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“Have you heard anything from Connie?” I asked Lula. “No,” she said. “I called all the hospitals, and I called her mama. It’s like she vanished.” “How’s her mother doing?” “She didn’t sound

all that worried. She’s not used to seeing Connie all day like we are. She doesn’t have a sense that this isn’t normal Connie behavior.” “Maybe we’re overreacting. Maybe Connie needed to get

away. Have a moment. She carries a lot of responsibility between her mother and her job.” “I guess that could be it,” Lula said. “Sometimes I feel like I want to get away from my

responsibilities. Not to do with my mama, though, on account of she’s real independent. A bunch of years ago she retired and went to live with my Aunt Sue in Georgia. They’ve got a

dog-sitting business there and Aunt Sue works part-time at a nail salon. She specializes in acrylics. My responsibilities are to do with my appearance. I have high standards. I gotta keep my

wardrobe organized and make sure I’m accessorized properly. And hair and nails like I got don’t just happen. It’s all responsibility, you see what I’m saying? What about you?” The first

thing that came to mind was my job. I barely made enough money to pay my rent and buy food. I spent a lot of time in smelly, bad neighborhoods chasing down smelly, bad people. And there was

no prestige attached to it. Bail bond enforcement was on a level with cesspool maintenance and grave robbing when it came to public opinion. “Don’t you ever want to run away?” Lula repeated.

“Yeah. All the time, but only for a couple minutes and then I get over it.” “I hear you. That’s my problem too. I looked it up one time. It’s that we have too much inertia because we only

got short-term dissatisfaction. It’s on account of we’re too well adjusted. We got self-esteem and it’s what’s keeping us from being supermodels or entrepreneurial billionaires. You gotta

have some deep-seated feelings of inferiority to be a real big success. Like it helps if you have a little dick. Going with that line of reasoning, we should have been the ones to invent

Google bein’ that we got no dick at all, only it don’t work like that since we got balls. If you got balls, you don’t necessarily feel inferior even if you haven’t got a dick. Course I’m

speaking metaphorically.” I thought Lula was right about the inertia, but I suspected my disinclination to flee had less to do with my self-esteem and more to do with a lack of lofty

aspiration. Somewhere in my preteen years it became apparent that I was not destined to be an Avenger, and it was all downhill after that. Everything else seemed lackluster. So, I aimlessly

drifted through college and ended up in retail selling bargain-basement ladies’ undies. And now I’m a bounty hunter and I still haven’t found a lofty aspiration. So, what’s the point of

running away if you have nowhere you want to go? Or here’s a scary thought—maybe I’ve come to like being a bounty hunter. Omigod! “What is it?” Lula asked. “You look like you just found

Jesus, only he turned out to be Donald Duck.” I waved it away. “I was just thinking about my job . . . and about Connie.” “Yeah, thinking about Connie could give you the grimaces. I’m

staying here until four o’clock and then I’m going home and watch some happy movies and eat a couple pizzas so I can get rid of this scary feeling. This is like when you’re walking down a

dark street at night and you get the feeling someone’s waiting ahead, behind a bush, and he’s gonna jump out and stab you forty-five times with a butcher knife. And you can’t get rid of the

feeling and you have to keep walking ’cause that’s the only way to get home.” I was walking down that same street right now, with the same horrible sense of foreboding. Connie and Lula and I

had been through a lot together, and it was understood that we would always be there for each other. It was unthinkable that Connie would be out of our lives for a day or, God forbid,

forever. I hiked my messenger bag higher up on my shoulder. “I’m going to ride around and look for Connie’s car. I’ll call you if I find anything.” +++ I cruised all of Connie’s haunts. Her

neighborhood, including all the back alleys. Her favorite restaurants. Her nail salon and hair salon. Food stores, delis, the liquor store, and the train station. I checked out mall parking

lots and the chop shop on Stark Street. I drove past the bail bonds office one last time and continued on to Pino’s Italian Bar and Grille to pick up dinner. Connie’s car was parked in

Pino’s lot. It was at the far side by the dumpster. I parked on the opposite side of the lot and walked to the car. No one inside. Not locked. No bloodstains. No bullet holes. I popped the

hatch. No one in there. I felt the hood. Cold. The car had been sitting there for a while. I went inside Pino’s and looked around. No Connie. Morelli and I ate here a lot. We knew everyone.

