my fingers. I looked at the house again. This was the one place I could feel safe and not be completely freaked out if the house was destroyed. This house belonged to Joe Morelli.
I hauled my cell phone out of my bag and dialed.
The phone rang six times before Joe answered with a mumbled hello.
"Joe?" I said. "It's Stephanie."
"Does this involve death?"
"Not yet."
"Does it involve sex?"
"Not yet."
"I can't imagine why else you'd be calling me."
"Someone firebombed my apartment tonight, and I need a place to stay."
"Where are you?"
"In front of your house."
An upstairs curtain was pulled aside.
"I'll be right down," Joe said. "Don't get out of your car until I open my door."
I HAULED Rex's cage off the front seat. "Now remember," I said, "no sniveling over the fact that our life is sucky. And no getting all mushy because Morelli is so hot. And no crying. We don't want Morelli thinking we're losers."
Morelli was on his small cement front porch. The door was open behind him, and I could see light from the upstairs hall. He was barefoot, dressed in cut-offs that rode his hips. His hair was tousled from sleep, and he had a gun in his hand, hanging loose at his side. "You talking to someone?"
"Rex. He's a little nervous about all this."
Morelli took the cage from me, kicked his door shut and carried Rex into the kitchen. He put the cage on the counter and flipped the overhead light on. It was an old-fashioned kitchen with dated appliances and Formica counters. Cupboards had been recently painted with cream enamel, and there was new linoleum on the floor. A pot sat soaking in the sink. Looked like Morelli'd had spaghetti for supper.
Morelli put a quart of cold milk and a bag of Oreos on the small wood table that pressed against one kitchen wall. He took two glasses from the dish drain, sat down at the table and poured out two glasses of milk.
"So," he said, "you want to talk about it?"
"I was in Atlantic City looking for Maxine tonight, and while I was gone someone pitched a firebomb through my bedroom window. The whole apartment went up. Fortunately, Mrs. Karwatt had a key and managed to rescue Rex."
Morelli stared at me for a beat with his unreadable cop face. "Remember those purple shoes you bought last year?"
"Reduced to ashes."
"Damn. I had plans for those shoes. I've spent a few sleepless nights thinking about you wearing those shoes and nothing else."
I helped myself to a cookie. "You need a life."
"Tell me about it. I spent last weekend laying linoleum." He took a second cookie. "I notice you're driving the Buick. What happened to the CRX?"
"Remember I told you about how someone soaked it with gasoline? Well, it sort of exploded."
"It exploded?"
"Actually, it caught fire first. Then it exploded."
"Hmm," Morelli said, eating the top half of the Oreo.
A tear slid down my cheek.
Morelli stopped eating. "Wait a minute. Is this for real? You aren't making this up?"
"Of course this is for real. Why else do you think I'm here?"
"Well, I thought . . ."
I jumped up, and my chair crashed to the floor. "You thought I made this up so I could come over here in the middle of the night and crawl into your bed!"
The line to Morelli's mouth tightened. "Let me get this straight. Yesterday, someone actually blew up your car and your apartment. And now you want to move in with me? What, do you hate me? You're a walking disaster! You're Calamity Jane in fucking spandex!"
"I am not a walking disaster!" But he was right. I was a walking disaster. I was an accident waiting to happen. And I was going to cry. My chest ached and my throat felt like I'd swallowed a baseball and tears gushed out of my eyes. "Shit," I said, swiping the tears away.
Morelli grimaced and reached out to me. "Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"Don't touch me!" I shrieked. "You're right. I'm a disaster. Look at me. I'm homeless. I'm carless. And I'm hysterical. What kind of a bounty hunter gets hysterical? A loser bounty hunter, that's what kind. A l-l-loser."
"Maybe milk wasn't the right choice here," Morelli said. "Maybe you could use some brandy."
"And there's more," I sobbed. "I lost forty bucks on craps, and I was the only one who didn't have a gun tonight!"
Morelli pulled me into his arms and held me close to him.
"That's okay, Steph. Forty dollars isn't so much. And lots of