The following story is a work of fiction that features characters developed by Janet Evanovich. No money has been earned through writing this story. Any similarities to real events or persons are entirely coincidental.
The book builds upon the previous books in my series and, although they are stand-alones, they build upon each other. The first one is a bit cupcake-y, but the rest are pure babes and develop the relationships between the characters. For maximum enjoyment, I suggest that you read them in the following order:
22 Caliber
Trigger Happy 23
Morelli's Argument 23.5
Ranger 23.75
Threatening 24
Fixation 25
Security 26
Sneaky 27
Date Night at the Movies 27.1
Meeting Maria 27.2
The Intervention 27.3
Envious 28
Dickie's Demise 28.1
Mob Matters 28.2
Altercation at Giovichinni's 28.3
In recognition of the fact that I'm a binge reader and don't personally like to wait for updates, I will try to post at a minimum on a Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule, barring unseen life events. However, in the past I have periodically posted extra chapters to celebrate achieving some personal milestone – or just because I like the way the sun is shining that day – so you might want to watch for those. Since I do that relatively frequently, if you are enjoying the story you might want to follow it rather than continually check back.
Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated. I have a few people who regularly review for me, and I'd like to thank you for that. Your reviews have given me confidence to write another story. I appreciate all reviews and try to respond to each and every one. Please note that I cannot respond to reviews that have been posted by guests.
Thank you for reading my story. I hope you enjoy it!
~ Sarah ~
Chapter One
I packed up the last of my toiletries as Ranger entered the apartment to move another box down to his Cayenne. He would have brought his Tacoma to move my things from my apartment to his car but it was raining out, and I didn't have that many things. Since I was planning on keeping the apartment for six months, all my kitchenware and furniture were staying. Ranger, with his Egyptian cotton high-thread count sheets and thick and thirsty Turkish towels, didn't need my thrift store bathroom and bed linens. After all, with my queen bed it wasn't like my sheets would fit his king anyway.
Ricardo Carlos Manoso, street name Ranger, was the owner of Rangeman, an ultra-elite security company that provided all kinds of protection services, from bodyguarding to privately contracted security guard staffing to security system installation and monitoring and everything in-between. He had been known to retrieve felons both locally and across state and international borders to return them to the system. He was my long-time friend, part-time boss, fulltime boyfriend and, more recently, cohabitation partner. Cuban-American in descent, he had dark brown hair and eyes that dilated to black when aroused. About six inches taller than my 5'7" frame, his solid muscles were indicative of his rigorous self-discipline and strength.
I had no self-discipline and strength and, unlike Ranger's hard body, mine was quite a bit squishier. I had shoulder-length brown curly hair and blue eyes. I didn't know what they looked like when I'm aroused. My best feature was my cute little nose that I inherited from my grandmother. Like Ranger, I was a part-time bounty hunter. Unlike Ranger, I wasn't very good at it.
When I worked part-time for Ranger as a researcher, I investigated private citizens, companies and their staff. This information was used for security reasons, or to help direct sales pitches. I had been doing the job consistently for the past six months and periodically beforehand, whenever Ranger's need for a researcher coincided with my bank account needing a cash infusion.
When I worked part-time for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds as a fugitive apprehension agent, aka bounty hunter, I returned fugitives to the justice system. When someone was arrested and charged, they waited in jail until they went to trial. However, jail was a big impediment to one's freedom and most people didn't want to spend their time there waiting. In most cases, a judge awarded bail. This meant that the felon could pay a certain amount in a bond to the courts. When the felon arrived in court, the bond was returned to the felon.
Not all felons had the money to pay for bail, however, and when family members had all been tapped and there were no further friends to beg to provide the money, the felon had the choice of using a bail bonds company. This company, for fifteen percent of the bond and some collateral, would lend the felon the money to pay the bail. When the felon went to jail, he got his collateral back. The bail bonds agent, however, kept the fifteen percent.
The bonding agent got a little grumpy, however, if the felon chose not to show up for court. Without that money returned from the court system, the bonding agent couldn't lend it to another felon to earn another fifteen percent. That was where I came in. My role was to find the fugitive and return him or her to the court system. For this, I got ten percent of the price of the bond. Good deal for me, until you realized there was no base pay. If I didn't bring in skips, I didn't get any money. This wouldn't be a problem if I was better at bringing in skips.
