this the Boulder Street fire?"

"Yeah."

"It was originally assigned to Marsh, but the arson division is a little overwhelmed right now. Hansen's wife just had their second kid, so he's out on family leave. When some city councilman found out the case would be backburnered, he came in and pitched a fit. So, Lucas took it as a favor to Marsh."

"Was the councilman Marcus Greenridge?"

"Yes. He's a pain in our ass. He's always sticking his nose into cases."

"How so?"

"Pushing for harsher charges, usually. But occasionally he'll ask for leniency."

"And does he usually get what he wants?"

Morelli sighed. "There's lots of politics involved. He's a councilman, and not only does he control those purse strings, but he also donates generously as a private citizen."

"So, is Lucas at his desk today?"

"Yeah. Should I give him a heads up?"

"No, I'd rather catch him cold."

I hung up and drove to the police station. I found Gary Lucas working on reports at his desk.

"Knock, knock," I said outside his cubicle.

Lucas looked up. He was a good ten years older than me, with balding hair and the beginning of a beer gut showing through his button-up dress shirt. Thanks to the Burg rumor mill, I knew he was recently divorced, with painfully large alimony and child support payments.

"Stephanie, what can I do for you?"

"I'm trying to track down George Fortecelli. I heard you took his arson case. Bit different from your usual drug cases, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but Marsh was overrun and we were being pressured to find the arsonist, so I did him a favor and took it."

"Was it Marcus Greenridge doing the pressuring? I heard he went with you to the bar when you served the warrant for the surveillance footage."

"For whatever reason, he took an interest in this fire. Turned out to be a good thing."

"How so?"

"We identified George Fortecelli pretty quickly, but couldn't locate him. His DMV address listed an empty lot. When Greenridge found out we hadn't made the arrest yet, and I explained why, he pointed me to an address a few blocks from the fire. Fortecelli was apparently staying with a friend, George Baresi. We made the arrest there."

"Any issues when you arrested him?"

"No. He came very quietly. Only time he got upset was when he heard he was being charged with felony second degree arson."

"It does seem a bit severe, considering the building was slated to be demolished anyway and Fortecelli had a clean record."

Lucas shrugged. "I originally filed it as a misdemeanor, but Greenridge pitched a fit. He went over my head and I got told to up the charges. I figured any lawyer worth his salt would plea it down anyway."

"Thanks for your time," I told him, walking away.

Morelli caught me before I reached the exit.

"Get anything useful out of Lucas?"

"Actually, yes."

Morelli glanced at my hand. "Are you even trying to get the rings off."

"Yes," I huffed indignantly.

He raised his eyebrows.

"Sort of." I sighed. "I'm out of ideas. Nothing works."

"Why don't you just go to a jeweler and get them cut off?"

"Wait, they can do that?"

Morelli rolled his eyes. "You didn't know?"

"Obviously not."

Morelli pulled me into an empty office, pressed me against the wall, and kissed me with a lot of tongue. "Call me when you get them off," he said, pulling away and walking out.

I tugged the wrinkles out of my shirt and fixed my hair before exiting as well. Leaving the police station, I decided to visit Councilman Greenridge's office. My curiosity peaked when Lucas mentioned that Greenridge pointed them to the apartment under Baresi's name. And Greenridge seemed to be the one really pushing for the book to get thrown at Fortecelli. It made me wonder how Greenridge knew about Fortecelli's alias and why he held such a grudge.

Marcus Greenridge had a shiny new office space downtown. It was on the ground floor of a large office building only a few blocks from Rangeman. Greenridge For Mayor signs hung prominently in the front windows. I breezed through the front door and found myself in a large open office. About a dozen desks dotted the floor space, where eager staffers busily fielded calls from concerned citizens, assembled campaign signs, and put together fundraisers. The back quarter of the office had been divided into private offices.

"How may I help you?" asked the young woman behind the desk closest to the door.

"I'd like to speak with Marcus Greenridge."

The woman clicked something on her computer screen. "His first available appointment is next Wednesday at 2pm. Does that work for you?"

"Actually, I was hoping to talk to him today. I only need a minute. It's about the fire last month on Boulder Street that destroyed a condemned building."

"I'm sorry, but Councilman Greenridge is all booked up today." She shot me a simpering smile.

