"That shirt is too skimpy."

"I've worn this shirt a million times. You've never objected to it before."

"That's because it was worn for me. You need to change that shirt."

"Okay," I said, arms in air, nostrils flaring. "You want me to change my shirt. I'll change my shirt." And I stomped up the stairs and stripped off all my clothes. I'd brought every piece of black I owned to Morelli's house, so I pawed through my wardrobe and came up with skintight black spandex workout pants that rode low and were worn commando. I changed my shoes to black Pumas. And I wriggled into a black spandex wrap shirt that didn't quite meet the top of the workout pants and showed a lot of cleavage... at least as much as I could manage without implants. I stomped back down the stairs and paraded into the living room to show Morelli.

"Is this better?" I asked.

Morelli narrowed his eyes and reached for me, but he couldn't move far without his crutches. I beat him to the crutches and ran to the kitchen with them. I hustled out of the house, backed Morelli's SUV out of the garage, and motored off to work.

I used my new key fob to get into the underground garage and parked in the area reserved for noncompany cars. I took the elevator to the fifth floor, stepped into the control room, and six sets of eyes looked up from the screens and locked onto me. Halfway to work, I'd pulled Morelli's sweatshirt out of my shoulder bag and put it on over my little stretchy top. It was a nice, big shapeless thing that came well below my ass and gave me a safe unisex look. I smiled at the six men on deck. They all smiled back and returned to their work.

I was a half hour early and for the first time in a long time I was excited to get to work. I wanted to finish the Barroni search, and then I wanted to move on to Jimmy Runion. I still had one file left to search for Frederick Rodriguez. I decided to do it first and get it off my desk. I was still working on the Rodriguez file when Ranger appeared in my cubby entrance.

"We have a date," Ranger said. "You're scheduled for ten o'clock practice downstairs."

Here's the thing about guns. I hate them. I don't even like them when they're not loaded. "I'm in the middle of something," I said. "Maybe we could reschedule for some other time." Like never.

"We're doing this now," Ranger said. "This is important. And I don't want to find your gun in your desk drawer when you leave. If you work for me, you carry a gun."

"I don't have permission to carry concealed."

Ranger shoved my chair with his foot and rolled me back from the computer. "Then you carry exposed."

"I can't do that. I'll feel like Annie Oakley."

Ranger pulled me out of the chair. "You'll figure it out. Get your gun. We have the range for an hour."

I took the gun out of the desk drawer, shoved it into my sweatshirt pocket, and followed Ranger to the elevator. We exited into the garage and walked to the rear. Ranger unlocked the door to the range and switched the light on. The room was windowless and appeared to stretch the length of the building.

There were two lanes for shooters. Remote-controlled targets at the far end. Shelves and a thick bulletproof glass partition that separated the shooters at the head of each lane.

"With a little effort you could turn this into a bowling alley," I said to Ranger.

"This is more fun," Ranger said. "And I'm having a hard time seeing you in bowling shoes."

"Its not fun. I don't like guns."

"You don't have to like them, but if you work for me you have to feel comfortable with them and know how to use them and be safe."

Ranger took two headsets and a box of ammo and put them on my shelf. "We'll start with basics. You have a nine-millimeter Sig Sauer. It's a semiautomatic."

Ranger removed the magazine, showed it to me, and shoved it back into the gun. "Now you do it," he said.

I removed the magazine and reloaded. I did it ten times. Ranger did a step-by-step demonstration on firing. He gave the gun back to me, and I went through the process ten times. I was nervous, and it felt stuffy in the narrow room, and I was starting to sweat. I put the gun on the shelf, and I took off Morelli's sweatshirt.

"Babe," Ranger said. And he pulled his key fob out of his pocket and hit a button.

"What did you just do?" I asked him.

"I scrambled the security camera in this room. Hal will fall out of his seat upstairs if he sees you in this outfit."

"You don't want to know the long story, but the short story is I wore it to annoy Morelli."

"I'm in favor of anything that annoys Morelli," Ranger said. He moved in close and looked down at me. "This wouldn't be my first choice as a work uniform, but I like it." He ran a finger across the slash of stomach not covered by clothing, and I felt heat rush into private places. He splayed his hand at my hip and turned his interest to my workout pants. "I especially like these pants. What do you wear under them?"

And here's where I made my mistake. I was hot and flustered and a flip answer seemed in order. Problem was the answer that popped out of my mouth was a tad flirty.

