Prologue
FOR THE BETTER part of my childhood, my professional aspirations were simple—I wanted to be an intergalactic princess. I didn't care much about ruling hordes of space people. Mostly I wanted to wear the cape and the sexy boots and carry a cool weapon.
As it happens, the princess thing didn't work out for me, so I went to college and when I graduated I went to work as a lingerie buyer for a chain store. Then that didn't work out, so I blackmailed my bail bondsman cousin into giving me a job as a bounty hunter. Funny how fate steps in. I never did get the cape or the sexy boots, but I do finally have a sort of cool weapon. Well okay, it's a little .38 and I keep it in my cookie jar, but it's still a weapon, right:?
Back in the days when I was auditioning for princess I had the occasional run-in with the bad kid in the neighborhood. He was two years older than me. His name was Joe Morelli. And he was trouble.
I'm still having those run-ins with Morelli. And he's still trouble . . . but now he's the kind of trouble a woman likes.
He's a cop and his gun is bigger than mine and he doesn't keep it in a cookie jar.
He proposed to me a couple weeks ago during a libido attack. He unsnapped my jeans, hooked a finger into the waistband, and pulled me to him. “About that proposal, Cupcake . . .” he said.
“Which proposal are we talking about?”
“The marriage proposal.”
“Are you serious?”
“I'm a desperate man.”
That was obvious.
Truth is, I was desperate, too. I was starting to have romantic thoughts about my electric toothbrush. Problem was, I just didn't know if I was ready for marriage. Marriage is scary stuff. You have to share a bathroom. What's with that? And what about fantasies? Suppose the intergalactic princess resurfaces and I need to set off on a mission?
Morelli shook his head. “You're thinking again.”
“There's a lot to consider.”
“Let me hit the high points for you . . . wedding cake, oral sex, plus you can have my credit card.”
“I like the wedding cake part.”
“You like the other parts, too,” Morelli said.
“I need time to think.”
“Sure,” Morelli said, “take all the time you need. How about thinking upstairs in the bedroom.”
His finger was still hooked into my jeans and it was getting warm down there. I inadvertently glanced at the stairs.
Morelli grinned and pulled me closer. “Thinking about the wedding cake?”
“No,” I said. “And I'm not thinking about the credit card, either.”
Stephanie Plum 7 - Seven Up
1
I KNEW SOMETHING bad was going to happen when Vinnie called me into his private office. Vinnie is my boss and my cousin. I read on a bathroom stall door once that Vinnie humps like a ferret. I'm not sure what that means, but it seems reasonable since Vinnie looks like a ferret. His ruby pinky ring reminded me of treasures found in Seaside Park arcade claw-machines. He was wearing a black shirt and black tie, his receding black hair was slicked back, casino pit boss-style. His facial expression was tuned to not happy.
I looked across the desk at him and tried not to grimace. “Now what?”
“I got a job for you,” Vinnie said. “I want you to find that rat fink Eddie DeChooch, and I want you to drag his boney ass back here. He got tagged smuggling a truckload of bootleg cigarettes up from Virginia and he missed his court date.”