Ranger's apartment occupies the seventh floor of the RangeMan building. It's professionally decorated in neutral earth tones and classic comfortable furniture. It's cool. It's calm. It's inviting in a mildly masculine way. The carved mahogany front door opens to a long narrow foyer. Coat closet and powder room on one side. Cherry wood credenza on the other. Rangers housekeeper, Ella, keeps fresh flowers on the credenza, plus a silver tray for keys and mail. Modern kitchen with stainless appliances and granite countertops to the right at the end of the hall. Breakfast bar. Small dining room. Small living room. The master bedroom suite consists of a den, a bedroom with king bed and smooth, white, thousand-thread-count sheets, a dressing room with all black clothes, and a weapons cabinet, and a luxurious bathroom with walk-in shower that smells like Ranger's Bulgari Green shower gel. Ranger electronically unlocked his apartment door and I followed him inside. He took an identical lock fob from a drawer in the credenza and gave it to me.

"If you decide to leave, take the GPS monitor with you. Hal's bringing the Cayenne back. It'll be parked downstairs with the key on the seat. It's yours for as long as you need it. I'm sure Ella has dinner in the kitchen. Help yourself. I've got a lot to do. I'm going to grab a sandwich downstairs." He curled his fingers into my sweatshirt, dragged me to him, and kissed me. "If you want to stay up for me, I'll make it worth the wait," he said, his lips barely touching mine when he spoke. And he was gone.

I've lived in Ranger's apartment once before for a short time when my life was in danger. And for a short time, I worked in the RangeMan office. The building felt very safe back then, but after a while claustrophobic.

I prowled through the kitchen and found a chicken stew with rice and vegetables. I scarfed down the stew with a glass of wine, and took a second glass into the den to watch television. I sunk into Ranger's big, comfy couch and remoted the plasma.

Morelli's house was comfortable ground for me. It was filled with hand-me-down furniture left to him by his Aunt Ruth. It looked a lot like my parents' house, and in a strange, unexpected way, the house fit Morelli. When Morelli had time, the house was kept neat and orderly. When Morelli was overworked, the house became cluttered with abandoned shoes and empty beer bottles.

Ranger s apartment felt exotic. The furniture was expensive and chosen for Ranger. Very comfortable but a little sterile. No family photos. No dog-eared books. This was a place where Ranger slept and worked and ate but didn't live.

Morelli's house was a destination for him. Ranger's apartment felt like part of his journey.

I probably should have gone home, but the truth is I love visiting Ranger's apartment. It smells great… like Ranger. His television is bigger and better than mine. He has better water pressure in his shower. His towels are softer and fluffier. And his bed is wonderful, even when he isn't in it. Ella irons his sheets and plumps his pillows. If there's a woman out there who could make me turn, it would be Ella.

I fell asleep in front of the television. I woke up at eleven and again at eleven-thirty. I forced myself away from the television and into the bedroom, shucked most of my clothes, and crawled into Ranger's fabulous bed.

The alarm jolted me awake, and I had a moment of utter confusion before realizing I was at Range Man. The room was dark, but I could see Ranger outlined against his dressing room light. He crossed the room and stood at the bedside to turn the alarm off.

"I have an early meeting with a client this morning," Ranger said. "And I want to talk to yon before I get involved in RangeMan business. Ella has breakfast on the table." His cell phone rang, and he left the bedroom.

I painfully rolled out of bed, my whole body aching from the fall off the car hauler. I flipped the light on, limped across the room to Ranger's closet, and shrugged into a robe that had been bought for Ranger, but I was sure had never been worn. I couldn't imagine Ranger lounging around in a robe.

Ella was a small, slim woman with intelligent, dark eyes, short black hair, and contained energy. Ella’s husband managed the property, and Ella managed the men of RangeMan. She cooked and cleaned and did whatever was necessary to get Ranger out of his apartment each morning in presentable condition. She bought his shower gel, did his laundry, ironed his orgasmic sheets, and set out fresh flowers.

The breakfast tray she brought to his door was almost always the same. Coffee, fresh fruit, whole-grain bagels, lox, fat-free cream cheese. An egg-white frittata with vegetables. Very pretty. Very healthy. This morning, Ella had set the dining room table for two.

Ranger ended his call and joined me at the table. He was in corporate attire. Black dress slacks, black dress shirt, black-on-black striped tie, black gun and holster. He draped a black cashmere sports coat on an empty dining room chair, then poured coffee while still standing, and sat across from me.

"Holy cow," I said to him. But I was thinking Holy Cow!

"I wasn't trying for holy cow," Ranger said. "I was shooting for respectable."

"Good luck with that one," I told him.

Ranger was strong inside and out. He was intelligent. He was brave. He was physically and emotionally agile. He was incredibly sexy. He was deceptively playful. But more than anything else, Ranger reeked of bad boy. It would take a lot more than a cashmere sports coat and an Armani tie to offset the testosterone and male pheromones that leaked out of him. I doubted Ranger would ever be entirely respectable.

"Okay," Ranger said. "I admit respectable was a stretch. How about successful?"

"Yes," I said. "You look very successful."

He helped himself to fruit and a slice of the frittata. "I'm going to make a deal with you. The deal is that you work with me on the Dickie thing, and you don't go off on your own."

"That's the deal?"

"The alternative is that I lock you in my bathroom until I get this mess figured out."

"What about you? Are you going off on your own, without me?"

"No. I'll include you in everything."

"Deal."

"Gorvich, Petiak, and Smullen all have legitimate addresses, but none of them spend any time at them. And they don't spend a lot of time at the office downtown. I had someone search the three residences, and he found nothing. No computers. No clothes in the closets. Nothing in the refrigerators. We've been calling their phones and only get a message service. Never a callback."

"Lula and I went through the law firm's apartment building on Jewel Street and discovered Smullen was keeping a woman on the top floor. The woman said Smullen lived there when he was in the country. He was missing in action when we got there, and his girlfriend was angry. I should check to see if he's still missing." I took a bagel and loaded it up with cream cheese. "Why don't these guys live in their houses?"

"Maybe they're worried an unhappy client might come calling. I've been looking at the material you lifted from the law office. Rufus Caine paid the firm a little over a million dollars last year for legal services. I thought we might want to talk to him."

You couldn't be associated with crime in Trenton and not have heard of Rufus Caine. Vinnie had never bonded him out, so everything I knew was secondhand. And what I knew mostly was that he wasn't a nice guy. "Rufus Caine is middle-management pharmaceuticals. Will he talk to us?"

"I have a relationship with Rufus. He lives and works out of a slum apartment building behind the train station. I thought we'd pay him a visit this afternoon. In the meantime, I have your FTA, Stewart Hansen, ready to go. (Call the control room when you want him brought down to the garage. I'll send one of my men with you, but you probably don't want to involve RangeMan in the delivery." Ranger finished his coffee and pushed back from the table. "I have to run."