A/N: *Peeks out from rock I've been hiding under for 3 years.* I'm back with a new story. I've been writing, but haven't finished anything. I finally have a story that will get an ending. This story takes place after the first 12 books. I don't really like how the series is going now, so I kind of pretend it doesn't go past book 12 although I have read many more than that so if I get details mixed up-I apologize. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think. Any errors are all mine.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of JE's characters and make no profit off of making them do what I want.

Enjoy!

Haunted by Taylor Swift

"You and I walk a fragile line
I have known it all this time
But I never thought I'd live to see it break
It's getting dark and its all too quiet
And I can't trust anything now"

Defining Moments

Chapter 1: Crushed

Steph's POV

My name is Stephanie Plum, and I'm a friggin' disaster on two legs. I'm just shy of 30 with crazy curly brown hair, bright blue eyes, and Italian/Hungarian heritage. I'm lucky with the genes as I have a fast metabolism. It lets me eat just about anything without it showing up too much on the waistline. In order to understand my not so stable, not so adult life I should probably start off from the beginning.

I have begun to realize that there are moments in life that can redefine you, moments that can break, moments that can make you. I have had several (or more than several) of these moments in my life.

The first memory that defined my childhood was when I was six years old. I had a natural curiosity which I'm sure my mother resented. Of course, that only made me even more curious. She always told my sister and I not to play with or associate with the Morelli boys. Apparently, they had a bad reputation, but as a six-year-old, I just wanted what I wasn't supposed to have. My curiosity got the better of me. Joe Morelli, the younger of the two, invited me into his father's garage to play a "big kid game" called choo-choo. Even more, intrigued at a "big kid game" I was eager to show him I was a big kid. He sat me up in a chair and explained he was the train and I was the tunnel. He then proceeded to use his fingers to go through my tunnel. I was really bummed that I hadn't gotten to be the train because being the tunnel sucked. It made me feel all weird inside. Somehow, my mother found out that I interacted with the Morelli boy and stopped letting me play in the yard alone.

The second big moment to define my childhood and my life was when I was eight years old. I had a penchant for superheroes, and I always wanted to be Wonder Women. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I got myself up onto the garage roof, did my Wonder Woman stance, took a deep breath and lunged off. I kept my eyes open and took in the view of most the houses in the neighborhood. It was a great three seconds, and then I crashed into reality and was left with a broken arm. My mother was furious. My father a little sympathetic and supportive but mostly indifferent. My sister about the same as my mother. They only cared about what the rest of the residents in our neighborhood would say. After surgery, I was grounded for three months and they took away my action figures.

The next big moment was when I was sixteen years old. I had managed to keep my head down in the Burg. My mother still constantly harassed me and asked why I couldn't be more like Saint Valerie, my perfect Burg sister. I was working at my after-school job at the Tasty Pastry, getting ready to close up when in walked none other than Joseph Morelli. As we had gotten older, we never spoke much but he only got more attractive and had a big reputation as a ladies' man with a lizard tongue. It kind of frightened me, but I never thought he would turn it on me. He informed me he was going into the Navy, sweet talked me into giving up my virginity right there on the floor behind the eclair case. I'm not sure it's something I wanted per se, but when you've never been with a man before it's hard to say no even when it doesn't feel right. He walked right out and never looked back. He wrote "lovely" poems about me on the bathroom wall in Mario's Sub shop which got me grounded for the rest of my high school career.

Those moments in my adolescence defined who I am today and shaped me into the woman I have become. I am nothing like my mother or sister. Both of whom think being a wife and mother is the best and only job a woman should have. Now, there's nothing wrong with that, but they shouldn't get mad at me because I preferred playing with superheroes or practicing sports. I never learned how to cook, and I burned almost everything I tried. My mother would sigh in exasperation, utter a "why me," and drink her "iced tea."

When I was 22, the pressure got the best of me, and I ended up marrying Richard Orr, a lawyer with a bright future. Dickie, as he called himself (or the horse's patoot if you ask my grandma), was a good-looking all-American boy who was in the top ten percent of his class from Princeton. My mother was overjoyed when I brought him home, and with the unfamiliar feeling of acceptance, I kept on dating him. I ignored his long hours, his constant nagging about anal sex and his coke habit. On my wedding day, my mother was happier than I was. Grandma Mazur was the only one who knew I wasn't feeling exactly what I should have been but judging on my past experiences I didn't even know what "right" felt like. We tied the knot, said 'I do's and our relationship only got worse. It seemed the only sex position he liked was doggy style and twice he tried sticking it in the wrong hole. Those incidents made me cry. I felt like a failure and couldn't understand why I didn't like marriage the way my mother, sister, and friends seemed to. Two weeks into the marriage I came home from my work as a discount lingerie buyer at E.E. Martin to find him screwing my arch nemesis Joyce Barnhardt on our dining room table. I made our divorce very public, and let's just say Dickie will not be reaching his political aspirations.