Hence why I was working part-time for Ranger. Research put my feet to sleep, but it provided the consistency in pay that I needed. It was technically a full-time job – and so was bounty hunting. For some time, I had only done bounty hunting and had earned just enough money to keep myself afloat. Although research was technically a full-time job, Ranger gave me flex hours so that I could work it around my fugitive retrieval. Between the two jobs I was, perhaps for the first time, actually saving money at the end of the month. For the first time ever, my savings account had made it out of the single digits. Life was good.
So, professionally I was doing well. Personally, things were falling into place for me too. I had broken up with my long-time on-again and off-again boyfriend, Joe Morelli, five months ago, and had started dating Ranger a hot second afterwards. Ranger and I had been good friends for some time and had periodically delved into a more physical interaction. Since some of the time that had occurred I had been dating Morelli, I didn't like to talk about it. But from that experience I knew that Ranger and I more than worked physically. He was every woman's dream in the bedroom. Morelli had been fun and satisfying in bed. He had earned his nickname of the Italian Stallion and was the kind of person that mothers warned their daughters about when they were growing up. Ranger was more.
So I knew that we worked physically, but we had an even stronger relationship emotionally. I had been relying on Ranger for years. He was the person I turned to when I was sad, when I was mad, and when I was happy. In short, he was my rock, and I could always count on him being there for me.
Up until I broke up with Morelli, however, I had thought that Ranger was leery of commitment. He had always avoided getting together with anyone and, although I knew that he loved me, I also knew that he didn't want to repeat the marriage experience. He had been married for about ten minutes in another life for the sake of his daughter, and although he didn't regret it he was very careful to make sure that it didn't happen again.
I could understand that. I had been married for about ten minutes as well, not to Ranger but to a philandering jackass named Dickie Orr. I also was leery of commitment and didn't want to get married again. It was, in fact, one of the reasons Joe's and my relationship had been so inconsistent. He had periodically wanted to get married. I didn't. But he wanted to marry me so that he could force me to quit my job. He perceived it to be dangerous. Just because I'd been stalked, bruised, knifed, shot, kidnapped, stunned and firebombed in the line of duty didn't mean that my job was dangerous. As a detective on the Trenton Police force, Joe's job was just as dangerous. Of course, he hadn't been stalked, knifed, stunned, kidnapped or firebombed in the line of duty, so perhaps he did have a point. But the stalking, bruising, stabbing, stunning, shooting, kidnapping and firebombing had only happened a few dozen times, so I thought Joe was being a little unfair about it all.
Ranger didn't try to get me to quit my job, although he was very happy to help me capture the more violent skips. And for those skips who had a history of doing things like killing bounty hunters, I was very happy to have Ranger's help. He was badass, and everyone knew it. He could bring the most recalcitrant fugitive to heel in a way that I'd never be able to accomplish. However, for the less violent felons I took the file clerk from the Bail Bonds office as my backup, former 'ho Lula, who didn't have any noticeable skills other than shocking felons with her out-there fashion sense, her ability to shoehorn her plus-sized body into a petite-sized wardrobe, and sitting on felons to make sure they didn't escape. While she wasn't much help in capturing skips, she made long stakeouts infinitely more fun.
Ranger and I had been dancing around the possibility of having me move in with him for a month now. We'd been spending each night together for about three months, and had been dividing our time between his apartment and mine. His was infinitely nicer. Not only were his appliances built in this millennium, his décor color-coordinated, his cutlery and dishware all matched and free of chips, and his apartment ultra-secure – important due to the number of break-ins I'd had in the past – but it came with Ella, Ranger's housekeeper, genius extraordinaire in the kitchen. Since I didn't cook, this was a definite attraction for me. His penthouse apartment was located in the Rangeman building, a seven-story office building that was the hub to his business. It housed a number of efficiency apartments for staff, a gym, a shooting range, holding cells, office spaces and, their bread and butter, a control room that monitored all Rangeman trackers and client security systems. I had personal trackers myself. I had one in my car, and another in my watch. So did Ranger but, unlike Ranger, I'd had the need to use mine several times in the past.