On a whim, I concocted a pile of BS. "I understand. I just hope my readers understand. I write a crime blog. Maybe you've heard of it, Troubled Trenton? There's a dangerous firebug on the loose and I heard Mr. Greenridge was going to run on a tough-on-crime platform. But clearly I was mistaken."

I turned to leave and the receptionist called, "Wait! Perhaps the Councilman's last appointment ended early. Let me just go check. Please, have a seat." She indicated a very modernistic gray couch. "May I have your name?"

I had to think quickly. If I gave my real name, chances are I would be immediately asked to leave. My name and my antics were well known. "Stephanie Manoso," I replied with a smile and a prayer that she didn't try to Google me or my fake blog.

The receptionist flounced into one of the private offices and emerged a minute later, returning to her desk.

"You're in luck," she said with a genuine smile. "Councilman Greenridge has a few minutes available between appointments."

Imagine that. I walked to the office and knocked lightly on the door as I entered.

Marcus Greenridge sat behind a polished mahogany desk. In his middle fifties, his salt and pepper hair gave him an air of sophisticated maturity. He wore a tailored black suit, white dress shirt, and silver stripped tie. A fancy phone with about a million different buttons sat on the desk, along with a large touch screen computer monitor and wireless keyboard and mouse. A set of matching mahogany bookshelves sat against the wall directly across from the door. The shelves were filled with an assortment of richly bound books, awards, and framed photographs of the councilman with various other public officials and minor celebrities.

"Ms. Manoso, was it?" Greenridge asked as I entered. I could immediately tell from his expression that he recognized me. But if he didn't plan to call me on it, I planned to stick to my lie.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I was hoping to speak with you about the fire on Boulder Street last month."

"I'm not sure what I can tell you that wasn't already reported in the local papers. And the culprit was apprehended."

"He failed to report for his court date."

"Did he? Perhaps you ought to be speaking with the apprehension agent assigned to find him."

Touché. "Okay, clearly you know who I am."

"I do, Miss Plum. But I'm curious as to why you're here, so I'm not going to have you immediately escorted off premises."

I figured I might as well cut to the chase. "I want to know why you're so eager to see George Fortecelli behind bars? He burned down a crack house slated for demolition. That's a misdemeanor, at most, but you pushed for a felony charge."

"In a civilized society, citizens can't take the law into their own hands. Vigilantism can be just as dangerous as the criminals. There are some, of course, who would disagree with that. Some businessmen in the area who might benefit from such behavior. Wouldn't you agree, Miss Plum. Or is it Mrs. Manoso?" His eyes focused on the wedding bands.

I caught the subtle dig at Ranger and decided to let it go.

"So, you think Fortecelli is a vigilante because he burned down a crack house?"

"No, I think Fortecelli is an arsonist with a conscience. He can't control the urge to burn things, so he's eased his guilty conscience by torching places no one will miss. The problem is, it's only a matter of time before a firefighter gets injured or killed, or the place next door goes up too. The public deserves to be kept safe from him."

"Did you ever meet Fortecelli personally?" I asked.

"No. I saw the footage of him setting the fire on Boulder Street and his mug shot."

"But you helped point the police to where he was hiding? Not many people knew about his apartment under the name of George Baresi."

Greenridge's eyes narrowed. "I asked around at the Union Bar. It wasn't hard to find someone who knew where Fortecelli lived. I certainly hope you locate him soon, before he strikes again."

"I'm trying my best."

Greenridge gave me a cold smile. "I'm sure you are, but please be careful. I would be a shame for Trenton to lose an asset such as yourself."

I couldn't tell if his words contained a veiled threat or just an insult. Either way, I began to agree with the owner of the Union Bar. Marcus Greenridge embodied as slimy a politician as they came. I left his office and walked back to the receptionist's desk.

"Thank you so much," I gushed to her. "I really appreciate you being able to fit me in. My readers will be so happy to know Councilman Greenridge is fighting to protect Trenton. Mr. Greenridge said there is one more thing you might be able to help me with. He sees so many people, he couldn't recall if he'd ever met a colleague of mine. Do you recall if this man recently visited Mr. Greenridge?" I flashed her the photo of George Fortecelli I'd taken from his apartment. "His name is George Baresi."

