“Then I don’t see where you have a problem. Give him his dog back and tell him you’re living with me.”
“I can’t do that. I’m in a committed relationship with him.”
“Where’s the commitment? Is he going to marry you?”
“Maybe someday.”
“Maybe never,” Ranger said. “And you can do better.”
“Really? Who’s better than Morelli and is willing to marry me? Name one person.”
“Me,” Ranger said.
His eyes held mine. Unblinking. The ultimate poker face. I didn’t have much of a poker face, but I was pretty good at recognizing a bluff.
“Okay,” I said. “When?”
“Saturday,” he said. “You and me. Vegas.”
“I can’t do Saturday. I already have to walk down the aisle in a hideous gray bridesmaid dress. How about Monday.”
“I have a full day of meetings on Monday. Wednesday might work for me.”
“Fine. As long as this Plover problem has been taken care of by then.”
He put the smoothie on the counter.
“Understood. We have an engagement. Would you like a ring? I have a safe full of Plover’s finest.”
Brain freeze. Was it possible that I actually just got engaged to Ranger? Was I happy? Confused? Terrified? Aroused? All of the above?
“A ring isn’t immediately necessary,” I said.
“I’m glad to hear that, because I have a better way to celebrate the occasion. It’s bedtime.”
Oh boy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Bob and I had breakfast and headed down to the fifth floor. We walked past the control room and the café, and I peeked into Ranger’s office.
“Are you busy having a routine day?” I asked him.
“The day is just beginning,” he said. “I have high hopes for a disaster.”
“I thought I should check up on things before I take off for the bail bonds office. Sometimes things that seem like a good idea at night look different in the morning.”
“Like getting married.”
“Exactly! There are things you need to consider before you marry me. Like Friday night dinners with my family, living with a hamster who runs on his wheel all night long, and the risk of having your apartment firebombed.”
“Not a problem,” he said.
He wasn’t backing down. I wasn’t surprised. Backing down wasn’t in Ranger’s DNA.
“Okay, then. Good,” I said.
I wasn’t backing down either. Truth is, there was a part of me that liked the idea of marrying Ranger. Then there was another part of me that was screaming, Are you insane? Get a grip!
“I’m not riding patrol tonight,” Ranger said. “We’ll talk when you get home.”
“Perfect.”
I turned and left his office. I rushed to the elevator and stared at the floor all the way to the garage, avoiding eye contact with Ranger’s men. My heart was beating so hard in my chest that my vision was blurred.
Bob and I got into our SUV, and I carefully drove out of the garage and down the street. I stopped at the corner so I could catch my breath.
“I thought I was calling his bluff, but maybe he wasn’t bluffing,” I said to Bob. “Now what? What just happened here?”
Bob gave me a sideways glance. He knew perfectly well what was happening. He’d been there the whole time. If he could have talked, he’d have told me I was a nincompoop for even asking the question. The answer was obvious. I was going to marry Ranger. I was going to be Mrs. Rangeman.
The thought was terrifying. And hard to believe. I wasn’t unhappy. Which by default left happy. Although sometimes happiness and panic feel awfully similar.
“We aren’t telling anyone,” I said to Bob. “I need to figure this one out.”
I cut across town to Hamilton Avenue. I stopped for a light, and I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. My eyes were deer in headlights. Damn! I cruised around for an additional ten minutes until I could feel my heart rate return to normal and I was capable of blinking.
We reached the office, and I parked behind the glass-installation truck. Two men were fitting a new pane of glass in the large front window. Connie and Lula were inside, watching the replacement operation.
“That’s really fast service,” I said to Connie. “I’m surprised they had glass that size in stock.”
“They said they keep it on hand because we get so many bullet holes.”
I bypassed the doughnut box on Connie’s desk and went to the coffee machine.
“How was dinner last night?” I asked Lula.
“It was excellent,” she said. “He made some spicy Mexican thing in a fry pan. There was chicken and sausage in it. And his house is nice. He keeps it real neat.”
“Did he get to use his big hammer?” I asked her.
“He didn’t have any occasion for the hammer, but I got to see the tool that counts. It wasn’t sized like his hammer, but he knew how to use it to good advantage. From my experience, which as you know is vast, I’d always take small but clever over big and dumb. Not much you can do with a big dumb tool.”
Connie and I didn’t have Lula’s depth of experience, but we nodded in support of her point of view.
“I checked on Frankie Plover,” Connie said. “He got treated in the ER for his gunshot wound and car crash abrasions. No overnight stay.”
“Did they do a drug test or a sobriety test on him?”
“No,” Connie said. “My sources tell me he was coherent and needed medical attention.”
“This isn’t good,” Lula said. “He’s going to be all cranky over this. He could decide to bomb the office. That would be bad since I got all my clothes and my wigs in the storeroom. I got some personal overnight sleeping arrangements made but they don’t include my extensive wardrobe.”
“What’s happening with Simon Diggery?” Connie asked. “Has he turned up anything helpful?”
I selected a doughnut from the box on the desk. “He texted me this morning. He said he has a promising dig site, but he needs the right circumstances.”
“What does that mean?” Lula asked. “No moon? Full moon?”
I did a palms-up. “Don’t know.” I looked over at Connie. “Any new FTAs?”
“No. The end of the week is always slow. I’m sure we’ll have one or two on Monday.”
“Then I’m going to look in on my apartment. The restoration people were there yesterday.”
“Is it ready for us to move back in?” Lula asked.
“No,” I said. “They need to dry it out. I’ll let you know what I find.”
I drove to the supermarket, cracked a window for Bob, and ran in and grabbed a basket full of essentials. I parked in my apartment building’s lot and carted the bags of groceries upstairs. A lone workman was in my apartment, checking on the fans.
“How’s it going?” I asked him.
“It’s good. All of your rugs and upholstered furniture have been cleared out and carted away, and the fans have done their job of drying things out. We’ll leave the fans here for another day or two. If you’re moving back in, you can turn them down when you’re in the apartment and put them back on high when you leave.”
Bob snuffled his crotch.
“Sorry,” I said, “he has no manners.”
“It’s okay,” the restoration guy said. “I get that a lot. It’s my manly scent. Maybe we could get together for a drink sometime.”