"There are some things a man should find out for himself," I said.

Ranger reached for the waistband on the spandex pants, and I shrieked and jumped back.

"Babe," Ranger said, smiling. I was amusing him, again.

I glanced at my watch. "Actually, I need to leave the building for a while."

"Looking for another job?"

"No. This is personal."

Ranger pushed the button to unscramble the surveillance camera. "Wear the sweatshirt when you're on deck in the control room." "Deal."

A half hour later, I was idling across the street from Stiva's. The hearse and the flower cars were in place at the side entrance. Three black Town Cars lined up behind the flower cars. I sat and watched the casket come out. Macaronis followed. The flower cars were already loaded. The cars slowly moved out and drove the short distance to the church. I saw no sign of Spiro. I followed at a distance and parked half a block from the church. I had a clear view of the parking lot and the front of the church. I settled back to wait. This would take a while. The Macaronis would want Mass. The parking lot was full and the surrounding streets were bumper-to-bumper cars. The entire Burg had turned out.

An hour later, I was worrying about my cubicle sitting empty. I was getting paid to do computer searches, not hang out at funerals. And then just as I was thinking about leaving and returning to work, the doors to the church opened and people began to file out. I caught a glimpse of the casket being rolled out a side door to the waiting hearse. Engines caught up and down the street. Stiva's assistants were out, lining up cars, attaching flags to antennae.

I was intently watching the crowd at the church and jumped when Ranger rapped on my side window.

"Have you seen Spiro?" No.

"I'm right behind you. Lock up and we'll take my car."

Ranger was driving a black Porsche Cayenne. I slid onto the passenger seat and buckled up. "How did you find mer "Woody picked you up on the screen, realized you were following the funeral, and told me."

"It'll be ugly if Morelli finds out you're tracking his SUV."

"I'll remove the transponder when you stop using the car.

"I don't suppose there's any way I can get you to stop tracking me?"

"You don't want me to stop tracking you, Babe. I'm keeping you safe."

He was right. And I was sufficiently freaked out by Spiro to tolerate the intrusion.

"This isn't personal leave time," Ranger said. "This is work. You should have run it by me. We had to scramble to coordinate this."

"Sorry. It was a last-minute decision... as you can see from my clothes. My mother will need a pill after she starts getting the reports back on my cemetery appearance."

"We're wearing black," Ranger said. "We're in the ballpark. Just keep your sweatshirt zipped, so the men don't accidentally fall into the grave."

Cars were moving around in front of the church, jockeying for position. The hearse pulled into the street and the procession followed, single file, lights on. Ranger waited for the last car to go by before he fell into line. There'd been no sign of Spiro, but then I hadn't expected him to show up at church, shaking hands and chatting. I'd expected him to do another drive-by or maybe hang in a shadow somewhere. Or maybe he'd be hidden at some distance, waiting for the graveside ceremony, using binoculars to see the results of his insanity.

"Tank's already at the cemetery," Ranger said. "He's watching the perimeter. He's got Slick and Eddie working with him."

It was a slow drive to Mama Macs final resting place. Ranger wasn't famous for making small talk, so it was also a quiet drive. We parked and got out of the Cayenne. The sky was overcast, and the air was unusually cool for the time of year. I was happy to have the sweatshirt. We'd been the last to arrive, and that meant we had the longest walk. By the time we made it to the grave site, the principals were seated and the large crowd had closed around them.

This was perfect for our purpose. We were able to stand at a distance and keep watch.

Ranger and I were shoulder to shoulder. Two professionals, doing a job. Problem was, one of the professionals didn't do well at funerals. I was a funeral basket case. Possibly the only thing I hated more than a gun was a funeral. They made me sad. Really sad. And the sadness had nothing to do with the deceased.

I got weepy over perfect strangers.

The priest stood and repeated the Lord's Prayer and I felt my eyes well with tears. I concentrated on counting blades of grass at my feet, but the words intruded. I blinked the tears back and swung my thoughts to Bob. I tried to envision Bob hunching. He was going to hock up a sock. The tears ran down my cheeks. It was no good. Bob thoughts couldn't compete with the smell of fresh-turned earth and funeral flowers. "Shit," I whispered. And I sniffed back some snot.

Ranger turned to me. His brown eyes were curious and the corners of his mouth were tipped up ever so slightly. "Are you okay?" he asked.

I found a tissue in one of the sweatshirt pockets, and I blew my nose. "I'm fine. I just have this reaction to funerals!"

