The Trenton sky was overcast and grey, and the Autumn air had gone past 'crisp' and into 'chilly'. Clouds overhead threatened rain as I scuffled from my POS Camry into the Bonds office. Connie and Lula were there already, sharing a box of donuts and chatting. Lula looked up at me.

"Girl, your hair is frightening. You look like Frankenstein's bride if she didn't have that weird white streak."

"It's the humidity," I whined. "I can't keep it down with anything short of superglue in weather like this. Are there any new skips for me?"

Connie passed over a folder. "Here's one. Nothing that will pay the rent, but you might be able to buy a new pair of shoes."

I looked at the file. Marie LaPard had been picked up for shoplifting 16 bags of Halloween candy. A woman after my own heart. Her statement said that last year she had run out of treats, and been both TP'd and egged by neighborhood children. She was terrified it would happen again this year, but her budget couldn't stretch to cover enough candy to satisfy a Burg Halloween. She's gone into a local Target and hid the bags of candy in her outfit while tucked in-between clothing racks. She might have gotten away with it, except a bag of mini Hershey bars had come open and dropped one by one out of her pants leg as she left the store, leaving a trail of chocolaty breadcrumbs for store security to follow into the parking lot.

The one I had outstanding was more likely to be a problem. Robert Carlin, arrested for hitting his wife with a frying pan. He claims he just been turning quickly to put it away after washing it, but the fact that she had been hit in the face, and that a similar thing had happened with a broom handle two months ago meant no one believed him. He also had a history of getting into bar brawls. The bond was high enough to pay all my bills for a couple of weeks, but getting him might be tricky.

Connie looked like she was going to say something, she stopped suddenly as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and the air pressure changed. The scent of Bvgari shower gel wafted towards me, and a warm hand settled on the nape of my neck.

"Babe, can I talk to you?" Ranger whispered in my ear, sending a bolt of heat down my spine and electrifying every nerve ending I had. He was Armani Ranger today, wearing an impeccable suit that probably cost 4 times as much as my car. It fit him perfectly, giving an air of class but not quite hiding the muscle underneath.

I nodded mutely as I followed him out the door, Connie and Lula fanning themselves as we left the office and headed into the ally that served as our semi-private meeting space. Ranger looked at the folder in my hand. "How is your caseload at the moment? Would you be available for a Rangeman job the next few days?"

"I've got two skips. One shouldn't be any trouble, the other one I could use some help on. Robert Carlin, domestic violence. Known to have a nasty temper when drunk. Or Sober."

Ranger nodded. "I'll send Lester to help with Carlin. I'd do it myself, but I have planning meetings for the next 12 hours."

I nodded. "Do they have to do with the job?" Sure, Ranger always planned everything down to the tiniest detail, but 12 hours straight seemed like a lot, even for him.

He gave a slight nod, then suddenly my back was to the wall and he was pressed against me. His fingers gently ran through my hair, pulling the wild mess beck. His lips brushed against my cheek, then he nibbled the shell of my ear. I arched my back as he whispered to me, but I was so distracted by his presence that I can't have heard him right.

"Wait, you want me to what?" I asked breathlessly.

He pulled back and his lips twitched. For Ranger that was the equivalent of a face splitting grin. "How would you like to guard the President, Babe?"