So about a month ago Ranger had started to ask me to move in permanently with him. I had been balking, not because I didn't want to but because I didn't believe that anyone would want to live with me more than three months. That's how long my marriage had lasted before I found out that my then-husband had been having affairs on me. That's how long my ex-boyfriend, Morelli, and I had lasted comfortably in his house when we tried living together. We had lasted another month uncomfortably, but that was only because my sister was living in my apartment and I couldn't return home. So although I wanted to live with Ranger, I was worried that it would all blow up in my face. Ranger told me that we'd been basically living together for the past three months and instead of him wanting to push me away he wanted to make the relationship more formal by having me move in. I was still worried. So Ranger had suggested that I keep the apartment for another six months while I lived with him, and then decide as to whether I would let the apartment go. After thinking about that suggestion for the last month, I decided that my hamster, Rex, would be a lot less confused if he was in one location day in and day out. I thought it had to be hard on him to continually be moving homes, especially now that it was the end of October and cold out, and transferring him comfortably from apartment to apartment was getting more difficult. So for Rex's sake, I was moving in with Ranger.
"Is that it?" said Ranger as I taped up the last box, stood, and brushed the dust from my jeans.
"Yup. I'll come tomorrow and clean the place."
"Okay", said Ranger. The next day was Monday and, although the bonds office was open, I was caught up on capturing skips. I was almost caught up on doing research as well, although Ranger had told me the night before that he had just signed another new corporate client, and there would be a lot of research required as they set up their account. Rangeman had a number of search engines that were incredibly invasive, and could find out everything from your score on your driving test to the date you were potty-trained. Although it was time consuming, researching employees could identify potential problems for the client. Setting up a new corporate account required a lot of upfront work, especially for a large company, but for most clients I had been able to identify at least one potential problem in their employees. I was one cog in the wheel that made Rangeman known as the premier place to go for security needs, and I was proud of the work I did.
My mother always hoped that I would switch to working fulltime for Rangeman and quit my job as a bounty hunter. It was that stalking/knifing/stabbing/firebombing/kidnapping/shooting/stunning thing, but although I was proud of the work that I did for Rangeman, the job didn't have the variety and excitement I craved. Being able to combine the two was the perfect mix for me.
The bad part about working the two jobs was that I worked a lot. If Lula and I were more efficient at capturing skips, it wouldn't be an issue. However, we were not. The good part about living in Ranger's apartment was that Ella did all the meal preparation, the grocery shopping, the laundry, and the cleaning. There was little that I had to do to take care of myself, so even though I worked a lot of hours, with Ella's assistance I still had time to relax.
I locked the door and took the last box out to Ranger's Cayenne, loaded it in the back and got into the passenger seat. I took one last look at the building and sighed. It was a bittersweet moment for me. It had been where I had lived for the last ten years. I had moved there immediately following my divorce. As a building with residents that encompassed the newly wed and nearly dead – more of the nearly dead than the newly wed – they were a good group of neighbors who had formed a community. They had supported me through my many break-ins, murders, fires and vandalisms – mostly not done by me – and had kept an eye on my place and on me personally. Mrs. Bestler, the resident who liked to play elevator operator in her spare time, was a hoot, and Mr. Wolenski, our resident greeter, was a sweetheart. As much as I was gaining a community by moving to Rangeman, I would miss the community I was leaving behind.
I sighed again as Ranger started the car. He captured my hand in his and squeezed gently. "You can always come back to visit", he said.
"I know."
He placed my hand on his thigh, and backed the car out of the spot and directed it towards his apartment. I could feel his muscles flex as he drove. Ten minutes later we were parking in the garage below the Rangeman building. The garage was large and had parking for both the fleet cars as well as employee cars. Ranger himself had four dedicated spots – one for his Toyota Tacoma truck, one for his Porsche Cayenne, one for his Porsche 911 Turbo and an empty spot. He had talked about eventually getting a muscle car, but in the meantime I had commandeered the fourth spot for myself. I didn't know how Ranger felt about this arrangement. I had never asked and I didn't want to know. Personally, I felt pretty good about it. It was the closest spot to the elevators.
