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

Chapter 7

I tried to do what Bunchy said. I sat and waited to hear from him and thought about Ranger. I cleaned the bathroom and thought about Ranger. I dusted the furniture and thought about Ranger.

The next hour I decided to take action. I lived in a building of senior citizens. There was no way someone got in and out of my building without being seen. I was going to question my neighbors. I called Bunchy and told him what I was doing. I found my bullets and loaded my gun. I stuck it in the back of my jeans and let my t-shirt hang loose, then I took the stairs to the third floor and began knocking on doors.

It was amazing, I thought, two hours, two pieces of Entenmann's and one kiss on the cheek later. Only one person in my building had seen anything or anyone unusual and he demanded payment to tell me what he'd seen. The kiss on the cheek came from Mr. Wolesky.

"Hey chickie," he said, "I thought you'd moved. It's been so quiet around here. You in some kind of trouble?"

"Yes," I said. "I have a stalker. Someone is delivering packages and leaving them at my door. Have you seen anybody?"

"No. No I can't say I have. Except for your cousin. I saw her yesterday. You two don't resemble much," he said, staring at my chest. "She's a looker alright."

"Mr. Wolesky, I don't think you know my cousin."

"Sure I do. She introduced herself to me yesterday."

"Who did she say she was?" I asked.

"She said she was your cousin."

I rolled my eyes and went back to my apartment. I called Bunchy to report the news to him.

"I'm on my way over," he said. "I've got a little news for you."

"Bring lunch," I said. "Cluck in a Bucket would be good."

"I'm doing you a favor today, Stephanie. Are you buying lunch?"

I sighed. "Yes, I'll pay you back. Get a bucket of extra crispy."

"That's Lula's favorite," he said wistfully.

Bunchy and I destroyed the bucket of chicken. My earlier queasy stomach was gone and I was ready to take action to find my stalker. After lunch, he opened a ratty black brief-case and handed a large manila envelope to me.

"Here are your photos. I made copies and I'm giving you back the originals, as well as an extra set of copies. There are only one set of prints on all these pictures and they're yours."

"How do you know they're mine?" I asked.

"You're a bounty hunter," he said. "Your prints are on file with the Trenton P.D. It's the law in Jersey. You remember you had to do that when you got your BEA license?" I shook my head yes.

"Well," he paused, and I knew I wasn't going to like what I heard next. "I called the Trenton P.D. and requested a copy be sent to the field office…official FBI business."

"You did what?" I moaned. "I'm well known to the employees of the Trenton P.D. You might as well have put the info on a billboard. Now Morelli thinks I'm in trouble with the FBI. I can almost guarantee he has already heard about your request."

"Yeah, I can guarantee it, too," he mumbled. "And there's more to tell here, Stephanie." Bert Bronfman was on my sofa talking to me. Bunchy, the inept, pretend bookie had disappeared. Bert was all business. I started to pay close attention to what he was saying. "We ran the partial print on your business card, and got nothing. But here's what's interesting. It's not dried blood on the card. It's red paint. The package I took with me contained underwear identical to what was being worn by the body in the picture and there were rips in it as if it had been stabbed. The red marks around the stabbed areas are also paint. No blood anywhere."

"I'm not getting this," I said. "Why would someone do that?"

"The guys in the lab think the picture is of an actual stabbing victim, but it doesn't look like an amateur shot. It looks like a case file picture taken by a crime scene tech. The FBI isn't officially working on this case, but if we were we'd try to cross-check female stabbing deaths in the area and see if we could match the picture to one on file, or find it on the Internet. It would be a tedious business and it probably needs to be done, but…"

"But what?" I asked.

"Stephanie, I had no choice. This is a police matter, and even though I was looking into it for you as your friend, I had to turn it over to the Trenton P.D. It would be unethical not to." I was starting to get that sick feeling back. I thought I knew what was coming.

"I called Morelli," he continued. "I've worked with him before and I thought I owed him the courtesy. He will send someone over this afternoon to talk to you. They will probably take the lingerie and the photos. I brought the stabbed underwear back because I think the police will be interested in them for sure. That's also why I made the extra copies. I thought you might want to keep them if you get Ranger involved. I'm sorry to do this to you, Steph. I know you said Morelli and you were on the outs, but I had to do it." He stood up and started pacing nervously and the more familiar Bunchy was back.

