Hard Eight

  “Jesus Christ,” she said between sobs. “What the hell kind of a life do you lead? This isn't real. This is fucking television.”

  “Wow, Val, you said fuck.”

  “Damn fucking right. I'm fucking freaked out. I can't believe I found you. I just started walking. I thought I was walking back to Trenton, but I got turned around somehow. And then I saw the van. And I looked in the window and saw them burning you. And they'd left the keys hanging in the ignition. And . . . and I'm going to throw up.” She screeched to a stop at the side of the road, opened the door, and heaved.

  I took over the driving after that. I couldn't take Valerie home in her present condition. My mother would have a plotz. I was afraid to go to my apartment. I didn't have a phone, so I couldn't get in touch with Ranger. That left Morelli. I turned into the Burg on the way to Morelli's house, and on a long shot, went a block out of my way and drove past Pino's.

  Morelli's truck was still there, plus Ranger's Mercedes and the black Range Rover. Morelli, Ranger, Tank, and Hector were in the lot. I pulled the van in next to Morelli's truck, and Valerie and I tumbled out.

  “He's in Pennsylvania,” I said. “In a house on a dirt road. He would have killed me, but Valerie drove the van into the house and somehow we got out.”

  “It was fucking awful,” Valerie said, teeth chattering. “I was so fucking scared.” She looked down at her wrists, still wrapped in duct tape. “My wrists are taped together,” she said, as if it was the first she noticed.

  Hector produced a knife and slit the tape, first on me and then on Valerie.

  “How do you want to do this?” Morelli asked Ranger.

  “Take Steph and Valerie home,” Ranger said.

  Ranger looked at me, and our eyes held for a moment. Then Morelli slid an arm around me and eased me up, into his truck. Tank boosted Val up next to me.

  Morelli took us to his house. He made a phone call and some clean clothes appeared. His sister's, I imagine. I was too tired to ask. We cleaned Val up and took her home to my parents. We made a fast stop at the hospital emergency room to have my burn bandaged, and then we went back to Morelli's house.

  “Stick a fork in me,” I said to Morelli, “I'm done.”

  Morelli closed and locked his front door and turned the lights off. “Maybe you should consider taking a less dangerous job, like human cannonball or crash test dummy.”

  “You were worried about me.”

  “Yeah,” Morelli said, gathering me into him. “I was worried about you.” He held me close and rested his cheek on my head.

  “I haven't got any jammies with me,” I said to Morelli. His lips skimmed my ear. “Cupcake, you're not going to need any.”

  I WOKE UP in Morelli's bed with my arm burning like mad and my upper lip swollen. Morelli had me tucked in next to him. And Bob was on the other side of me. The alarm was buzzing on the clock beside the bed. Morelli reached out and knocked the clock off the nightstand.

  “Gonna be one of those days,” he said.

  He rolled out of bed and a half hour later he was dressed and in the kitchen. He was wearing running shoes and jeans and a T-shirt. He stood at the counter while he had coffee and toast. “Costanza called while you were in the bathroom,” he said, sipping his coffee, watching me over the rim of his mug. “One of the patrols found Eddie Abruzzi about an hour ago. He was in his car, in the farmer's market parking lot. Looks like he killed himself.”

  I stared at Morelli blank-faced. Not able to believe what I just heard.

  “He left a note,” Morelli said. “It said he was depressed over some business deals.”