“You’ve worked for me before doing computer searches, and that’s where I’d like to put you again. Ramon has been doing the searches, but he’d like to get out of the cubby and back on the street. You’d be working on the fifth floor in the control room, but you’d have total access within the building. Every man in my organization knows you and understands that you’re my personal property, so they’re not going to talk freely when you’re around, but they’re also not going to think I hired you to snoop. They’ll assume I gave you the job to have you close to me.”

“Personal property?”

“Babe, you’re the only one who would question it.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I am not personal property. A car is personal property. A shirt is personal property. A human being is not personal property.”

“In my building, we share cars and shirts. We don’t share women. In my building, you’re my personal property. Deal with it.”

At a later time, when I was alone and had given it some thought, I’d probably find the flaw in that reasoning, but oddly enough it made sense at the moment.

“What about my cases at the bonds office?” I asked him.

“I’ll help you.”

This was a really good deal, because I was a crappy bounty hunter and Ranger was the best. Not to mention I’d be drawing salary from Rangeman. All I had to do was keep my hands off Ranger and everything would be peachy.

“Okay,” I said. “When do you want me to start?”

“Now. Do you have uniforms left from the last time you worked for me?”

“I have a couple T-shirts, and I have some black jeans.”

“Good enough. I’ll have Ella order some more.”

Ella and her husband, Louis, serve as live-in property managers for Rangeman. They keep the building clean and running efficiently, and they keep the men fed and clothed. They’re both in their early fifties, and Ella is dark-haired, and dark-eyed, and pretty in a no-nonsense kind of way.