A/N: The characters in this story belong to Janet Evanovich. I gain no remuneration from their use, just the joy of having some really, really fun characters to play with. This is a retelling of the story of Stephanie and Ranger from a slightly different perspective. There are instances in almost every chapter where lines of Janet Evanovich's dialogue have been entwined with my own words, to tell the story of Ranger and Stephanie from Ranger's side of the fence. Thanks to latetolove and jago-ji for their editorial expertise and especially thanks to jago-ji who keeps me accountable for all I say and print. If you like this story, let me know and if you don't, let me know.

Chapter 1

He strode purposefully through the lobby, ignoring the stares. His clothing separated him from the other occupants of the elegant foyer. Black boots hit the marble floor with a measured cadence that caused heads to turn. The loose fitting windbreaker that covered several weapons was plain, with no identifying logo. At first glance, he looked like an employee of building services rather than one of the upscale tenants, but no one questioned his presence in the exclusive area. His outfit may have been more appropriate to that of an employee, but his complete disregard of the speculative perusal of those he passed by, and the subtle air of authority assured acceptance of his presence, regardless of his clothing.

Glances that started out scathing soon changed, as they took in the dark hair slicked into a neat ponytail, the straight nose and full lips, and the chocolate eyes that lingered on no one, but missed not even the smallest detail. An aura of danger kept others from sliding too close to his personal space, and eyes that looked and then shied away turned back for a second look. He was spectacular and although he wasn't dressed in the usual workday uniform of the upwardly mobile, breeding couldn't be hidden, even beneath tight fitting cargos and a loose windbreaker. The man was an aristocrat.

He knew his physical appearance was attention worthy, but he didn't give it a second thought. His focus was on the woman waiting for him in the penthouse and the release she would give him. His needs were simple and he was straightforward in his pursuit of fulfillment. The physical dalliance with no promises and no permanent commitment was what he needed and he was fortunate he'd found someone who understood his expectations. The situation worked well for both of them and as long as she abided by the rules and didn't try to change the game, it would continue. He was unaware of her hidden motive, but that was going to change soon.

As he exited the elevator, the key was in his hand. He didn't need it, but he would use it to avoid the disagreement that would come if he slipped inside her apartment by alternate means. She expected him to observe the niceties, as befitted what she considered to be his elevated station in her world. He did what pleased him on most occasions and today it pleased him to get in and out with as little conversation as necessary. The door opened, even as he stopped in front of it.

The startled look on the man's face was hidden almost immediately as he exited the apartment. He nodded and murmured an undecipherable greeting as he scurried into the still open elevator. Tulia Campos appeared in the apartment doorway. Her long dark hair was contained in a smooth chignon with not a hair out of place. The simple lines of her figure-hugging red sheath proclaimed its designer pedigree as effectively as would an exposed label. Her only adornment was a platinum and diamond bracelet encircling her small wrist. She was more adept at hiding her surprise, but he saw it. He knew she was assessing the situation and working on damage control as she greeted him.

"Carlos!" she exclaimed. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Obviously," he said. "Who is he?"

"Rogay Alvarado," she said. "He was just paying a social call. He works with my father."

"How long have you been sleeping with him?" Carlos asked as he made his way into the apartment. Tulia closed the door behind him and followed him into the room.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "He's a business associate of my father's. I was having lunch with my mother and we met Rogay as we exited the restaurant. I invited him here for tea. I felt it was the polite thing to do, since he is a family friend."

"And your mother?" he questioned.

"She left minutes before you arrived." Tulia said as she moved closer to him, reaching out with a scarlet tipped hand to caress his cheek and let her fingers trail down his jawline. He looked at the tea service for two setting on the low table in front of the couch and said nothing.

"Are you jealous, Carlos?" she asked. "You've no need to be."

"I'm not jealous," he replied. "You have a right to your own life and a right to entertain whomever you please, but as long as I'm in your bed, I'm the only person in your bed. That was our agreement."

She wrapped both arms around his neck and pulled his face down toward hers and kissed him deeply. When she broke off the kiss she murmured, "You are the only one, Carlos. Take me to my bed." He did.

He was a generous lover in many ways, because it was easier for him to give than to accept, but this time he took her quickly and without concession. She was left wanting, but he knew she'd offer no complaint. It was an admission of guilt on her part. He knew she hadn't slept with her visitor, but she was keeping Alvarado on deck, like a baseball player warming up for his turn at the plate. That meant she had an agenda, and an agenda didn't hold well with his plan for casual sex. He left the bed and began to redress in clothes that had been hastily discarded.

Tulia sat up in bed and watched him. The sheet puddled around her waist, and the afternoon light pouring through the window gave her skin a luminescent glow. She was unconcerned about her nudity, all modesty banished by her concentrated effort to continue with her damage control.

"Carlos, why do you dress like a street thug? I know you are working on your own business interests, but must you dress like a gang member?" Aggression was a good way to redirect his thoughts from what he'd seen when he arrived and he recognized her tactic.