Ditto for Connie. I found the manager, Carl Carolli, and asked if he’d seen Connie. “Not in a couple days,” he said. “She comes here on Thursdays with her mama sometimes. It’s after bingo.

They get calamari with marinara.” “Is there anyone here that’s new? That you don’t know?” “There’s always people I don’t know.” He looked around. “The family in the corner booth. I don’t

know them.” I looked at the family. Mother, father, two kids. Didn’t look like kidnappers. “I have your order ready,” Carl said. “You must be taking it to Morelli. Meatball sandwiches, extra

pickles, fries, and the twelve- layer chocolate cake. I’m guessing one of you had a bad day.” “This morning he had to jump into the river to drag a crazy lady out. It wasn’t pretty.” Carl

grinned. “He’s a good cop.” I took my bag of food and walked around the parking lot, looking for signs of a struggle, looking for Connie or something that might belong to her. I didn’t see

any feet sticking out from under a car. I didn’t hear anyone yelling from inside a trunk. I returned to my Honda, got behind the wheel, and locked the doors. My heart was bouncing around

inside my chest. I called Morelli and gave him the short version. “It hasn’t been twenty-four hours,” Morelli said. “I know Connie’s in trouble,” I said. “I absolutely know it.” “I’ll make

some phone calls. I can’t do anything officially, but I can put the word out to keep an eye on the car and to look for Connie.” +++ Morelli lives in a neighborhood that backs up to the Burg.

The values and economics are the same in both neighborhoods. The houses are the same. The only difference is an imaginary line that someone drew seventy years ago. Morelli’s house is a lot

like my parents’ house, with a shotgun-style living room, dining room, kitchen. There are three bedrooms upstairs, a powder room downstairs, and a full bath upstairs. Morelli shares the

house with a big, orange, overly friendly dog named Bob. There’s a large flat-screen television in the living room, a billiard table in the dining room, and a king-sized bed in the upstairs

master. I keep a few essentials at his house, and he has a few essentials in my apartment. Bob rushed at me when I walked in the front door. I braced myself against the impact and did the

_good boy, good boy_ thing, holding the bag of food over my head. Morelli sauntered over, took the bag, and gave me a friendly kiss. “You look better,” I said. “Okay, so your eye is almost

swollen closed, but you’re not wet anymore and the scratches on your face aren’t oozing blood.” “I’m a fast healer,” he said. “It’s my Sicilian DNA. My relatives wouldn’t have survived if

they’d been bleeders.” I went to the kitchen, got Bob’s bowl, and brought it to the living room. We emptied the bag of food onto Morelli’s big square coffee table, divided it up between Bob,

Morelli, and me, and we all ate dinner in front of the television. “Connie isn’t my only problem,” I said, adding extra red sauce to my meatball sandwich. “Your grandmother is FTA.”

“Seriously?” “Yes!” Morelli grinned. “Well at least you know where to find her.” “It’s not funny. She’s scary. If I go after her, she’ll put the eye on me.” He opened two bottles of beer and

passed one to me. “Do you believe in the eye?” “No, of course not. Maybe. Just a little. Even without the eye, she’s still scary.” “And?” “And I was hoping you’d bring her in for me.” “No

way,” Morelli said. “She’s my grandmother. I can’t arrest my own grandmother.” “You’re afraid of her too, aren’t you!” “I’m not afraid of my grandmother. I’m afraid of my mother. She’ll make

my life a living hell, and she’ll cut me off from lasagna deliveries.” I did a mental eye-roll. “Talk to your grandmother, please. Explain to her that she needs to make another court date.”

