n his cop face. The one that shut out emotion. The one with the hard eyes that gave nothing away.
I made a display of eating. Like I wasn't too bothered by this news either. When in fact, nausea was rolling through my stomach. “When did this happen?” I asked Morelli.
“Yesterday.”
“And he's in town?”
“Just like always. Working out in the gym on Stark.”
A big man, Mrs. Bestler had said. African-?American. Polite. Prowling in my hall. Sweet Jesus, it might have been Ramirez.
“If you even suspect he's anywhere near you, I want to know,” Morelli said.
I'd shoved another piece of pizza into my mouth, but I was having a hard time swallowing. “Sure.”
We finished the pizza and dawdled over coffee.
“Maybe you should spend the night with me,” Morelli said. “Just in case Ramirez decides to look you up.”
I knew Morelli had other things in mind beyond my safety. And it was a tempting offer. But I'd already taken that bus, and it seemed like a ride that went nowhere. “Can't,” I said. “I'm working tonight.”
“I thought things were slow.”
“This isn't for Vinnie. This is for Ranger.”
Morelli did a little grimace. “I'm afraid to ask.”
“It's nothing illegal. It's a security job.”
“It always is,” Morelli said. “Ranger does all kinds of security. Ranger keeps small Third World countries secure.”
“This has nothing to do with gunrunning. This is legitimate. We're doing front-?door security for an apartment building on Sloane.”
“Sloane? Are you crazy? Sloane's at the edge of the war zone.”
“That's why the building needs policing.”
“Fine. Let Ranger get someone else. Trust me, you don't want to be out looking for a parking place on Sloane in the middle of the night.”
“I won't have to look for a parking place. Tank's picking me up.”
“You're working with a guy named Tank?”
“He's big.”
“Jesus,” Morelli said. “I had to fall in love with a woman who works with a guy named Tank.”
“You love me?”
“Of course I love you. I just don't want to marry you.”
I STEPPED OUT of the elevator and saw him sitting on the floor in the hall, next to my door. And I knew he was Mabel's visitor. I stuck my hand in my shoulder bag, searching for my pepper spray. Just in case. I rooted around in the bag for a minute or two, finding lipsticks and hair rollers and my stun gun, but no pepper spray.
“Either you're searching for your keys or your pepper spray,” the guy said, getting to his feet. “So let me help you out, here.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a canister of pepper spray, and tossed it to me. “Be my guest,” he said. And then he pushed my door open.
“How'd you do that? My door was locked.”
“God-?given talent,” he said. “I thought it would save time if I searched your apartment before you got home.”