"And you would have me dress how?" he asked her.

"I would have you dress as befits your place in Cuban society," she said as she watched him strap the knife in its sheath to his right ankle. He pulled his pant leg down over his boot and the knife became invisible. He laughed out loud, a rarity for him.

"Cuban society?" he asked. "I'm a second generation Cuban-American. My father was born in Atlanta. I was born in Newark. I don't have a place in Cuban society."

"Carlos!" She jumped from the bed, seemingly unaware she was standing naked in front of the window. "How can you say that? Your father has successfully carried on your grandfather's business and it will be your business someday. Your mother is a patroness of the arts and her generous charity work is well known, here and in the city. You were educated at a prestigious college and groomed to take over the responsibilities of your father's business, yet you choose to dress like a common hoodlum and insist on pursuing your own interests." She turned and flung her arms toward him in a silent entreaty for his response. The sunlight was reflected in prisms thrown from her bracelet and he was blinded for a moment.

"Tulia, your knowledge of my family comes from the long association of both our families, but you are mistaken in your assumption I am to take over my father's business. I'm pursuing my own path, which I have not shared with you, nor will I. I allow the familiarity you have with my family because of the long friendship between our parents, but I have never invited you to be part of my personal business. You will keep your speculations to yourself if you wish for this arrangement to continue." The ringing of his phone interrupted him.

"Yo." Even as he answered the phone he saw a small frown of disapproval from her at his mode of greeting.

"Ranger, hi. It's Connie. Remember when I gave you DeLuca's girlfriend's address and you said, 'I owe you one.'?"

"Yes," he replied tersely. He didn't like being in anyone's debt, and he thought his favor was about to be called in.

"I need a favor," she said confirming his suspicions. "Morty is out and I know you've got all you can handle right now. Vinnie hired someone new and she has no clue. She needs some quick bounty hunter lessons. Vinnie gave her Morelli. Can you talk to her?"

He wanted to say no. He looked in the mirror and saw Tulia languidly stretching behind him, still naked and making no attempt to dress. She was hoping for a second round and he found he had no taste for her. He turned his attention back to Connie who was still petitioning him to talk with the woman.

"What's her name?" he asked, interrupting Connie's plea.

"Stephanie," Connie said. "Stephanie Plum."

"Tell her I'll meet her in the Main Street café. I'll be in the last booth on the left, facing the door. One hour. If she's not late I can give her thirty minutes."

"Thanks, Ranger. I tell her, but I'll describe you to her in case that booth isn't open..."

"It'll be open," he said and he disconnected. He slid the phone into his pocket and picked up the Glock 19. It went into his shoulder holster. The Sig went into the waistband of his cargos and nestled in the small of his back. He turned to see Tulia eyeing his armature and he knew she had questions which he wouldn't answer and didn't want to hear.

"I have to leave," he told her.

"Will you be back?" she asked moving close to him. She raised her arms and wrapped them loosely round his neck. He looked down at her breasts, their turgid nipples brushing the soft cotton of his black t-shirt and he felt a stirring, despite his desire to leave. He leaned down and gave her a quick, hard kiss.

"Yes, I'll be back," he said, "and next time I'll stay longer." It was as close to an apology for his selfishness in her bed as he would make. He donned his windbreaker, effectively hiding his weaponry and left the apartment.

An hour later he was sitting with his back to the wall watching the entrance. He saw a brown Nova cruise by leaving a vapor trail of blue oil-rich smoke. The second time the Nova passed the window it turned into a recently vacated parking space in front of the café. A woman got out and he knew with a certainty he couldn't explain, it was Stephanie Plum. She pushed the door to the café open and stood in the entrance for a moment letting her eyesight adjust to the dim interior. Slowly her head turned and she found her target in the back booth. Their eyes met and he was startled by the intensity of the blue. She started her trip back toward him stopping to smile at someone she apparently knew. Her eyes traveled from occupant to occupant, occasionally looking longingly at the plates in front of them. She was hungry, he deduced.

As she slid into the booth across from him she gave him a shy smile. Her hair was a wild disarray of brown curls and worthy of inspection, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from hers. He waited for the widening of fear or disapproval at his appearance. When it didn't come, he waited for the hint of sexual awareness to enter her gaze. It was what he was used to from women. They either ran in fear, or let it be known they were interested. This woman reacted in a way totally foreign to him. She stuck her hand out and waited for him to shake it.

"Hi, I'm Stephanie Plum. Connie says you can help me." He made the decision instantly. She was an innocent. A babe in the woods. He shook her hand and quit wondering how he was going to make an exit within his self-imposed thirty minute time frame. He was going to help her.

"Are you eating?" she asked. His gaze flickered to the cup of black coffee in front of him and he gave a slight shake of his head. She frowned for a moment and caught her bottom lip between straight white teeth. Her frown cleared and she raised her hand to signal the waitress.