“We could cut a deal here,” Morelli said. “What kind of deal?” “It would involve you getting naked.” “What about you?” “I’d get naked too.” “What about your injuries?” I asked. “Your eye is

totally shut.” “I can still see with my other eye. And my deal would involve body parts that are functioning perfectly.” This seemed like an okay deal since I’d assumed we’d both get naked

eventually anyway. It was one of the benefits of bringing Morelli dinner. +++ I looked over at the bedside clock. It was 1:00 a.m. Morelli was asleep beside me, and I was wide awake. My mind

was running in circles, thinking about Connie. I was having gruesome thoughts of Connie kidnapped, locked in the trunk of someone’s car, held hostage in a basement cell, or even worse, left

for dead alongside a road somewhere. I should have done a more thorough search of her car, and I should have done an inventory of the storeroom. My phone was on the nightstand next to me in

case a call or a message came in from Connie. She’ll show up in the morning and have a perfectly logical explanation, I told myself. After all, this is Connie. Connie isn’t the sort to be a

victim. Connie is the office security. She’s the guard dog in front of Vinnie’s inner sanctum. She’s good with a gun, she’s always armed, and she’s street smart. It wouldn’t be easy to

kidnap her. I told myself this in an effort to relax and fall asleep. Unfortunately, while I knew it all to be true, I also knew from my own experience that bad things could happen to good

people no matter how careful or skilled they were. CHAPTER FOUR I struggled out of sleep, sensing Morelli moving around in the dark room. He was an early riser, anxious to get on the job,

solving mysteries and bringing order to chaos. He’d been a wild kid who’d managed to turn into a responsible adult. The transformation hadn’t been easy, but here he finally was, protecting

the rights and dignity of Trenton residents both good and bad. Go figure. I switched my bedside light on and propped myself up on an elbow. “Have you heard anything from dispatch about

Connie?” I asked him. “No. Sorry. I’ll ride by Pino’s on my way to work and check on her car.” He strapped his watch on and took his gun out of the top drawer in his nightstand. “Are you

getting up or are you going back to sleep?” “I haven’t decided.” “If I’m gone by the time you get downstairs, there’s cereal in the cupboard and yogurt in the fridge.” “Yogurt?” “It’s

healthy. It compensates for the junk that I eat the rest of the day.” He gave me a kiss and headed out with Bob on his heels. I didn’t think I was ready to face yogurt, so I turned the light

off and tried to go back to sleep. I gave up on sleep at six o’clock. I took a fast shower, got dressed, and followed the aroma of coffee to the kitchen. I ate a bowl of cereal and looked

at my watch. It was six thirty. It was dark outside. No one would be at the office. The mall was closed. My parents didn’t get up and moving around until seven thirty. The bakery might be

open. “What on earth do people do at this time of day?” I asked Bob. Bob wagged his tail and looked toward the front door, so I hooked Bob up to his leash and took him for a walk. It was

seven o’clock when I got back to Morelli’s house. I checked my email, shot some pool, and thought about going home to my apartment. I decided that I would go to the office instead. On the

way to the office, I detoured to Pino’s to see if Connie’s car was still there. I got a chill when I saw that it was parked alone in the lot. I drove past Connie’s house. Lights were off. I

wanted to call her mother, but I didn’t know what to say and I didn’t want to wake her. I drove past the office. No lights on inside. No cars parked at the curb. No activity in the area.

Some morning traffic on Hamilton Avenue. I parked behind the office and sat for a couple minutes, trying to work up enough nerve to get out of the car. A kidnap scenario was running through

my mind. The chances that Connie had parked her car in Pino’s lot were just about zero. Connie always parked her car in this lot, I thought. She parked it right where I was currently

sitting. She’d gotten out of her car with a box of doughnuts, and when she approached the back door to the office, somebody grabbed her. My hands were sweating on the steering wheel. It was

dark in the alley. Lots of places for a man to hide. There used to be a light over the back door, but someone had shot it out a year ago and it had never been replaced. Now or never, I

thought. Just do it. Get out of the car and into the office. Pretend you’re Ranger. Ranger was the other man in my life. Riccardo Carlos Manoso, a.k.a. Ranger. Formerly Special Forces and

now owner of a high- tech security firm in downtown Trenton. He was dark, inside and out. He was fearless. He was perfectly toned and supremely skilled in just about everything. Okay, he

