One for the Money Page 0,88

that had mattered. I'd acted on a combination of righteous indignation and my own conviction that Morelli should surrender himself.

My apartment was dark and restful, lit only by the light in the hall. Shadows were deep in the living room, but they didn't generate fear. The chase was over.

Some thought needed to be given to my future. Being a bounty hunter was much more complicated than I'd originally assumed. Still, it had its high points, and I'd learned a lot in the past two weeks.

The heat wave had broken late in the afternoon and the temperature had dropped to a lovely seventy degrees. My curtains were closed, and a breeze played in the lightweight chintz. A perfect night for sleeping, I thought.

I kicked my shoes off and sat on the edge of my bed, suddenly feeling mildly uneasy. I couldn't pinpoint the source of the problem. Something seemed off. I thought about my pocketbook far away on the kitchen counter, and my apprehension increased. Paranoia, I told myself. I was locked in my apartment, and if someone tried to come through the window, which was highly unlikely, I'd have time to stop them.

Still, the ripple of anxiety nagged at me.

I looked over at the window, at the gently billowing curtains, and cold understanding struck like a knife slice. When I'd left my apartment the window had been closed and locked. The window was open now. Jesus, the window was open. Fear skittered through me, snatching my breath away.

Someone was in my apartment . . . or possibly waiting on my fire escape. I bit down hard on my lower lip to keep from wailing. Dear God, don't let it be Ramirez. Anyone but Ramirez. My heart beat with a ragged thud, and my stomach sickened.

As I saw it, I had two choices. I could run for the front door or dive down the fire escape. That was assuming my feet would move. I decided chances were greater that Ramirez was in the apartment than on the fire escape, so I went to the window. On a sharp intake of breath I ripped the curtains open and stared at the latch. It was secure. A circle of glass had been removed from the top window, allowing Whoever to slip an arm through and open the lock. The cool night air whistled softly through the neatly cut circle.

Professional, I thought. Maybe not Ramirez. Maybe just your garden variety second-story man. Maybe he'd gotten discouraged by my poverty, decided to move on to fatter pickings, and locked up after himself. I looked through the opening at the fire escape. It was empty and felt benign.

Call the police and report the break-in, I told myself. The phone was at bedside. I punched it on and nothing happened. Shit. Someone must have disconnected it in the kitchen. A little voice in my head whispered to get out of the apartment. Use the fire escape, it said. Move fast.

I turned back to the window and fumbled with the latch. I heard movement behind me, felt the intruder's presence. In the window's reflection I could see him standing in the open bedroom door, framed by the weak light from the hall.

He called my name, and I felt my hair stand on end like the cartoon version of an electrocuted cat.

"Close the curtains," he said, "and turn around nice and slow so I can see you."

I did as I was told, squinting in the dark in blind confusion, recognizing the voice but not understanding the purpose. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Good question." He flipped the light switch. It was Jimmy Alpha, and he was holding a gun. "I ask myself that question all the time," he said. "How did it come to this? I'm a decent man, you know? I try to do what's right."

"Doing what's right is good," I told him.

"What happened to all your furniture?"

"I had some hard times."

He nodded. "Then you know what it's like." He grinned. "That why you started working for Vinnie?"

"Yeah."

"Vinnie and me, we're sort of alike. We do what we have to do to hang in there. I guess You're like that too."

I didn't like being lumped in with Vinnie, but I wasn't about to argue with a guy who was holding a gun. "I guess I am."

"You follow the fights?"

"No."

He sighed. "A manager like me, waits a whole lifetime for a decent fighter to come along. Most managers die without ever getting one."

"But you got one. You have