"I have to eat," she said, "I'm starving and I need to fuel the tank if I'm going after Morelli." When the waitress made her way to the table, Stephanie placed her order for the Daily Special, which was chicken-fried steak with all the trimmings. As the waitress started to walk away Stephanie amended her order. "I'll need a piece of the devil's food cake for dessert."

Ranger had remained silent during their exchange, and Stephanie looked up to see his blank stare. "Okay," she said. "Let's get serious, I need some help."

Not only with fugitive apprehension training, Ranger thought. This babe could use a nutritionist. He leaned back and grinned. "Sooooo, Connie says I'm supposed to make you into a badass fugitive apprehension agent. She says you need to get the crash course. What's the rush?"

"You see the brown Nova at the curb?"

His eyes swiveled to the front window. "Un huh."

"That's my car."

He gave an almost imperceptible nod. "So you need money. Anything else?"

"Personal reasons."

"Bond enforcement is dangerous business. Those personal reasons better be pretty fucking good."

"What are your reasons for doing this?" she asked him. Points for Stephanie Plum. She hadn't batted an eye at his appearance or at the frankness of his conversation.

He did a palms up gesture. "It's what I do best." It wasn't totally a lie. He was very good at bond enforcement, and despite his personal fortune, he needed the money. He needed all the high bonds he could bring in. He was a self-made man and he would continue to bring in the high bonds for Vinnie, and for anyone else who hired him. It was the way he was funding his future business plans. This babe needed his help, and at the moment he was inclined to be generous.

"Maybe someday I'll be good at this, too. Right now my motive is steady employment. Will you help me, Mr. Man…um, what should I call you."

"Call me by my street name, Ranger." He settled in to listen to her story his eyes widening when he heard her say she'd found Morelli. He needed to reassess. Maybe she wasn't quite the innocent she'd appeared to be, but there was no question she was unprepared for the task that lay ahead of her. She'd found her prey and let him go. He was going to make sure that didn't happen again.

She was a babe in the woods, he thought, confirming his original impression, and for the time being, he decided she was his babe. He would teach her what he could and he'd help her get Morelli, as long as he could stay out of the action. Morelli was a decent cop in an unfortunate situation, and Ranger didn't want to get on Morelli's bad side. He might need a friend in the PD when his business plans came to fruition. He turned his attention back to Stephanie Plum and he started formulating the plan for her training. He realized she'd asked him a question.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I was still in shock from hearing you say you found Morelli and let him go. That's not the point of the game. What did you ask?"

"Is there any word on the street about why Morelli shot Kulesza?" she repeated.

Ranger gave her a slow stare. "None. But Morelli must have had a good reason. Morelli's a cool guy, and if a cop wants to pop someone, there are ways."

"Even cool cops make mistakes."

"Not like this, Babe. Not Morelli."

"So what are you telling me?"

"I'm telling you to be careful, Stephanie Plum."

Their conversation was interrupted by the delivery of Stephanie's food. His left eyebrow lifted fractionally in surprise, as she cut a large corner off the square of chocolate cake and ate it first. Her eyes closed and as he watched her he realized she was centering herself, banishing distractions and focusing on the pleasure of the cake on her tongue. Her small moans of pleasure were evidence he was right and Ranger forgot totally about the thirty minutes he'd allowed her. He was intrigued. She swallowed, opened her eyes and began to attack her steak with gusto. She pointed her fork toward Ranger for emphasis as she continued their conversation.

"You are just the most recent in a long line of people to tell me to be careful around Morelli," she said. "I'm very grateful for your help so I think I should be totally honest with you. I've said this was personal, and it is. I need the money desperately, but I've known Morelli all my life, and I wouldn't exactly say we're fond of one another."

Ranger looked at the myriad of expressions crossing her face. He held a smile in check as he asked, "Hell hath no fury?"

"Yes," she said somewhat curtly.

"He dumped you," Ranger said bluntly. "That explains why you're unhappy with him. Why doesn't he like you?"

"I, sort of, well, I ran over him," she said raising her chin defiantly, "in my father's Buick."

Ranger couldn't hold it in check any longer. His smile was wide and Stephanie Plum's eyes did a double-take at the sight of his transformed face. She felt a slow burn of satisfaction at the sight of his smile. She instinctively understood he approved of her unpremeditated attack on Morelli, and for the first time she wasn't ashamed of what she'd done.

When her plate was clean, she once again turned to the chocolate cake. He sat still, watching her unabashed enjoyment, finding some enjoyment of his own in being a spectator. As she wiped her mouth with the coarse paper napkin, he reached for his wallet and threw a couple of bills down on the table.

"C'mon, Babe," Ranger said standing and pulling her from the booth. He saw the relief on her face when she'd realized he was buying her dinner and he wondered just how badly she needed money. "Let's go buy you a gun." He felt comfortable in his role as a teacher. It wasn't the first time he'd been called upon to train someone, but this time he felt like Henry Fucking Higgins taking on Eliza Doolittle, and it felt good.