didn’t cook, at least not in the kitchen, but he was magic in all the other rooms. I slipped out of the car, got the key from under the brick, and let myself into the office. I locked the

door behind myself and turned the lights on. My heart was thumping in my chest, and I had to admit to myself that I was no Ranger. Still, I’d gotten myself into the office and that was

pretty good. I hit the power button on Connie’s computer and found the file detailing all the items held as security against a bond. I printed the list and took it to the storeroom. The

items were organized by date received. Nothing recorded yesterday. Two bonds had been issued over the weekend. One was secured by a Harley. One was secured by a promissory note from a third

party. Three bonds had been issued last Wednesday. They were low monetary bonds secured by a watch, a man’s ruby pinky ring, and a DVD player. I found all of the items, including the

registration for the Harley. The week before had been a decent week for Vinnie. Twelve bonds had been issued. Carpenter Beedle was one of the bailouts. Two other men had also been bailed out

with Carpenter—Sydney Bowler and Paul Mori. Everyone checked out but Paul Mori. He had a low bond and had used a coin as security. No details were given on the coin and there wasn’t a coin

in the storeroom. I suspected the coin had gone to Atlantic City with Vinnie. It was almost eight thirty when Lula banged on the front door to the office and woke me up. I’d fallen asleep on

the fake leather couch and was disoriented for a moment before getting my act together. I stumbled to the door and unlocked it, and Lula bustled in. “I saw the light was on in here when I

drove up. How come you were sleeping on the couch? Did something happen to your apartment? Did it get firebombed again?” “I came in early to check on the bond inventory. I thought I might

find something that would lead to Connie.” “And?” “Nothing jumped out at me,” I said. “I guess you’re thinking about the guy who called yesterday and said Vinnie had something of his that he

wanted back. Personally, I think it’s a long shot that it’s something stuffed away in the storeroom. I mean it could be anything. This is Vinnie we’re talking about. This guy could be

talking about his wife or a barnyard animal.” Lula set a bakery box on Connie’s desk. “I stopped to get the doughnuts this morning. The people at the bakery said they hadn’t seen Connie.

Have you talked to her mama this morning?” “Not yet. I didn’t want to wake her.” “For all we know Connie could be sound asleep in her bed.” I dialed Connie’s number. No answer on her cell

phone. No prompt to leave a message. This wasn’t a good sign. I dialed the number of their house phone and Connie’s mother answered. “Hello,” she said. “Who’s this?” “It’s Stephanie Plum,” I

said. “Is Connie there?” “No. She didn’t come home last night. She didn’t call me or anything. She never just doesn’t come home. I know something terrible happened to her. I can feel it.

The Margucci boy didn’t come home one night, and they found him in the river a week later. I’m going to call the police and tell them to look in the river.” “I’m sure she’s okay, Mrs.

Rosolli. Tell her to call me when you talk to her.” “Well?” Lula asked when I hung up. “She’s not there. She never came home.” Lula opened the box of doughnuts and took a Boston cream. We

didn’t have to fight over it because they were all Boston cream. She got herself a cup of coffee, sat in Connie’s chair, and scanned through the email. “Here’s something interesting,” she

said. “It’s a court bulletin. One of our bondees turned up dead. Self-inflicted gunshot wound. Twelve of them. Paul Mori. It says that we bonded him out two weeks ago.” “I know that name. He

was bonded out the same day as Carpenter Beedle. Vinnie took a coin as security, and I couldn’t find it.” “What kind of coin?” “His bond application didn’t say.” I called Vinnie. “Now

what?” Vinnie said. “When are you coming into the office?” “I don’t know. I’m still in AC. Harry’s having a board of directors meeting, if you know what I mean.” “I need to talk to you about

Paul Mori.” “The dry cleaner? He turned out to be a real pain in the ass. I was at the courthouse to write a bond for Beedle and I ran into Mori. We take our dry cleaning to him. He needed

to get bailed out, so he gave me a deal on dry cleaning and a commemorative coin for security. The dry-cleaning deal was sweet. I didn’t care about the coin. I just took it to humor him. And

then a couple days ago he came in and said he wanted the coin back. He was going to give me a big bag of money for it, but I didn’t have the coin. I told him I lost it and he went nuts.

