I was happy to once again have my back to the wall, but I felt naked without hardware. It was a creepy thought that the killer might be on the plane. He could be the preppy-looking guy across the aisle or the hairy guy three rows up. They’d watched me take my seat. Hard to tell if they wanted to kill me or if they just didn’t have anything better to do than to stare.

BY THE TIME I deplaned in Newark I was too tired to be afraid. God bless those lucky souls who can sleep while flying. I’ve never been one of them.

I’d arranged to meet Morelli at baggage claim. I didn’t have any baggage to claim, but it was the easiest pickup point. It was seven in the morning, Jersey time. My teeth felt furry and my eyes ached.

I searched the crowd for Morelli and felt my heart skip a beat when I found him. Morelli never blended. He was movie star handsome and looked like a man you’d avoid in a fight. Women always looked twice at Morelli, but seldom approached. With the possible exception of Terry Gilman.

Morelli’s face softened when he saw me. He reached out and drew me to him, wrapping his arms around me. He kissed my neck and held me close for a moment. “You look beat,” he said. He stepped back, took my bag, and smiled at me. “But pretty.”

I gave him a sideways glance. “You want something.”

“The computer for starters.”

“Always a cop.”

“Not always. It’s Sunday. How tired are you?”

I was dog tired until I saw Morelli. Now that I was next to him I was having some nonsleeping thoughts. The nonsleeping thoughts lasted about thirty seconds into the ride home.

I OPENED MY eyes and stared up at Morelli. He was out of the truck, trying to get me awake enough to get me into the house. He had my seat belt off and my bag slung over his shoulder.

“Jeez, Steph,” he said, “didn’t you sleep on the plane?”

“I never sleep on a plane. I have to be ready in case it crashes.” I heaved myself off the seat and shuffled up the sidewalk. Morelli opened the door and I braced myself for the Bob attack. We heard him thundering through the house, coming from the kitchen. He reached the small foyer and Morelli held up a giant dog biscuit. Bob’s eyes got wide, Morelli threw the biscuit over Bob’s head down the hallway, and Bob turned in midgallop and followed the biscuit.

“Pretty smart,” I said.

“I should take him to obedience training, but I never seem to get to it.”

What Morelli meant was that he should try obedience training again. Bob had flunked out twice before.

Morelli set the bag on the floor at the foot of the stairs and removed the computer. “I’m not going to open this. I’m going to turn it over to the experts first thing tomorrow.”