'Will you still be feeling friendly tomorrow? I don't think I'll be working tomorrow.'
'Order a pizza.'
After I hung up I looked guiltily at the hamster cage. 'Hey, I'm just being friendly,' I said to Rex. 'I'm not going to sleep with him.'
Rex still didn't come out of his can, but I could see the pine shavings moving. I think he was laughing.
The phone rang around nine.
'I have a job for you tomorrow,' Ranger said. 'Are you interested?'
'Maybe.'
'It's of high moral quality.'
'And the legal quality?'
'Could be worse. I need a decoy. I have a deadbeat who needs to be separated from his Jaguar.'
'Are you stealing it or repossessing it?'
'Repossessing. All you have to do is sit in a bar and talk to this guy while we load his car onto a flatbed.'
'That sounds okay.'
'I'll pick you up at six. Wear something that'll hold his attention.'
'What bar is this?'
'Mike's Place on Center.'
Thirty minutes later, Briggs came home. 'So what do you do on Monday nights?' he asked. 'You watch football?'
I went to bed at eleven, and two hours later I was still thrashing around, unable to sleep. I had Larry Lipinski's missing wife, Laura, on my mind. The back of her head, severed at the neck, stuffed in a garbage bag. Her husband dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Hacked up his wife. Shot his coworker. I really didn't know if it was Laura Lipinski. What were the chances? Probably not good. Then who was in that bag? The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that it was Laura Lipinski.
I looked at the clock for the hundredth time.
Laura Lipinski wasn't the only thing keeping me awake. I was having a hormone attack. Damn Morelli. Whispering all those things in my ear. Looking sexy in his Italian suit. Surely Morelli would be home by now. I could call him, I thought, and tell him I was coming to visit. After all, it was his fault I was in this hellish state.
But what if I call, and he
Ranger flashed into my mind. No! Not Ranger!
'Damn.' I kicked the covers off and went out to the kitchen to get some orange juice. Only there wasn't any orange juice. There wasn't
I really needed juice. And a Snickers bar. If I had juice and a Snickers bar, I probably could forget about sex. In fact, I didn't even need the juice anymore. Just the Snickers bar.
I stuffed myself into a pair of old gray sweats, shoved my feet into unlaced boots, and pulled a jacket over my plaid flannel nightshirt. I grabbed my purse and my keys, and because I was trying not to be stupid, I also grabbed my gun.
'I don't know what the hell you're going after,' Briggs said from the couch, 'but bring one back for me, too.'
I clomped off, out of my apartment, down the hall, into the elevator.
When I got to the lot, as fate would have it, I realized I'd taken the Porsche key. Hah! Who am I to dispute fate? Guess I just had to drive the Porsche.
I started out for the 7-Eleven, but I was there in no time at all, and it seemed a shame not to at least work the kinks out of the car. Especially since I hadn't yet
Okay, maybe it's not such a good idea to visit Morelli right now. Maybe I should go home first and shave and scrounge up some sexy underwear. Or maybe I should just wait until tomorrow. Twenty-four hours, give or take a couple. I wasn't sure I could hold out for twenty-four hours. He was right. I wanted him bad.
Get a grip! I told myself. We're talking about a simple sex act here. This isn't a medical emergency like having a heart attack. This can wait twenty-four hours.
I took a deep breath. Twenty-four hours. I was feeling better. I was in control. I was a rational woman. I put the Porsche into gear and cruised down the street.
Piece of cake. I can last it.
I got to the corner and noticed lights in my rearview mirror.
Not many people out in this neighborhood, at this hour, on a work night. I turned the corner, parked, cut my lights, and watched the car stop in front of Morelli's house. After a couple minutes Morelli got out and walked to his door, and the car began to roll down the street toward me.