Almost ripped my shirt off, yelling that I was lying. Connie stun gunned him and dragged him out of the office. A car drove up; two guys shoved him into the backseat and drove off with him.”

“How did you lose the coin?” “I don’t know. I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to it. I bonded Mori out and then I had to turn around and right away bond Beedle out. Beedle’s mother was

there. Nice lady. She was upset. I had to walk them to her car.” “What did the coin look like?” “It was supposed to be old. Knights Templar. Like in _Indiana Jones_. I don’t think it was

real, but it was cool anyway. I gotta go. Harry’s giving me the sign.” “What sign?” “Like he’s gonna kill me if I don’t get off the phone.” The line went dead. “Pull up the Paul Mori file,”

I said to Lula. “Print it out for me.” The front door opened, and Grandma walked in. She was dressed in tight jeans, motorcycle boots, a white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. “I thought

I’d stop by in case you still needed some extra muscle,” she said. “Did my mother see you leave the house dressed like this?” I asked her. “No. I sneaked out when she was cleaning up in the

kitchen,” Grandma said. “I left her a note. I said I was at church.” “Girl, you look bitchin’,” Lula said. “I wore this getup to a Halloween party last year,” Grandma said. “I was hoping

I’d get a chance to use it again. What’s up for today? I was at the bakery earlier and Eleanor said Connie is still missing.” “Her car is parked in Pino’s lot, but no one’s seen Connie, and

her mother hasn’t heard from her,” I said. “That’s terrible,” Grandma said. “That’s real worrisome.” I took the Mori printout from Lula. “Paul Mori was seventy years old. Owned Mori Dry

Cleaning. He was charged with indecent exposure. Got into an argument with a female customer and mooned her. She got a picture of him on her cell phone and reported him to the police.” “He’s

dead,” Grandma said. “They were talking about it at the bakery. Eleanor’s son, Jimmy, is a paramedic, and he was at the scene last night. Someone found Mori by the dumpster behind Smart’s

Tavern. Jimmy said Mori looked like Swiss cheese.” “The report says twelve shots,” Lula said. “And it said they were self-inflicted.” “That’s got to be a typo,” Grandma said. “Hard to

self-inflict Swiss cheese.” “Are there any rumors about him being involved in anything other than dry cleaning?” I asked Grandma. “You mean something shady? Not that I know. He was just a

grouchy bachelor. Never married. Didn’t even have a dog. Lived in a row house on Marbury Street for his whole life. Inherited it when his parents passed. I imagine he was sitting on a chunk

of money. He had a good business going and he was a real tightwad.” “Vinnie bonded him out and Mori used a commemorative coin as security,” I said. “That sounds like him,” Grandma said.

“Probably lifted the coin from someone’s jacket pocket when it came in to get cleaned. He had a sign up in his place that said anything he found he’d keep. He meant it too. We don’t take our

dry cleaning to Mori. We take ours to Tide at the strip mall.” “You got a thing about that coin,” Lula said to me. “I don’t see how it ties to Connie, if that’s what you’re thinking.” “The

coin was valuable. Mori offered Vinnie money for it.” Lula took a second doughnut. “So, then why’d Mori give it to Vinnie if it was so valuable? And why’s Mori so dead? And I still don’t see

what it’s got to do with Connie.” “When I talked to Vinnie just now, he said a couple days ago Mori came into the office to get his coin back. Vinnie told Mori that he didn’t have the coin.

Somehow the coin got lost. Mori went gonzo, grabbing Vinnie and yelling that he was lying. Connie stun gunned Mori and dragged him out of the office. A car came and picked Mori up and drove

away with him. Now Mori is dead. “I think Mori lifted the coin from the wrong pocket, thinking it was a fun trinket. The owner came back looking for it, and Mori said he gave it to Vinnie.

The original owner couldn’t get in touch with Vinnie, so he forced Connie to let him into the office. He searched the storeroom, couldn’t find the coin, and he took Connie as a hostage.”

