A/N: All recognizable characters belong to Janet Evanovich. I use them for fun and not profit.

Chapter 6

Bunchy arrived at our table and sat, uninvited, in the empty chair. He was looking at Lula as if she was the main course and it was way past dinnertime.

"Hey Bunchy," Lula said. "I hope you enjoy watching men dance, honey, 'cause it's just halftime. We got lots more charitable donations to make."

"That's okay," he said, "I got time." He looked at me and said, "How you doing Steph? It's been awhile."

I smiled lopsidedly, the left half of my face too numb to cooperate. He watched me try to balance my empty shot glass on a grain of salt and took that as an indication to order another round.

Tank suddenly appeared at Lula's side. "Is this gentleman bothering you ladies?" he asked, his eyes never leaving Lula. From his position he had a straight shot down her ample cleavage.

"Huhn. This gentleman," Lula said, "is my date. You're the only one bothering us, Tank!"

"Your date?" Tank seemed astounded. "Your date! You dumped me for a Fed?"

"A Fed?" Lula questioned. "You got it all wrong, Tank. My Bunchy here is a bookie."

"Your Bunchy is a Fed, Lula. A G-man, a Feeb, F.B.I." Tank's voice remained low but every syllable was punctuated with less and less control. This could get serious.

Lula's mouth was hanging open. She turned to Bunchy, "You're a cop? I don't do cops. I got a phobia about cops!" The lights suddenly dimmed and a disco version of 'Light My Fire' began throbbing through the bar. Tank reached down and removed Bunchy from his chair. He escorted him to the door. The PA system boomed over the music.

"Ladies! Direct your attention to the center stage. We are pleased to present the most gifted member of the Hose Brigade. The most talented dancing firefighter you've ever seen…Mr. Poughkeepsie!"

Lula sat in stunned amazement, murmuring over and over, "He's a cop. I kissed a cop. He's a cop." I sat in stunned silence, my mind reverberating with the news Ranger, Rat Bastard Numero Uno, had never left Trenton. Connie sat in stunned amazement, her eyes focused on Mr. Poughkeepsie's g-string while she rummaged in her purse for dollar bills. A fresh tequila shot appeared in front of me. After that, things got blurry.

Next thing I knew the lights were on and it was last call. Lula was MIA, but so was Tank so I wasn't so worried. Bunchy was hanging out at the door waiting for Connie and me. Apparently he took his chauffeuring duties seriously. I could barely walk, but with Connie on one side and Bunchy on the other I made it out the door and into his car. The cold air had a sobering effect, so by the time we dropped Connie off I was capable of speech. I watched as Bunchy escorted Connie to her door. They stood for a few moments in conversation and then Connie reached up and kissed him on the cheek before she went inside. It seems Connie didn't share Lula's cop phobia.

Bunchy helped me into the elevator and up to my apartment. He took my shiny new key from my shaking hand and opened the door. "Jeez, Stephanie. You might want to get some help with your drinking. I didn't know you had such a problem. Is that why the cop dumped you?"

I glared at him. "The cop did not dump me. And I don't have a drinking problem." I winced at the shrill sound of my own voice. "I do have a problem, though. I have a stalker. Will you check my apartment for me?" Bunchy, to his credit, became serious at once, adopting his FBI special agent persona. He pulled a gun from under his rumpled trench coat and entered my apartment, motioning me to stay behind. When he had checked that everything was okay he pulled me through the doorway.

"Tell me about your stalker. Do the police know?"

I shook my head, "Nobody knows except me, and now, you." My speech was slurred and I was wobbling on my high-heeled boots. Bunchy pulled out his wallet and extracted a business card.

"You're not making much sense tonight, kiddo. Lock yourself in good and call me in the morning. We'll talk then." He left and I carefully turned my new deadbolt, hooked the security chain and slid the floor bolt. I stumbled my way into the bedroom and stripped off my clothes down to my underwear. I reached in my purse and pulled my cell out. Without thinking I pushed the button. It had been over seven months. A connection was made and there was silence at the other end for a second. I thought voice mail would pick up.

"Yo."

I couldn't speak. My heart was in my throat and there was no room for air. I couldn't breathe.

"Babe?"

Suddenly air rushed back in my lungs. "You rat bastard," I said softly. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't do it. My voice was a tear-filled whisper. I disconnected and fell face forward on my bed, the alcohol helping me into a dark oblivion.

I awoke in the early morning, my apartment filled with the semi-light of a Trenton winter morning. I was tucked in my bed with the comforter snuggled high under my chin. My head was pounding and I knew with certainty I was going to be sick. I threw back the covers and headed for the bathroom kneeling in front of the commode, bending my head forward. Strong male hands pulled my hair back from my face and the scent of Bulgari wafted around me as I retched. I hadn't seen him in over half a year and he was now quietly holding my hair out of the way while I prayed to the porcelain god.

He never said a word, just waited patiently as I totally heaved all my pride down the toilet. He quietly rose and turned on my shower letting steam fill the room and then he walked out closing the door behind him. I peeled off my bra and thong and stepped into the steaming shower. I'd only gotten a brief glance of him but he seemed different. He'd been wearing the normal black t-shirt and cargos, but his hair was short, and his eyes somber.

I stayed in the shower, gathering my courage while my head pounded and the water cooled. Finally, I stepped out and began my usual morning ministrations. I was going to put off this meeting with Ranger for as long as I could. I needed to be sharp and in control and I was a long, long way from that.

When I finally opened the bathroom door I immediately smelled McDonald's french fries. A large order of fries and a coke were sitting on my nightstand. Next to them was a crumpled piece of black leather. I picked it up and smoothed it out, dropping it when I realized I was holding a g-string with 'Poughkeepsie' embroidered down the length of it in white letters. I reached out and grabbed a fry and sat on the edge of the bed. I was alone in the apartment. I could feel it.