When we parked, out of habit, I inspected my car. Ranger's personal and fleet cars were all black, all pristine, and all new. Mine was black, and that's where the similarity ended. My car was ten years old and only looked newer because Ranger had ordered bodywork done on it. Every time my car was stolen or incapacitated in some way so that it needed to go into the mechanic's for repair, one of the retrieving Rangeman staff would wash my car for me. This meant that my car was washed on a regular basis. Because I had so many car emergencies, Ranger had designated an extra fleet car for my use. It made me feel a little icky to have to rely on him and his cars so much, but he kept insisting that he didn't mind and, in fact, had told me that I could sell my car and use his fleet car exclusively. Such an action chipped away at my need for independence, however, and as much as I appreciated it, I hadn't taken him up on his offer.
One of the good things about Ranger's parking garage was that only staff could access it, thereby helping to ensure that my car remained threat-free while I was in the Rangeman building. In my apartment, the parking was outdoors and it was quite common to return to my vehicle in the morning to find creepy notes inside my car, rude words spray painted on the body, tires flat or the gas tank shot out. Since these sorts of problems occurred when I was at the bonds office, the police station or even when I was at my parents', and because these car misfortunes affected any car that I – not just the ones I owned – I was hesitant to drive Ranger's car for that reason as well. It was irritating when it happened to my car. It was guilt-inducing when it happened to Ranger's.
Of course, when I had car emergencies, I had the option of driving Uncle Sandor's car instead. It was a powder blue behemoth over fifty years old that my grandmother had inherited when Uncle Sandor cashed in his chips. Since she no longer had her driver's license, the car resided in my parents' garage for car emergencies. I had borrowed it on occasion. It got three miles to the gallon and cornered like a tank, but so far seemed indestructible. While that last quality made Big Blue an appealing option when I was having various car troubles, it was hard to remain stealthy when driving it. It was so large that, when you pulled up at a red light people lined up beside it thinking it was the public bus. Seniors talked to you about the car they had just like it when they were a teenager, and little children asked whether it was an alien ship. In the land of blandness, Big Blue stood out.
That wasn't a good quality as a bounty hunter, but it also wasn't a good quality for someone going out with Ranger. About four or five months ago, Ranger told me of some secret work he did for a private security company, PMC. It stood for Private Military Contractors and did covert work on behalf of the CIA, the DEA and the military. Ranger was known as the best in the world for leading teams to perform rescues of various kidnap victims, and in addition to leading the odd extraction, he trained staff on how to perform rescues. While his employment with the group was generally fairly innocuous and mostly that of a trainer, his association with the group brought danger to himself and all his loved ones. For Ranger, this meant that he kept his family at an arm's length and he was very careful to appear not to have close relationships with people. His friend Tank and I are the two exceptions to the rule. For me, this meant that Ranger trained me daily in self-defense and marksmanship. While I was the least athletic person around, I didn't mind working out as much as I used to. After Ranger had told me that he would request a dessert for every fifteen minutes of cardio I did, I had jumped on board. Ranger didn't eat dessert and it normally wasn't provided, so bribing me with dessert for working out was a huge concession and I wasn't going to waste it.
My car was clear of threats. Nothing had been scratched into the paint. No notes had been inserted under the windshield wiper and it hadn't been shot out. All in all, a good day.
Ranger and I grabbed some boxes and took them to the elevators. "Are Valerie and Albert and the kids coming to your parents' for dinner tonight?" asked Ranger.
"Val said the baby is keeping her up all night and that she needs some sleep." My sister had delivered a baby boy just a week before, and Val, Albert and their four girls were getting used to the addition of baby Edmund to their family. "My mom made lasagna and took it over to Val's house this afternoon so that their family could all rest at home and not have to come for dinner."
"I'm sure Val and Albert appreciated that."
"I'm sure they did. I would have made her something as well, but my version of cooking is to put a frozen Stouffer's macaroni and cheese in the oven and hope for the best. If I want to be fancy about it, I'll sprinkle extra cheddar over top."
"Thanksgiving is coming soon. What do you want to do about it?"
"What do you normally do?"
"My parents close the restaurant and have a big family gathering, with aunts and uncles and cousins. It would be great if you wouldn't mind going. I'd like to introduce you to everyone."
"Please tell me that it isn't a potluck. With your parents owning a restaurant, somehow I don't think they will be impressed by Stouffer's macaroni and cheese, added cheddar or not."
