I do not own any of these characters, although I would really like to meet
up with Ranger in a dark room somewhere. I simply borrow and gently use
them for my amusement.
Chapter One
Don't Get Out of the Car
Morelli and I were in another semi-"off" phase in our relationship. Periodic sex, rare dates when we actually went out in public together, and lots of arguments and aggravation, coupled with serious flirting from Ranger, who knew the minute Morelli and I were on the outs AGAIN. Quite frankly, I had been surprised to get a call late last night from Morelli, asking me to meet him for dinner tonight. Having nothing better to do- caught up at work, clean house due to no social life, and avoiding my family- I agreed. Which is why I had been sitting at Pino's bar for the past hour, growing steadily angrier. I only stayed this long because of the interested looks I was getting from some of the guys at the bar.
I was sipping my second VERY weak margarita and nursing a case of righteous fury at Morelli for standing me up, when I heard the first of the sirens and saw the blue and whites careen down Hamilton Avenue. A second car screamed past within a minute, and the third and fourth followed in seconds. The last time I had seen this many cop cars racing to one place had been when my Jeep blew up.
Or was that the Porsche? With my car luck, it's become difficult to keep the individual doom of each of my ill-fated vehicles straight.
Being the bad-ass bounty hunter- and stood up date- that I am, I sucked down one last mouthful of my drink, threw a twenty down on the bar, and headed out to see what the ruckus was about. Pino's being Pino's, about a half-dozen off-duty Trenton PD had already preceded me out the door. I knew that whatever Morelli had stood me up for probably had to do with the big to-do; he usually only missed dates for work related reasons these days. I was in no rush to get to the scene of whatever the crime was, because I knew that Morelli would be too busy to talk to me until the mess was cleared up, but I was curious. What was so important that he had forgotten about me?
The Buick was waiting for me on the street. Big Blue, nearly indestructible, was once again mine. I had given up on ever having my own, new, fuel-efficient car for more than a few days. I revved the engine, did an illegal U-turn, and followed the crowd.
I knew as soon as I got close that something very bad had happened. Given my past history- it seemed that every psychopath in the Burg fixated on me at one point in his sick career- "very bad" was a fairly common occurrence. At least this time, it wasn't my fault. One ambulance had taken off while I was weaving in and out of the traffic on Hamilton, recklessly speeding past me on its way to Saint Francis. A second ambulance was there, but it's lights flashed soundlessly and it didn't seem to be going anywhere. Someone dead, then, and another person injured.
Cops, both uniformed and plain clothes, stood clustered together, talking in hurried, tense tones. The tenor of those conversations, given the anger in the officers' faces, was going to lead to something along the lines of "Yes, sir. The suspect fell down the stairs. Several times," whenever they brought the perp in. There was none of the gallows humor I usually observed at crime scenes, and everything seemed hushed.
I eased the Buick into a spot near the intersection, only brushing the bumper of the silver Taurus in front of me. Practice was paying off; the bumper was barely scratched. The Buick, of course, was fine. I took a minute to inspect myself in the rear view mirror. I wanted to make sure that Morelli would regret standing me up as soon as he saw me in that little black dress and fuck me heels. My hair was presentable, for once, and had only taken a half-hour to perfect; my coal-black mascara and eyeliner had barely smudged. Maybe I should consider becoming a cosmetics counter girl like Morelli kept suggesting. Freshening up my hooker red lipstick, I turned to open my door and nearly screamed.
I should have realized he was standing there from the hairs on my neck standing up, but I had been distracted with the make-up check. "You need to stop creeping up out of nowhere and scaring me. I almost wet myself."
Ranger leaned on the Buick's powder blue door, briefly glancing down at my outfit, his face more expressionless than usual. "You're not dressed for a crime scene, Babe. Isn't there someplace else you should be?"
I scowled back at him. The dress that he wouldn't let me out of the house in had barely registered on his radar. Something odd was going on. "I was some where else. Now I'm interested in here."
"Go back to that some where else."
I usually took Ranger's advice, at least when it involved a life- threatening situation. This hardly qualified, and my usual stubborn nature was alcohol fortified. "Thanks for the advice," I smiled up at him. "but I really don't need it." When I tried to push my door open, however, Ranger stood his ground and held it shut, leaning further down on his muscled forearms. The muscles barely twitched, but there was no way I could get out.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" I demanded, tossing my hair back and showing some cleavage in the hope- somewhat vain, probably, but you never know- that I could distract him enough to get him out of my way. If I was curious before about what was going on here, I was now on the road to obsessed. A sure way to get me interested in something was to warn me away, which Ranger well knew. What on earth happened that he didn't want me here?
Ranger merely continued to lean. "I don't think you should get out of the car."
This was very un-Ranger like. I didn't truly expect a cleavage flash to distract him, but I thought I would at least get a comment- or a quick look. Ranger did none of these things. In the same flat voice, he repeated, "I don't think you should get out of the car."
Now, I was truly irate. I wanted to know what was going on, I wanted to see my boyfriend (or whatever it was he is), and I wanted to do it right here and now. Glaring hotly at Ranger, I wondered why he was acting this way. "Did you get up on the wrong side of the Batcave today?"