The next big moment started when I got laid off from my stable, if not boring, job as a lingerie buyer for EE Martin. Damn crooks were working with the mob, and it finally caught up with them—and me. I got laid off like the rest of the poor schmucks working for the company at the time.

After that unfortunate incident, I was desperate enough to bribe my sleazy cousin Vinny to give me a job as a bond enforcement agent at his bail bonds agency. Really, I guess that stupidity is what started me on this downward spiral. I was untrained, only had a bachelor's in business from Douglass and experience buying cheap lingerie. Dammit, I had marketable skills. I could have moved away from Jersey, but I guess that was out of my comfort zone. So, I forged ahead with being a bounty hunter, I mean hell—a guy named Dog could do it. Never in a million years would I believe it would change me the way it has.

First, my job as a bounty hunter rekindled my connection with the finest ass in Trenton aka Joseph Morelli. The reformed bad boy who came back from the Navy and became a police officer. After returning from the Navy, I did manage to clip him with my father's Buick and break his leg. That was for the poems and not calling. After turning him in (and helping clear his name) while he was FTA, he has become my on-again-off-again boyfriend. I don't really know why. It's not like he's treated me that well in the whole time I've known him. But what was once my mother telling me to stay far from the Morelli boys is her now telling me that Joe is my last chance at becoming a wife and mother. Now, I know what going into a marriage I don't want is like, and while Joe is nowhere near as bad as Dickie, I still have that fear. Joe and I have brought up marriage a few times but I don't think either of us is that serious.

Second, my job as a bounty hunter brought a dangerously handsome mercenary into my life. Now Ricardo Carlos Mañoso aka Ranger is Cuban-American, ex-Special forces, badass bounty hunter/businessman. He's got sharp dark chocolate brown eyes that don't miss anything and a body that would make a Nun consider turning in her habit. His body is that way because he trains meticulously and eats food fit for rabbits. Not many people know him, and I am one of the few who can say I do. Alas, knowing Ranger just means being able to decipher his one-word answers, seeing his eyes turn a molten chocolate when he looks like he wants to eat me, and seeing the upward tick of his mouth when he's amused. I can also see the tell-tale clenching of his jaw that tells me he's less than amused and pissed off. Ranger doesn't really do emotions, but I can see them hiding right behind the surface. It bothers me sometimes how difficult it is to get a read on him when it seems he can read me like an open book. Our relationship is complicated, to say the least.

I don't know the exact moment it happened. In fact, I don't think there is a singular moment that defines it. All I know is that every day I felt it, and I felt it grow. Every moment he kept me safe, every time he was there for me whether it be through his actions or his emotions. Even when he pushed me away, told me to return to Morelli. God, that cut deep. It hurt so much I could barely breathe yet I understood. We had an agreement and as much as it hurt, I could never hate him, could never turn my back on him. If I had to pinpoint a moment, the true moment of full realization was when he walked into that apartment for me and Julie. Seeing him get shot and being helpless to do anything. Worrying for hours about if he would be okay. If he hadn't made it, I think my heart would have full on shattered without hope of ever being repaired. After that it was hard to keep a distance, to keep the emotions in check. My relationship with Morelli went downhill. How could I keep pretending to be okay in a relationship where my love for him was more friend than a lover?

Ranger always said he'd be in my bed if it was empty long enough, and well Joe and I have been officially over for six months. I stopped by Joe's house one day to surprise him, but I was the one who got the surprise when I found a naked Terry Gilman sleeping in his bed. In true Stephanie fashion, I made a scene and let all his neighbors know. I then avoided his calls for three months. I also try to avoid him, but rumor is he wants to talk to me. According to the grapevine, "It was all just a big misunderstanding." I wasn't falling for that baloney

All of these big realizations and events led to tonight. I don't know why I thought it was a good idea but I decided to follow Ranger after him acting suspiciously when he mysteriously dropped in on me at home. I'm jolted back to the present when I see a flash of blonde hair.

