“I have work to do.”
“What kind of work? You aren’t going out looking for criminals, are you?”
“I got a tip I need to follow up.”
“It’s nighttime. I don’t like you in those bad neighborhoods at night.”
“I’m not going to a bad neighborhood.”
My mother turned to my father. “You should go with her.”
“It’s not necessary,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
“You won’t be fine,” my mother said. “You get knocked out, and people shoot at you. Look at you! You have orange hair!” She put her hand to her chest and closed her eyes. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.” She opened her eyes. “Wait while I fix some leftovers to take home.”
“Not too much,” I said. “I’m going on a diet.”
My mother slapped her forehead. “A diet. Unh. You’re a rail. You don’t need to diet. How will you stay healthy if you diet?”
I paced behind her in the kitchen, watching the leftovers bag fill with packets of meat and potatoes, a jar of gravy, half a green-bean casserole, a jar of red cabbage, a pound cake. Okay, so I’d start my diet on Monday.
“There,” my mother said, handing me the bag. “Frank, are you ready? Stephanie is going now.”
My father appeared in the kitchen door. “What?”
My mother gave him the long-suffering face. “You never listen to me.”
“I always listen. What are you talking about?”
“Stephanie is going out looking for criminals. You should go with her.”
I grabbed the leftovers bag and ran for the door, snagging my coat from the hall closet. “I swear I’m not doing anything dangerous,” I said. “I’ll be perfectly safe.”
I let myself out and quickly walked to the Buick. I looked back just before sliding behind the wheel. My mother and grandmother were standing in the doorway, hands clasped in front, faces stern. Not convinced of my safety. My father stood behind them, peering over my grandmother’s head.
“The car looks pretty good,” he said. “How’s it running? You giving it high-test? You got any pings?”
“No pings,” I called back.
And then I was gone. On my way to Mo’s store. Telling myself I was going to be smarter this time. I wasn’t going to get knocked out, and I wasn’t going to get faked out. I wasn’t going to let Mo get the best of me with pepper spray. As soon as I saw him I was going to give him a snootful of the stuff. No questions asked.
I parked across the street from the store and stared into the black plate-glass window. No light. No activity. No light on in the second-floor apartment. I pulled out and circled surrounding blocks, looking for Ranger’s BMW. I tried the alley behind the store and checked the garage. No car. I returned to Ferris. Still no sign of life in the store. I parked a block away on King. Maybe I should try Ranger again. I reached over for my pocketbook. No pocketbook. I closed my eyes in disbelief. In my haste to get away without my father, I’d left my pocketbook behind. No big deal. I’d go back and get it.
I put the car into gear and pulled onto Ferris. I glanced into the store windows one last time as I did a slow drive-by. I saw a shadow move to the rear of the store.
Damn!
I angled the Buick into the curb two houses down and jumped out. I’d like the luxury of having a bag full of bounty hunter loot, like pepper spray and handcuffs, but I wasn’t willing to risk losing the opportunity for it. I didn’t really want to spray Mo anyway. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to reason with him. Get some answers. Get him to come back into the system without hurting him.
Stephanie Plum, master of rationalization. Believe whatever the moment calls for.
I jogged to a dark spot across from the store and watched for more movement. My heart gave a lurch when a light flickered briefly. Someone had used a penlight and immediately extinguished it. The information on my answering machine had been right. Mo was in the store.
CHAPTER 10
I sprinted across the street and sought cover in the shadows to the side of the store. I hugged the brick wall, creeping back toward the rear exit, thinking I might barricade the door. I’d stand a better chance of capturing Mo if he had just one avenue of escape.
I took a deep breath and peeked around the building corner. The back door to the store was wide open. I didn’t think this was a good sign. Mo wouldn’t have left the door open if he was in the store. I feared history had repeated itself, and Mo had flown the coop.
I inched my way to the door and stood there listening. Hard to hear over the pounding of my heart but no footfalls carried to me from the neighborhood. No car engines being started. No doors slamming shut.
I did another deep breath and poked my head into the gaping doorway, squinting into the dark hall that led to the counter area.
I heard the scrape of a shoe from deep inside the store and almost passed out from adrenaline rush. My first instinct was to run away. My second instinct was to shout for help. I didn’t follow either of these instincts because the cold barrel of a gun was pressed to my ear.
“Be nice and quiet and walk into the store.”
It was the wiry little guy who’d tried to give me money. I couldn’t see him, but I recognized the voice. Low and
