RANGER PARKED AT a mall entrance and we walked through the mall to the salon. We passed a Victoria’s Secret along the way and I couldn’t resist giving Ranger the test.

“Suppose I wanted to look for a thong,” I said to Ranger. “Would you come into the store with me?”

Ranger did the almost smile. “Are we cutting a deal?”

“Everything’s a deal with you.”

“I’m a mercenary,” Ranger said. “What’s your point?”

For a couple years now I’ve been getting my hair cut by Mr. Alexander. The guy’s name is Alexander Dubkowski, but no one calls him Al or Alex or even Alexander. It’s Mr. Alexander if you want a decent cut.

We walked into the salon and Mr. Alexander looked our way and sucked in some air. Not only did I have a hair disaster of biblical proportions, I was with the Man from SWAT. And the Man from SWAT made people nervous.

“I had a hair accident,” I said to Mr. Alexander. “Do you have time to fix it?”

Mr. Alexander went pale under his tanning salon tan. Probably afraid Ranger would shoot up the place if I didn’t get an immediate appointment. “I have a few minutes between clients,” he said, motioning me into a chair, draping a cape around me. He did some hair fluffing with his fingers, he bit his lower lip. “I’m going to have to cut,” he said.

Panic. “It’s not going to be real short, is it? How about a weave, or something.”

“I’m good, but I’m not God,” he said. “It’s going to have to get cut.”

I blew out a sigh of resignation. “Fine. Cut.”

“Close your eyes,” he said. “I’ll tell you when it’s done.”

I opened an eye halfway through and he quickly turned the chair so I wasn’t facing the mirror. “No cheating,” he said. When he was done, he spun me around and we both stopped breathing.

It was short. Longer in the back, curling along the nape of my neck. Short enough on the sides to have my ear show. A few wispy bangs over my forehead. And the whole thing looking slightly mussed and wind tossed.

Ranger came and stood behind me, checking me out. “Cute,” he said.

“Last time my hair was this short I was four years old.”

WHEN WE WERE back in the car I turned to Ranger. “Is it really cute or were you just trying to keep me from shrieking?”

He ran a hand through my hair. “It’s sexy,” he said. And he kissed me. Tongue and everything.

“Hey,” I said. “We’re not supposed to be doing that.”

A smile hovered at the edges of his mouth. “Morelli told me you were all mine today.”

“That was a figure of speech. He trusts us.”

Ranger turned the key in the ignition. “He trusts you. I haven’t signed on to the trust me program.”

“How about me? Can I trust you?”

“Are we talking about your life or your body?”