Disclaimer: The characters and their world belong to Janet Evanovich. I'm just playing with them for fun, and all mistakes are my own.
Chapter 1: Operation What?
Stephanie's POV
Most people get up in the morning, put in a solid eight hours at their job, and then, after a little dinner and maybe watching some TV with their significant other, drop off to sleep, safe and snug in their warm bed, until it's time to do it all over again. But I'm not most people.
First of all, I'd woken up just shy of noon, and spent the afternoon talking a shop lifter and an old guy who liked to flash his wiener at Bingo into accompanying me to the Police department so my sleazy cousin could re-bond them. And then, I'd grabbed a couple of TastyKakes for dinner and spent my evening hunting down Jimmy Scarzoli, who was out on bond for selling counterfeit Viagra over at the Senior Center. I'd finally tracked him down at his cousin's restaurant, and after just a teensy bit of fuss, hauled him into the cop shop. I don't care what my Mom says, it was a good capture – nothing got broken and spaghetti and tiramisu stains probably come out of carpet. My name is Stephanie Plum, and I've just described an average day in my life.
Anyway, after my third shower of the day, I'd climbed into my extremely solitary bed just shy of midnight and dropped right off to sleep. I was in the middle of a pretty good dream, too, when someone started to shake me awake. I wish I could say that this was the first time I'd been awakened by an intruder, but since I started chasing down bail jumpers for my cousin Vinnie a few years ago, my apartment and I had been through more than our share of break-ins, gunfire, and even fire bombs.
My eyes snapped open as a shadowy weight settled on the bed next to me, and a hand clapped over my mouth before I could get out a good scream. Judging by the size of the hand, my intruder was huge; I'm about 5'7" tall, 130 pounds on a good day, but never underestimate the power of a good dose of terror with a chaser of adrenaline. I bit into the dinner-plate sized paw that covered half of my face and desperately groped around for something I could use for a weapon.
"Jesus, Bombshell!" My attacker's other hand snatched the alarm clock out of my grasp and what felt like a ton of bricks settled over my chest. "Fuck!" He swore as I clamped down harder on his palm. "It's me! Stop fighting and I'll let you up, OK?"
Just then, the overhead light clicked on and I found myself staring up into a very familiar wide, brown face. "mmmpf Tank?" I mumbled as I slowly released my grip on his palm.
No wonder it'd felt like a mountain had fallen on me. Tank's about six feet, six inches in his bare feet, and he's built like his nickname. His mother had named him Pierre and he has three cats named Applepuff, Suzy and Miss Kitty, but don't let the name and cute little kitties fool you. He was one scary dude at the best of times, and right then I wasn't entirely sure which side he was on. Yeah, Tank had spent a lot of time looking out for me when my friend and occasional lover, Ranger, couldn't, but pinning me to my bed at 2 AM didn't exactly add up to a neighborly visit.
He eased off of me, slightly. "You gonna scream if I take my hand away?" When I just glared at him, he sighed and eased away until he stood at my bedside.
"Christ, Tank!" I exclaimed as I dragged the sheets back up to cover the tank top and boxer shorts I'd worn to bed. "What the hell are you doing, sneaking in here in the middle of the night? Call first next time," I grumbled as I tried to discreetly slide over to the far side of my bed. I gauged the distance to the door, and not for the first time that year wished I hadn't left my gun in my cookie jar.
Tank held up a duffle bag I hadn't noticed before. "Sorry, Steph, but I need you to get dressed and come with me ten minutes ago."
"No." When he scowled at me I just crossed my arms over my chest and glared back as I finally got my heartrate under control. "How long have you known me, Tank?"
He sighed and scrubbed one hand over his face. "Too damn long."
Huh. If Tank didn't look tired to the bone, I'd hit him for that comment. "So what makes you think you can order me to do anything?"
A low chuckle came from the doorway, giving me heart palpitations for the second time that night. I whipped my head toward the sound and relaxed slightly as Lester Santos came into view. "Forgive him, Beautiful. He's been hit on the head a lot."
Tank flipped him off and turned back toward me. "Give me break, just once, Bombshell?"
I thought for a second. "This have anything to do with Ranger being in the wind?" When he nodded, I sighed and held out my hand for the duffle. "Explain to me why you barged in here and scared the crap out of me, and maybe I'll cooperate."
Tank sighed yet again and handed over the bag. "How about you get dressed first and I'll explain?"
Since I really didn't feel like hanging around Tank and Lester half-dressed, I hitched the sheet around me more securely and stood. "Fine. I'll change, you talk," I told him as I headed toward the bathroom. I left the door slightly ajar and dropped the sheet. "No peeking!" I yelled through the opening. "That goes double for you, Les!"
"Aw, Beautiful, you're never any fun!" There was a yelp, and I let myself smile for the first time that night.
"If he peeks, hit him again for me, Tank," I called as I unzipped the bag. But anything else I might've said was lost as I got my first look at the contents.