"Joe and I have been apart for almost a year," I said. "We hadn't talked at all until the other night. Things were pretty friendly between us until I scooped his FTA cousin right out from under him. I don't think he took that too well. He never did like it when my job inconvenienced him." Bunchy grinned as if the thought of Joe being inconvenienced was a pleasant one.

I got up and hugged him. "Thanks for everything, Bert. I'm grateful. Maybe the P.D. can catch this guy and my life will get back to normal. And thanks for getting me home safely last night. Connie and I appreciate it. "

"That's okay," he said. "My plans for later last night kind of got busted up. Stephanie, this may not be as serious as we first thought. This could be someone just messing with your mind and not someone that really wants to hurt you, but it's still a matter for the police."

"That's what I was thinking, too," I said. "I'd sure like to know, though, who is calling herself my cousin and why she's leaving lingerie on my doorstep."

I looked up to see Bunchy staring speculatively at me. "So Morelli caught you and Ranger doing the nasty," he said. "I have to say that's a pretty good reason for you and Morelli being apart."

My jaw dropped. Lula was a good secret keeper, usually. "I can't believe Lula told you that."

"Not Lula," he said.

"Connie?"

"Nope"

"Well then, who?" I asked, my voice rising in exasperation.

"You did, on the way home, after we dropped off Connie."

"I don't remember that."

"I'm not surprised." His grin made me remember, in spite of what he'd done for me today, I wasn't overly fond of this man. I had no memory of telling Bunchy anything. Dang that tequila.

"I don't suppose you…" I hesitated, then threw caution to the wind. "You wouldn't know how I ended up with Mr. Poughkeepsie's g-string, would you?"

He grinned again, "Yep."

"…Well?"

"Look, Stephanie, I've got to be going. My involvement here is strictly unofficial. It wouldn't be good for me to be here when someone from the Trenton P.D. shows up." I wanted an answer to my question, but I drew the line at begging. With as much dignity as I could muster I went to the door and held it open.

I locked the door behind Special Agent Bronfman, and thought, dang that tequila! I went into my bedroom and fell onto the bed in my thinking position. For once I didn't fall asleep. I thought. I thought about Morelli. I thought about my stalker. I tried to think about Mr. Poughkeepsie, but it only made my head hurt, and when I couldn't put it off any longer, I thought about Ranger. My mind drifted back to seven months earlier, to the night that was the beginning of the end for Ranger and me.

It was two months exactly since Ranger had stayed with me. Every night I'd prayed for his safe return. Tonight was no different. I was in the twilight, not asleep but not really awake either. I heard the faintest rustle of fabric on fabric. Electricity skittered up my spine. I looked up to see Ranger standing at my bedside.

"Where's the cop?" he asked.

"I have no idea," I said. "I haven't seen or talked to him since the last night you were here." Ranger unhooked his utility belt and dropped it to the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his boots off. His shirt and pants followed quickly and then he was in bed next to me. His arms went around me pulling me into his embrace. I rested my head on his shoulder and flung a leg across his body, dangerously close to his do-dads. He didn't flinch. I waited for him to make a move, to kiss me, to caress me. I listened to his slow deep breaths and I realized he was asleep. I turned in even closer to him and went to sleep with a tiny knot of dread forming in my stomach.

It was morning and Ranger was still next to me. I hadn't planned on keeping the news a secret. Good thing. The waves of nausea came crashing in with scheduled regularity every morning. I carefully slid out of bed and took a brief look at Ranger. He was sleeping deeply, his long hair fanned out on the pillow and framing a face that was noticeably thinner. It must have been a hard two months, I thought, and then there was no more time for thinking. I ran to the bathroom.

When I'd withstood the last stomach upheaval and the nausea had started to recede I looked up to see Ranger standing in the doorway. He was shirtless and shoeless. His cargos, zipped but not buttoned, rode low on his hips.

"Babe?" There was concern in his voice and on his face. I had no internal filter. I didn't even try to break the news softly. I looked up at him from where I knelt, eyes watering and nose running.

"I'm pregnant."

He reached a hand out and helped me to my feet. He wet a washcloth and handed it to me. I washed my face slowly using the time to compose myself. His arm came around my shoulders and he led me gently back into the bedroom where I sat on the edge of the bed. Squatting down in front of me, Ranger took my hands in his.