Usually, the mention of the Batcave would get a corner mouth twitch, which passed for mild amusement with Ranger. Today, it got nothing. When Ranger choose not to answer, I turned back into my seat and sat staring out the windshield. Ranger neither moved nor spoke. "Ranger, what's the deal? Let me out."
Ranger shook his head. "I can't do that."
I hit the steering wheel a couple of times in anger. "Why not? Morelli ask you to keep me away from the crime scene?"
The line of Ranger's mouth tightened, and his jaw muscled twinged. "You don't want to get out of your car."
I needed to get out of the car to see what was going on. I was getting a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, the same feeling you get before you hurl. And I most definitely didn't want to hurl in my car. I tried to climb over to the passenger side, but I couldn't get over there as quickly as I wanted to in my dress. As I reached for the door handle, another set of arms leaned down on the window and a face appeared.
"Tank." I said in greeting. He dipped his head, and stood rock-steady. I turned back to Ranger, an angry retort on my lips, when he opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. He turned the keys I had left in the ignition on and began to pull out.
Ranger only drove his own mysterious, expensive black cars. Ranger did not drive fifty year old Buicks for any reason. Ranger never told me what to do; he knew it was useless. Why was he acting this way? The about-to-hurl feeling grew, and greeted the cold chills up my spine feeling. I reached over and shut the car down, half-way out of the parking spot and into the street, snatching the keys and dropping them down the front of my dress. I was half-scared that wouldn't stop Ranger, and half-disappointed when it did. "What the hell is going on?"
Ranger rubbed his face with his hands with a sense of resignation, as an old man would do. "Why do you have to be so difficult?" he asked, his voice tired.
I prickled a little at the jab. "I am not difficult. I am very reasonable. If you give me a reasonable explanation for what's going on here, I will be happy to listen to you. Until then, screw you. And get out of my car."
Ranger looked at me, his eyes darker than usual. "We need to go somewhere else to talk. This isn't a good place."
My eyes narrowed, and I felt the bile rise up in my throat. "Why?" I asked, even though I began to have an inkling about just who had been rushed past me in that ambulance.
Ranger cupped my face in his tanned, strong hand, tracing my jaw line with a callused thumb pad. His usually unreadable eyes held something in the realm of pity, sending my heart plummeting. "It's Joe."
Oh, God. And the fact that Ranger had called him Joe rather than Morelli scared me even more. I quickly fished out the keys and handed them back. I was glad now that Ranger was driving, because my hands were shaking so badly that I would never have gotten the keys in the steering column, much less driven.
Chapter One
Don't Get Out of the Car
Morelli and I were in another semi-"off" phase in our relationship. Periodic sex, rare dates when we actually went out in public together, and lots of arguments and aggravation, coupled with serious flirting from Ranger, who knew the minute Morelli and I were on the outs AGAIN. Quite frankly, I had been surprised to get a call late last night from Morelli, asking me to meet him for dinner tonight. Having nothing better to do- caught up at work, clean house due to no social life, and avoiding my family- I agreed. Which is why I had been sitting at Pino's bar for the past hour, growing steadily angrier. I only stayed this long because of the interested looks I was getting from some of the guys at the bar.
I was sipping my second VERY weak margarita and nursing a case of righteous fury at Morelli for standing me up, when I heard the first of the sirens and saw the blue and whites careen down Hamilton Avenue. A second car screamed past within a minute, and the third and fourth followed in seconds. The last time I had seen this many cop cars racing to one place had been when my Jeep blew up.
Or was that the Porsche? With my car luck, it's become difficult to keep the individual doom of each of my ill-fated vehicles straight.
Being the bad-ass bounty hunter- and stood up date- that I am, I sucked down one last mouthful of my drink, threw a twenty down on the bar, and headed out to see what the ruckus was about. Pino's being Pino's, about a half-dozen off-duty Trenton PD had already preceded me out the door. I knew that whatever Morelli had stood me up for probably had to do with the big to-do; he usually only missed dates for work related reasons these days. I was in no rush to get to the scene of whatever the crime was, because I knew that Morelli would be too busy to talk to me until the mess was cleared up, but I was curious. What was so important that he had forgotten about me?
The Buick was waiting for me on the street. Big Blue, nearly indestructible, was once again mine. I had given up on ever having my own, new, fuel-efficient car for more than a few days. I revved the engine, did an illegal U-turn, and followed the crowd.
I knew as soon as I got close that something very bad had happened. Given my past history- it seemed that every psychopath in the Burg fixated on me at one point in his sick career- "very bad" was a fairly common occurrence. At least this time, it wasn't my fault. One ambulance had taken off while I was weaving in and out of the traffic on Hamilton, recklessly speeding past me on its way to Saint Francis. A second ambulance was there, but it's lights flashed soundlessly and it didn't seem to be going anywhere. Someone dead, then, and another person injured.