The receptionist studied the photo for a few seconds. "I think so. The name sounds familiar, but it is hard to remember all the people who come to see the Councilman. Let me see if he had an appointment." She typed something into the computer and smiled. "Yes. Councilman Greenridge had an appointment with George Baresi on December 26th. If I remember right, he came in with a manila envelope full of photos."

"Thank you, you're the best. Have a good day."

I left and went back to my SUV, trying to process the information I'd just stumbled upon. Greenridge gave me bad vibes. He'd seen Fortecelli the day before he'd missed court and lied about it. Then he'd implied that Fortecelli had burned down more than one crack house, which was news to me. I needed to do some more digging. And for that I needed something better than Google. I need the kind of programs Ranger used.

I remoted myself into the Rangeman garage, then parked and took the elevator to the seventh floor. With my fist poised to knock, Ranger opened his apartment door.

"Tank called to say you were on your way up," he said, stepping aside so I could come in. "Did you eat yet? Ella just brought up a late lunch."

I shot him a playful smile. "Your mother would be disappointed. Another wasted opportunity to cook for me."

Ranger made a sound that might have been a sigh. "What will it take to get you to forget you ever heard that?"

"I'm not forgetting that, it's too good."

He closed the distance between us, piercing me with his eyes. "Everyone has a price. Name it."

I shook my head. "You're not going to intimidate me."

This time, Ranger definitely sighed. "I'm losing my touch. There was a time, not too long ago, where I could make you squirm with just a look."

"There was," I agreed, holding his gaze.

"When did that change?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. It just did, a little bit at a time, I think. Is that a problem?"

"It might be," he replied cryptically.

"I'm not going to tell anyone you know how to cook. You know that, right? I might tease you in private, but I know when to keep my mouth shut. You keep me at arm's length emotionally, so can you blame me for enjoying a little insight when it comes my way? Hell, the EMT's asked me your birthdate and the best I could do was tell them your age."

"Would you like to know my birthdate?"

I smiled. "I know it now. I read your chart at the hospital. I also know you're allergic to Sulfa based antibiotics."

Giving me a hint of a smile, he said, "Babe." He placed a light kiss on my lips. "Let's eat."

The single setting at Ranger's dining room table soon became two. The grilled chicken breasts, hot minestrone soup, and fresh baked bread provided by Ella smelled delicious. I sat next to Ranger and ladled soup into my bowl.

"You don't usually work through lunch," he commented.

"I feel like I'm getting more pieces to the Fortecelli puzzle, but still not enough to make a complete picture. I spoke with Marcus Greenridge just now. Is there a reason for him to have any animosity toward you?"

Ranger paused with his soup spoon half way to his mouth and I knew I'd hit on something. He put the spoon back into his bowl. "When I was getting Rangeman off the ground, Greenridge and I bumped heads. I needed permits to renovate this building and he didn't want to issue them. He didn't like the fact I'd have holding cells. And he really disliked the gun range. He seemed to be under the impression that I was a ..."

"Vigilante?" I inserted.

"Yes. Do I want to know how I got dragged into your conversation with Greenridge?"

"When his receptionist tried to pencil me in for next week, I fibbed and told her I wrote a crime blog and needed to speak with Greenridge about the Boulder Street fire. When I insinuated that I might write that Greenridge wasn't planning to take a hard stance on crime, an immediate appointment suddenly became available. I knew I couldn't give her my real name, so when she asked I told her I was Stephanie Manoso."

Ranger gave me a hard look. "You need to be careful using my name like that, Babe. Some places in Trenton, it might get you an advantage. Others, it could put you in serious danger."

"Well, Greenridge recognized me, so it didn't really matter. Though, he may think we're actually married. I think the wedding rings confused him. He believes Fortecelli is a vigilante, too. And implied Fortecelli's been involved in more than just the Boulder Street fire. He also knew where Fortecelli was living and tipped off the police. I asked him if he'd personally met Fortecelli and he told me he had not. When I asked his secretary, she revealed Greenridge had met with a man named George Baresi the day before Fortecelli's missed court date."

"So, you think Greenridge is involved somehow?"

"Somehow, but I don't have more than that. Could I use a Rangeman computer this afternoon to do some digging? I want to see if anything new comes up under George Baresi, and now I want to do some snooping on Greenridge too."

"You can use my office off the control room," he replied.