"Uh, Tank, what's with the loaded gun?" I asked as I poked gingerly into the bag. There were extra clips, too, and a fat wad of hundred dollar bills that I was afraid to touch. Instead, I looked into the slim wallet that was laid on top of it all. "And who the Hell is Michelle Miller?" And why did she have my face? I wondered as I inspected the driver's license with a Philadelphia address, credit cards, and gym membership card some comedian had stuffed into the wallet's pockets.
"It's a bug-out bag," Lester supplied helpfully.
"Boss's orders." Tank's voice rumbled through the door. "Operation Omega."
"And that means what?" I prompted as I dug out the jeans and shirt someone had packed for me. They were designer and my size, and I briefly tried to imagine Ranger shopping for it and the coordinating ballet flats I found in the bottom of the bag. And then I found the sports bra and sensible cotton panties and decided I had his housekeeper, Ella, to thank for the outfit. Ranger would've gotten me sexy undies or none at all.
"It means you disappear, and RangeMan goes into lock-down," He told me gruffly.
RangeMan is a high-tech security company that's co-owned by Ranger and a couple of his Army buddies. I've seen them bust gangs down on Stark Street one day and international terrorists the next, but I've never seen Tank rattled until just then. A shiver of real fear slithered down my spine. Ranger had threatened me with a safe house a time or two when things had gotten rough, but the gun, cash and fake ID all added up to one thing in my mind.
"Where's Ranger?" I asked suspiciously. When they didn't answer, my spidey senses went wild and a tight ball of dread settled into the pit of my stomach. Yep. Shit was getting real.
I dressed in record time and rushed out of the bathroom without another word. I grabbed my purse and hamster cage from the kitchen counter, and I was almost to the front door when I realized that neither of the guys were following me.
"Hey, time's a-wasting," I told them as they stared at me open-mouthed from the bedroom doorway. "But you'd better forget anything about me going on the run. We're going to RangeMan, and then you're going to tell me what's really going on."
R&S~R&S~R&S
I must've sounded like I meant business because the next thing I knew, we were in a SUV headed toward the RangeMan building on Haywood. Neither Les nor Tank seemed to be in a mood to talk, so I instead leaned back against the seat and thought back to how I'd gotten to this moment in time.
I grew up in a fairly traditional Italian-Hungarian family, if you ignored my Grandma Mazur, in an extremely traditional neighborhood in south Trenton known as the Burg. Except for trying to fly off of my parents' garage that one time and losing my virginity on the floor of the Tasty Pastry when I was sixteen, I was your average Jersey girl. Mostly.
I didn't flunk out of catholic high school, learned how to wield a can of aqua-net with the best of them, and never went anywhere without at least two coats of waterproof mascara. I even graduated from college with a degree in business and a minor in pool, and got married right away to a guy my mom liked. Sure, my marriage to Dickie Orr didn't last a year on account of he was a cheating sleazebag, but again, it was still all within the range of normal human experience.
It really wasn't until I was out of work and ended up blackmailing my cousin for a job that my life took a turn towards weirds-ville. My first bail jumper was Joe Morelli, a Trenton Vice cop and the guy who'd relieved me of my virginity. Needless to say, there was some bad blood between us – maybe because Joe wrote about our encounter on men's room walls all over town, and I chose to show him how I felt about that a few years later by running him down with my dad's Buick. So, Joe wasn't about to do me any favors by going back to jail peacefully, which was when I met Ricardo Carlos Mañoso, AKA Ranger. Connie, the office manager at the Bonds office, called in a favor and got Ranger to show me the ropes.
Ranger is in one word, a bad-ass. He's a former Special Forces soldier and a better bounty hunter than I'll ever be. His cars and wardrobe come in only one color – basic black – and he's a man of few words and even fewer facial expressions. I call him Batman, and sometimes I even believe that he has a cape hiding in his closet.
Those first couple of weeks, I wasn't sure he took me seriously, but he gave me a crash course in bounty hunting 101, and made sure I had the usual tools of the trade – handcuffs, defense spray, and a gun I still hate to carry. I brought in Morelli, and coincidentally helped him clear his name of a murder charge in the process. And in the months and years that followed, my life fell into a strange, but not entirely unsatisfying pattern. For one thing, Joe and I started dating – we were even engaged once. Of course, we've been off and on so much we practically needed a spreadsheet to track the status of our relationship.
And Ranger… He's been my mentor, co-worker and sometimes lover. We slept together once when Morelli and I were on a long break, and a couple of times since when Joe and I were trying out a non-commitment agreement. I'm not proud of that part, but it is what it is. In the dark of night, I have to admit I'd like us to be more, but Ranger's always told me that his love comes with a condom and not a ring, and my Catholic guilt won't let me do booty calls.
Ranger's said a lot of crap to me, but that doesn't change one irrefutable fact: we've had each other's back time and time again. He's pulled me out of more scrapes than I can count and he's literally jumped off of a bridge for me. I've faced more than one homicidal maniac for him and I'd do it again. He's my best and truest friend, even though I couldn't tell you what his favorite movie is.
So, Operation Omega or not, there was no way I was just going to run and hide if Ranger was in trouble.