Cops, both uniformed and plain clothes, stood clustered together, talking in hurried, tense tones. The tenor of those conversations, given the anger in the officers' faces, was going to lead to something along the lines of "Yes, sir. The suspect fell down the stairs. Several times," whenever they brought the perp in. There was none of the gallows humor I usually observed at crime scenes, and everything seemed hushed.
I eased the Buick into a spot near the intersection, only brushing the bumper of the silver Taurus in front of me. Practice was paying off; the bumper was barely scratched. The Buick, of course, was fine. I took a minute to inspect myself in the rear view mirror. I wanted to make sure that Morelli would regret standing me up as soon as he saw me in that little black dress and fuck me heels. My hair was presentable, for once, and had only taken a half-hour to perfect; my coal-black mascara and eyeliner had barely smudged. Maybe I should consider becoming a cosmetics counter girl like Morelli kept suggesting. Freshening up my hooker red lipstick, I turned to open my door and nearly screamed.
I should have realized he was standing there from the hairs on my neck standing up, but I had been distracted with the make-up check. "You need to stop creeping up out of nowhere and scaring me. I almost wet myself."
Ranger leaned on the Buick's powder blue door, briefly glancing down at my outfit, his face more expressionless than usual. "You're not dressed for a crime scene, Babe. Isn't there someplace else you should be?"
I scowled back at him. The dress that he wouldn't let me out of the house in had barely registered on his radar. Something odd was going on. "I was some where else. Now I'm interested in here."
"Go back to that some where else."
I usually took Ranger's advice, at least when it involved a life- threatening situation. This hardly qualified, and my usual stubborn nature was alcohol fortified. "Thanks for the advice," I smiled up at him. "but I really don't need it." When I tried to push my door open, however, Ranger stood his ground and held it shut, leaning further down on his muscled forearms. The muscles barely twitched, but there was no way I could get out.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" I demanded, tossing my hair back and showing some cleavage in the hope- somewhat vain, probably, but you never know- that I could distract him enough to get him out of my way. If I was curious before about what was going on here, I was now on the road to obsessed. A sure way to get me interested in something was to warn me away, which Ranger well knew. What on earth happened that he didn't want me here?
Ranger merely continued to lean. "I don't think you should get out of the car."
This was very un-Ranger like. I didn't truly expect a cleavage flash to distract him, but I thought I would at least get a comment- or a quick look. Ranger did none of these things. In the same flat voice, he repeated, "I don't think you should get out of the car."
Now, I was truly irate. I wanted to know what was going on, I wanted to see my boyfriend (or whatever it was he is), and I wanted to do it right here and now. Glaring hotly at Ranger, I wondered why he was acting this way. "Did you get up on the wrong side of the Batcave today?"
Usually, the mention of the Batcave would get a corner mouth twitch, which passed for mild amusement with Ranger. Today, it got nothing. When Ranger choose not to answer, I turned back into my seat and sat staring out the windshield. Ranger neither moved nor spoke. "Ranger, what's the deal? Let me out."
Ranger shook his head. "I can't do that."
I hit the steering wheel a couple of times in anger. "Why not? Morelli ask you to keep me away from the crime scene?"
The line of Ranger's mouth tightened, and his jaw muscled twinged. "You don't want to get out of your car."
I needed to get out of the car to see what was going on. I was getting a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, the same feeling you get before you hurl. And I most definitely didn't want to hurl in my car. I tried to climb over to the passenger side, but I couldn't get over there as quickly as I wanted to in my dress. As I reached for the door handle, another set of arms leaned down on the window and a face appeared.
"Tank." I said in greeting. He dipped his head, and stood rock-steady. I turned back to Ranger, an angry retort on my lips, when he opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. He turned the keys I had left in the ignition on and began to pull out.
Ranger only drove his own mysterious, expensive black cars. Ranger did not drive fifty year old Buicks for any reason. Ranger never told me what to do; he knew it was useless. Why was he acting this way? The about-to-hurl feeling grew, and greeted the cold chills up my spine feeling. I reached over and shut the car down, half-way out of the parking spot and into the street, snatching the keys and dropping them down the front of my dress. I was half-scared that wouldn't stop Ranger, and half-disappointed when it did. "What the hell is going on?"
Ranger rubbed his face with his hands with a sense of resignation, as an old man would do. "Why do you have to be so difficult?" he asked, his voice tired.
I prickled a little at the jab. "I am not difficult. I am very reasonable. If you give me a reasonable explanation for what's going on here, I will be happy to listen to you. Until then, screw you. And get out of my car."
Ranger looked at me, his eyes darker than usual. "We need to go somewhere else to talk. This isn't a good place."
My eyes narrowed, and I felt the bile rise up in my throat. "Why?" I asked, even though I began to have an inkling about just who had been rushed past me in that ambulance.
Ranger cupped my face in his tanned, strong hand, tracing my jaw line with a callused thumb pad. His usually unreadable eyes held something in the realm of pity, sending my heart plummeting. "It's Joe."
Oh, God. And the fact that Ranger had called him Joe rather than Morelli scared me even more. I quickly fished out the keys and handed them back. I was glad now that Ranger was driving, because my hands were shaking so badly that I would never have gotten the keys in the steering column, much less driven.