I finished the hangover cure and waited for it to work its magic. I pulled my towel off and slipped back under the covers. I never slept naked. It was my Burg upbringing. What if my house caught fire in the middle of the night…well actually it had. If I'd been naked I might have burnt up while I looked for my robe. It was an adjunctive postulate to the 'not wearing holey underwear in case you're in a wreck' school of thinking. In any case, being naked in bed was a rarity for me. The last time I'd been between sheets with nothing on, Ranger had been next to me.

I thought of Bunchy's question about Joe dumping me. Joe didn't dump me. We'd dumped each other, both of us having a secret passion for another we couldn't shake. Circumstances contributed to Ranger finding his way to my bed so quickly after I'd left Joe's, but there was no doubt in my mind it would have happened eventually. It had all gone so wrong. I was still convinced Ranger had feelings for me and I knew I had strong feelings for him, but maybe we were just never meant to be. That would be hard to get over, but I'd already taken the first step and it was an irreversible step.

I got up and dressed, ignoring the frizz bomb that was my hair. I needed some alone time and decided not to go into the office. I picked up my McDonald's trash and my eyes fell upon the g-string. I was puzzled. I was pretty sure I hadn't been involved in its removal from the firefighter and I was totally sure I'd had my last experience with the Hose Brigade.

I wandered down the hallway to the kitchen to dispose of my trash when my eyes went to the foyer. Batman was slipping. It was one thing that he could get into my apartment when the security chain was on and the floor bolt locked. The truly amazing thing was he could leave and the chain would still be locked and the floor bolt still in place. Today, however, both were unlocked. My eyes dropped further and I saw a white envelope protruding into my apartment, partly stuck under my doorjamb.

I reached down and pulled the envelope dislodging it from the door. The familiar handwriting alerted me to what was inside. I ripped the edge of the envelope open and as I pulled the single trifolded sheet out something flittered to the floor. I bent to pick it up, gasping when I realized I was holding my business card from E.E. Martin. I hadn't seen one in years, but it looked like the real thing. Underneath the E.E. Martin logo was my name, Stephanie M. Plum, assistant buyer. The lower corner had my old office phone number and my old cell number. The upper corner had a partial fingerprint in what looked to be dried blood.

With trembling hands I unfolded the paper. The first thing I saw was my head photo-shopped on a picture of a woman's body wearing the very type of underwear I bought for E.E. Martin, a white cotton bra and white granny panties. The picture was in color and the body was riddled with stab wounds, the lingerie stained with dark reddish brown blood and the body lying in a puddle of the same. I dropped the card and paper and ran to the bathroom where I was violently ill. It was the first time my hangover cure hadn't worked.

It took Bunchy an hour to get to my apartment. When I opened the door to let him in he was holding a package. "I came as soon as I could. You sounded like you were really freaked out. What's going on?"

I looked at the brown padded envelope in his hand and began trembling uncontrollably. "What's that?" I asked seeing the bold handwriting on the package.

"I don't know. It was leaning against your door."

"Put it down," I said "and come with me." I took him into the living room disappearing for a moment to get the La Perla bag. We sat on the sofa and I told him everything I knew about my stalker, showing him each letter and the corresponding lingerie. I told him how expensive and exclusive the gifts were. I told him about my female 'cousin' who had delivered the La Perla bag and, finally, I showed him the letter I'd received that morning.

"Stephanie,' he said, "this is serious. The last letter here changed this thing from an expensive prank to a credible threat. You need to contact the police."

"I did," I said. "I called you, Bunchy."

He took my hands in his and stared at me for a moment before speaking. His eyes were a nice shade of green set in a wrinkled, weather beaten face that wouldn't ever be described as handsome, but there was kindness in his expression. Bunchy was fortyish, with hints of a surprisingly well-developed body showing through his ill-fitting suit. He might not be the one for Lula, but I hoped Connie gave him a chance. He gave my hands a squeeze.

"Steph, call me Bert. Bunchy is a nickname I'm trying to lose. I think you have a serious problem here. I know you're not with Morelli anymore, but maybe you should call him. I don't think this is a job for the FBI."

"I can't call Morelli. Things really aren't so good between us right now," I said, remembering I'd helped Mooch get away from him.

"Well, what about Ranger?" he asked. "He's not official, but I'm sure he's got the tools to investigate this."

"I can't call Ranger. He's sort of the reason things aren't so good between me and Joe. You're really the only one who can help me." Bunchy…Bert's eyebrows rose and he smiled slowly.

"Okay, I see your problem. I'll do a little snooping around, unofficially. I'll question your neighbors to see if they've seen anything, and I'll take these letters with me to see if I can lift any prints. I'll take the card with the partial and run it through IAFIS. That's the FBI fingerprint database. I'll take the package here and open it in the lab to see if we can pick up anything on it. For now, we're going to assume it contains the garments from the last photo. You keep a low profile and stay here. I'll come back later in the day to let you know what I've got."

He stood and I stood and threw my arms around him, giving him a big hug. "Thank you so much for helping me, Bun...ah, Bert."

"You need to repair your relationship with Morelli," he said. I was startled to hear Ranger's words of so long ago come out of his mouth. "It isn't a good thing to have an uneasy relationship with the law. Now Ranger, well, that guy is a different story. He's crazy and it probably doesn't matter if he likes you. If you got the money he'll keep you safe. But for today, stay close to home and I'll check in with you later." He left and I carefully locked the door behind him. It was going to be a long day.

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