Several people on the outermost ring of mourners glanced our way.

Ranger put his arm around me. "You didn't like Mama Mac. You hardly knew her."

"It doesn't m-m-matter," I sobbed.

Ranger drew me closer. "Babe, we're starting to attract a lot of attention. Could you drop the sobbing down a level?"

"Ashes to ashes..." the priest said.

And I totally lost it. I slumped against Ranger and cried. He was wearing a windbreaker, and he wrapped me in the open windbreaker, hugging me in to him, his face pressed to the side of my head, shielding me as best he could from people turning to see the sobbing idiot. I was burrowed into him, trying to muffle the sobs, and I could feel him shaking with silent laughter.

"You're despicable," I hissed, giving him a punch in the chest. "Stop laughing. This is s-sssad."

Several people turned and shushed me.

"It's okay," Ranger said, still silently laughing, arms wrapped tight around me. "Don't pay any attention to them. Just let it all out."

I hiccupped back a couple small sobs, and I wiped my nose with my sleeve. "This is nothing. You should see me at a parade when the drums and the flag go by."

Ranger cradled my face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from my eyes. "The ceremony is over. Can you make it back to the car?"

I nodded. "I'm okay now. Am I red and blotchy from crying?"

"Yes," Ranger said, brushing a kiss across my forehead. "I love you anyway."

"There's all kinds of love," I said.

Ranger took me by the hand and led me back to the SUV. "This is the kind that doesn't call for a ring. But a condom might come in handy."

"That's not love," I told him. "That's lust."

He was scanning the crowd as we walked and talked, watching for Spiro, watching for anything unusual. "In this case, there's some of both."

"Just not the marrying type?"

We'd reached the car, and Ranger remoted it open. "Look at me, Babe. I'm carrying two guns and a knife. At this point in my life, I'm not exactly family material."

"Do you think that will change?"

Ranger opened the door for me. "Not anytime soon."

No surprise there. Still, it was a teeny, tiny bit of a downer. How scary is that?

"And there are things you don't know about me," Ranger said.

"What kind of things?"

"Things you don't want to know." Ranger rolled the engine over and called Tank. "We're heading back," he said. "Anything on your end?"

The answer was obviously negative because Ranger disconnected and pulled into the stream of traffic. "Tank didn't see any bad guys, but it wasn't a total wash," Ranger said, handing his cell phone over to me. "I managed to take a picture for you while you were tucked into my jacket."

Ranger had a picture phone, exactly like the one I'd been issued. I went to the album option and brought up four photos of Anthony Barroni. The images were small. I chose one and waited while it filled the screen. Anthony appeared to be talking on his phone. Hold on, he wasn't talking... he was taking a picture.

"Anthony's taking photos with his phone," I said. "Omigod, that's so creepy."

"Yeah," Ranger said. "Either Anthony's really into dead people or else he's sending photos to someone not fortunate enough to have a front-row seat."

"Spiro." Maybe.

Most of the cars left the cemetery and turned toward the Burg. The wake at Gina Macaroni's house would be packed. Anthony Barroni peeled away from the herd at Chambers Street. Ranger stuck to him, and we followed him to the store. He parked his Vette in the rear and sauntered inside.

"You should go talk to him," Ranger said. "Ask him if he had a good time."

"You're serious."

"Time to stir things up," Ranger said. "Let's raise the stakes for Anthony. Let him know he's blown his cover. See if anything happens."

I chewed on my lower lip. I didn't want to face Anthony. I didn't want to do this stuff anymore. "I'm an office worker," I said. "I think you should talk to him."

Ranger parked the SUV in front of the store. "We'll both talk to Anthony. Last time I left you alone in my car someone stole you."

It was early afternoon on a weekday, and there wasn't a lot of activity in the store. There was an old guy behind the counter, waiting on a woman who was buying a sponge mop. No other customers. Two of the Barroni brothers were working together, labeling a carton of nails in aisle four. Anthony was on his cell phone to the rear of the store. He was shuffling around, nodding his head and laughing.

I always enjoy watching Ranger stalk prey. He moves with single-minded purpose, his body relaxed, his gait even, his eyes unswerving and fixed on his quarry.

The eye of the tiger.

I was one step behind Ranger, and I was thinking this wasn't a good idea. We could be wrong and look like idiots. Ranger never worried about that, but I worried about it constantly. Or we could be right, and we could set Anthony and Spiro off on a killing spree.