“Well, I didn’t know none of that,” Lula said. “That’s real suspicious.” A worse scenario was that they’d disposed of Connie just as they’d disposed of Mori, but I didn’t want to say it

aloud. The office phone rang, and we all stared at it. “Someone should answer it,” Lula said. I put it on speakerphone. “Vincent Plum Bail Bonds,” I said. “This is Stephanie speaking.” “I

want to talk to Vinnie.” Lula waved her arms in the air and mouthed, _It’s him. It’s him!_ “Vinnie is out of town. I’m Stephanie Plum, and I’m in charge of the office in his absence. How can

I help you?” “Oh jeez, you’re the disaster bounty hunter, right? You’re in the news all the time.” “Not _all_ the time,” I said. “This is personal between me and Vinnie. He has something I

want, and I have something he wants.” “Unfortunately, he isn’t here, so you’re going to have to deal with me. Let’s start by telling me what it is that you want.” “It’s a coin that was given

to Vinnie as security. The coin was stolen, and the rightful owner wants it returned.” “I’ll be happy to check our inventory. Who gave Vinnie the coin?” “Paul Mori.” I put the caller on

hold. “I knew it!” Lula said. “I knew it was all about that coin. And he’s got Connie too. Mark my words.” I returned to the caller. “I’m sorry, but the coin isn’t in our inventory. You must

be mistaken.” “Here’s the deal,” he said. “I need that coin and you need to find it for me. That’s what you do, right? You find people. So now you can find a lousy coin. Personally, I think

you know where it is. And if you don’t know where it is, I’m sure Vinnie knows where it is.” “Why is this coin so important? Is it worth a lot of money?” “It’s junk. It’s a trinket. It’s

worth nothing.” “Then why all this trouble to get it back?” “It’s got sentimental value, okay? It don’t matter why I want it. What matters is that I’m not a nice guy. I can inflict pain and

death and still sleep at night. And as you’ve probably guessed by now, I have something from your office. I thought it would give incentive if I had something to trade.” “Is it a box of

doughnuts? We were short a box of doughnuts yesterday.” “Yeah, very funny. You want to hear a doughnut scream?” “No,” I said. “Not at all.” “Then find the coin. Twenty-four hours.” “What

does it look like?” “It looks old, but it isn’t old. It’s got a symbol on it. Knights Templar. When you have the coin, hang a sign in your office window. If you don’t have it in twenty-four

hours, there’s gonna be more pain and death. And if you go to the police there’s gonna be _a lot_ more pain and death.” He disconnected. “Do you think Vinnie has the coin?” Lula asked. “No,”

I said. “But I might know someone else who has it. Carpenter Beedle. He’s a panhandler and a pickpocket and he was with Vinnie when Vinnie lost the coin. An alternative theory would be that

Vinnie dropped the coin in the parking lot and didn’t notice.” “I like the pickpocket version,” Grandma said. “Where do we find Carpenter Beedle?” “In jail,” I said. “His mother won’t bond

him out again, and even if she wanted to bond him out there’s no one here who’s authorized to write a bond.” “Hunh,” Lula said. “I could write his bond. I’m the official replacement office

manager. I got rights and duties. I’ve seen Connie bond out lots of assholes. I got it down.” Grandma and I exchanged glances. “Worth a try,” Grandma said. “I’ll stay here and babysit the

phone.” Lula took a bond application form out of Connie’s desk file and filled it in, using Beedle’s previous application. “Easy peasy,” she said. “Now I just have to use this stamp that

says I’m allowed to do this.” Bam. Lula stamped the form. “Now we take this downtown and have Beedle sign it and he’s all ours.” I knew it wasn’t this simple. Beedle had a high bond. We’d

just bought him an expensive get-out-of-jail card that was now guaranteed by Vinnie’s surety company. If this got screwed up, Vinnie could lose his license. I checked my watch. Ten o’clock.

I had twenty-four hours to find the coin.  _From _GOING ROGUE _by Janet Evanovich. Copyright © 2022 by Evanovich, Inc. Reprinted by permission of Atria Books, an Imprint of Simon &

Schuster, LLC._