"Whose?" His one word question, uttered abruptly, hung in the air. I had a moment's confusion. I'd never considered he'd ask the question.

"Whose baby are you carrying?" His voice was soft and well modulated.

"Yours," I responded. "It's your baby."

"Not Morelli's?"

"No."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because that's what our fight was about. Morelli was upset. We hadn't ...well, been intimate in a month. I kept making excuses to stay away from him. That night he actually said, 'Put out or get out.' I got out. I came back here and went to bed. I woke up and you were here and it was suddenly so clear why I couldn't sleep with Morelli any longer. It's your baby, Ranger."

Just for a half second, just for the tick and not the tock, emotion rolled across his face. I couldn't tell if it was happy or sad.

"I'm sorr…" I started. He put his fingers to my lips stopping my words. Ranger sat next to me on the bed and wrapped his arms around me. He pulled me back and we stayed half-sitting and half-laying locked in an embrace. He turned his face into my hair.

I heard his soft words and felt his breath ruffle my curls. "Stephanie, I have to leave. I never meant to stay this long. I'll be back tomorrow and we'll talk." He got up from the bed and found his shirt. In a matter of a few minutes he was dressed and ready to go. I'd stayed silent. He turned to look at me and saw something in my face that must have given him second thoughts. He walked back to me and pulled me from the bed. He held me in a tight embrace for a few moments more and then he was gone.

Loud knocking at the door snapped me back into the present. I walked slowly into the living room praying a slow mantra of "Not Morelli please, not Morelli please." I looked through the peep-hole. It was Morelli. Sighing, I unlocked the door and flung it open, waiting for all hell to break loose. It did.

"Stephanie, what were you thinking? You called Bronfman. Why the hell didn't you call me?" He walked in and flopped in my good armchair and stared at me. It seemed natural in some way for him to be there. The last time he'd been in my apartment it was to find me in bed with Ranger. I wondered if he realized that. He stood and began pacing back and forth in my small living room. He turned and walked back toward me.

"Well?" He was waiting for an answer.

"I didn't call you," I said through clenched teeth, "because I knew you'd come busting in here and yell at me."

"Cupcake, I told you the other night that you were still important to me. Why would you think I wouldn't want to help you? And why on earth would you call an FBI agent?"

"Lula and Bunchy have been seeing each other so when I decided to call someone I chose him. I thought you'd still be upset with me because I stole Mooch." Morelli threw his head back and laughed.

"You did me a favor. I had him right where I wanted him and we had a nice talk before he was rebonded the next morning. That's a personal problem that I'm still working out. Terry says the whole thing was a misunderstanding and I'm listening to her, but I'm not yet convinced. But that's enough about that. Tell me about your stalker."

I spent the next hour showing Morelli the gifts and the accompanying pictures. I explained the letters may have arrived before the lingerie, but I wasn't sure as they weren't mailed and I didn't see them until recently. I showed him my Internet searches so he would understand how exclusive the lingerie was.

"I'll take all of this stuff with me," Joe said. "We will retest everything to see if we can come up with something. Who would have access to your business card from E.E. Martin?"

"I don't know," I said. "I emptied my desk into the trash before I left. I didn't even keep a business card for myself. My entire department was let go except for one buyer and the manager. I suppose either one of them could have a copy, but I can't imagine either of them saving it for this length of time and sending it to me now. When we were bought out by Baldicott they kept Shirley Blanco. She had more seniority than me. My manager Anthony Fenoglio had 'family connections' and he was given a manager's job at Baldicott. He's a nice guy and he always did a pretty good job in spite of the way he landed his position. I haven't talked to Shirley since I left, but I ran into Anthony a year or so ago. He and his wife were waiting for a table at the same restaurant as Connie and I. We all had drinks together. I haven't seen or talked to him since."

"Maybe it's a reproduction," Joe said looking at the card. He ran his finger over the dried paint half-fingerprint. "Be careful, Cupcake. And call me if you need me, anytime." He gave me a kiss on the forehead and left, taking all of my beautiful, expensive lingerie with him.

It felt good to have Joe back in my life. He and I were on the same page for once. We were friends. Now it was time to define another relationship.

I pulled out my phone and dialed. I left a voice mail. "We need to talk."