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To the Nines

Janet Evanovich
Contents ( 17)
  1. TO THE NINES
  2. ONE
  3. ONE
  4. TWO
  5. THREE
  6. FOUR
  7. FIVE
  8. SIX
  9. SEVEN
  10. EIGHT
  11. NINE
  12. TEN
  13. ELEVEN
  14. TWELVE
  15. THIRTEEN
  16. FOURTEEN
  17. FIFTEEN
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TO THE
NINES

Also by Janet Evanovich

Visions of Sugar Plums

Hard Eight

Seven Up

Hot Six

High Five

Four to Score

Three to Get Deadly

Two for the Dough

One for the Money

TO THE
NINES

Janet Evanovich

ST. MARTIN’S PRESS image NEW YORK

ONE

TITLE

COPYRIGHT

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

TO THE NINES. Copyright © 2003 by Evanovich, Inc. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

ISBN 0-312-26586-7

First Edition: July 2003

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This book was spectacularly edited by SuperJen!

Thanks to Denise Margo Moy for suggesting
the title for this book.

ONE

MY NAME IS Stephanie Plum and I was born and raised in the Chambersburg section of Trenton, where the top male activities are scarfing pastries and pork rinds and growing love handles. The pastry and pork rind scarfing I’ve seen firsthand. The love handle growing happens over time. Thank God for small favors.

The first guy I saw up close and personal was Joe Morelli. Morelli put an end to my virgin status and showed me a body that was masculine perfection . . . smooth and muscular and sexy. Back then Morelli thought a long-term commitment was twenty minutes. I was one of thousands who got to admire Morelli’s best parts as he pulled his pants up and headed for the door.

Morelli’s been in and out of my life since then. He’s currently in and he’s improved with age, butt included.

So the sight of a naked ass isn’t exactly new to me, but the one I was presently watching took the cake. Punky Balog had an ass like Winnie the Pooh . . . big and fat and furry. Sad to say, that was where the similarity ended because, unlike Pooh Bear, there was nothing endearing or cuddly about Punky Balog.

I knew about Punky’s ass because I was in my new sunshine yellow Ford Escape, sitting across from Punky’s dilapidated row house, and Punky had his huge Pooh butt plastered against his second-story window. My sometime partner, Lula, was riding shotgun for me and Lula and I were staring up at the butt in open-mouthed horror.

Punky slid his butt side to side on the pane and Lula and I gave a collective, upper lip curled back eeyeuuw!

“Think he knows we’re out here,” Lula said. “Think maybe he’s trying to tell us something.”

Lula and I work for my bail bonds agent cousin, Vincent Plum. Vinnie’s office is on Hamilton Avenue, his big plate-glass front window looking into the Burg. He’s not the world’s best bonds agent. And he’s not the worst. Truth is, he’d probably be a better bondsman if he wasn’t saddled with Lula and me. I do fugitive apprehension for Vinnie and I have a lot more luck than skill. Lula mostly does filing. Lula hasn’t got luck or skill. The thing Lula has going for her is the ability to tolerate Vinnie. Lula’s a plus-size black woman in a size-seven white world and Lula’s had a lot of practice at pulling attitude.