Finger Lickin' Fifteen by Janet Evanovich Page A

to my building, parked, and limped to my apartment. I flipped the light on, locked the door behind me, and said hello to Rex. Rex was working up a sweat running on his wheel, beady black eyes blazing bright. I dropped a couple raisins into his cage and my phone rang.
    “Myra Baronowski’s daughter has a good job in the bank,” my mother said. “And Margaret Beedle’s daughter is an accountant. She works in an office like a normal human being. Why do I have a daughter who drags aroused men through funeral parlors? I had fourteen phone calls before your grandmother even got home.”
    The Burg has a news pipeline that makes CNN look like chump change.
    “I think it must have happened when he got rug burn,” I told my mother. “He didn’t have an erection when I cuffed him in the ladies’ room.”
    “I’m going to have to move to Arizona. I read about this place, Lake Havasu. No one would know me there.”
    I disconnected, and Morelli called me.
    “Are you okay?” he asked. “I heard you dragged a naked guy through the funeral parlor, and then shots were fired, and you fell down the stairs.”
    “Who told you that?”
    “My mother. Loretta Manetti called her.”
    “He wasn’t naked, and no shots were fired. He kicked Lula, and Lula took me down the stairs with her.”
    “Just checking,” Morelli said. And he hung up.
    I dropped my clothes on the bathroom floor and washed the blood away in the shower. I pulled on my old flannel pajamas and went to bed. Tomorrow would be a better day, I thought. I’d get a good night’s sleep in my nice soft jammies and wake up to sunshine.

    MY PHONE RANG at 5:20 A.M. I reached for it in the dark and brought it to my ear.
    “Who died?” I asked.
    “No one died,” Ranger said. “I’m coming into your apartment, and I didn’t want you to freak.”
    I heard my front door open and close, and moments later, Ranger was in my bedroom. He flipped the light on and looked down at me.
    “I’d like to crawl in next to you, but there was another break-in tonight. This time it was a commercial account. I want you to take a look at it with me.”
    “Now? Can’t it wait?”
    Ranger grabbed jeans from my closet and tossed them at me. The jeans were followed by a sweatshirt and socks. “I want to go through the building before people arrive for work.”
    “It’s the middle of the night!”
    “Not nearly,” Ranger said. He looked at his watch. “You have thirty seconds to get dressed, or you’re going in your pajamas.”
    “Honestly,” I said, rolling out of bed, scooping my clothes up into my arms. “You are such a jerk .”
    “ Twenty seconds.”
    I stomped off into the bathroom and slammed the door closed. I got dressed and was about to brush my hair when the door opened and Ranger pulled me out of the bathroom.
    “Time’s up,” Ranger said.
    “I didn’t even have time to fix my hair!”
    Ranger was dressed in a black Rangeman T-shirt, cargo pants, windbreaker, and ball cap. He took the ball cap off his head and put it on mine.
    “Problem solved,” he said, taking my hand, towing me out of my apartment.

    THE BUILDING THAT had gotten hit was just four blocks from my apartment. Police cars and Rangeman cars were angled into the curb, lights flashing, and lights were on inside the building. Ranger ushered me into the lobby and one of his men brought me a cup of coffee.
    “This building is owned by a local insurance company,” Ranger said. As you can see, the first floor is mostly lobby, with a front desk and satellite glass-fronted offices. Executive offices, a boardroom, a small employee kitchenette, and a storeroom are on the second floor. It’s not a high-security account. They have an alarm system. No cameras. For the most part, there’s nothing of value in this building. The computers are antiquated. There are no cash transactions. The only thing of value was a small collection of Fabergé eggs in the company president’s office. And that’s what was