My heart clenches when I realize Ranger is meeting Jeanne Ellen Burrows. I will not cry; I will not cry. I try to convince myself that it is nothing, that he would not be into her. But rational Stephanie asks, why wouldn't he be into her? She's gorgeous in an I can kill you with my hairband kind of way. She has a slim figure with huge boobs. Then there's me, a meager B cup with pants that sometimes don't snap after a couple of pieces of Pineapple Upside-down Cake. I feel disgusted with myself. First, I actually believed I had a chance with a guy like Ranger. Second, I followed him all the way out to his meeting with skanky Jeanne. Third, seeing all of this and realizing all of these things makes me want to cry. God, am I pathetic or what? And the worst part is that Ranger probably spotted me tailing him and knows exactly how pathetic poor Stephanie Plum is. There he was just using me all of this time. He used me for "entertainment" and just liked to see me get all flustered any time he came near. I bet he just loves the power he thinks he has over me. I watch as they embrace. I can hardly see Jeanne because Ranger is blocking her, but I'd say they're kissing. I turn away feeling the tears well in my eyes and remembering the feeling of Ranger's lips on mine. We had just been in the alley earlier today, and I had just replayed that scene in my head. Damn, I am so naïve. I feel a sharp jab in my chest. I've been played and played well. I quietly turn my car back on, leaving the lights off until I get on the road, going home, in the opposite direction of Ranger.

Once I'm on the highway, I can't help but let the tears come down. They fall steadily and silently as I swallow the sobs before they break free. My heart feels like it's in a vice grip. I guess I've known since the Scrog incident how I've felt about Ranger, but seeing him with another woman just makes my feelings seem unwarranted and silly. He could never return the feelings I have for him.

I arrive back at my apartment, having to go slow most the way home because of the tears blurring my vision and because it began to rain uncontrollably. I think it's fitting considering the whirlpool of my emotions tonight. I sigh as I realize the only spot open in my lot is the one next to the dumpster. Damn shitty parking karma. Damn, shitty life karma. I guess my mother has something right, all her whining and "why me's?" Maybe I understand it now, and maybe these feelings and situation are punishment for not following my mother's advice for all these years. I pull into the spot, far away from my building and next to the overflowing dumpster. The rain has not let up. I'm sure my face looks terrible: all swollen and blotchy from crying. I shut off the engine, sigh and lay my arms on the steering wheel. I take a deep breath, open the door, and step into the rain. It's still pouring, but I don't care. I'm already a mess in every sense of the word. I lock the car even though somebody would have to be really hard up to steal that piece of shit. It's a black Honda Passport that has seen better days, but I got it after my last car was blown up by an angry skip.

I stand in the rain for a moment, letting it wash over me. It feels nice against my overheated skin. Now, no one would know right away that I'd been balling my eyes out. I trudge to the door of my apartment building and head inside. I take the stairs instead of the elevator, fewer people to run into and another way to punish myself.

I'm dripping water and panting a little as I finally get to the doorway. I put the key in the lock and swing open my door. My apartment is quiet except for the hum of the rain and the squeaking as Rex runs on his hamster wheel. I lock the door behind me, and head into the kitchen. Thankfully, I've caught the last five of my skips back to back and have had a rather steady income. I have food and, more importantly, wine. I pull out a bottle of a Moscato. I'd get out a glass, but I know I'm going to be finishing off the bottle. I decided I should probably change into dry clothes before chugging the bottle, crying, and passing out. I change into some sweatpants and a blue t-shirt. I put on some fuzzy socks and head back into the kitchen. I decided I might as well play some music to dance to. I blast my phone and some sappy, yet easy to jam to music by Heart comes on. First comes "What about Love" and boy do I get into it. I take some sips out of the bottle for good measure. I need to loosen my hips after all.

"What about love?! Don't you want someone to care about you?!" I belt out the tunes loudly and off-key. "What about love?! Don't let it slip awaaaayyyyyy!" I drink some more and I notice half the bottle is gone. The awful singing, the half gone bottle of wine makes me giggle. No wonder Ranger isn't interested in this. The thought makes me laugh harder. I am a mess with no plan in life, and then there's Ranger who owns his own friggin' company. I drink some more wine. I'd been a fool to think I was anything other than the entertainment allowance on his budget. Well, I decide, no more. I won't give him anything to laugh at. I will be better at my current job, find a new job, and find someone I could actually see myself with in the future. That's right, I'm going to be the new and improved Stephanie Michelle Plum. I'll never have to deal with Ranger or any of his men again. I drink some more wine, and I can definitely feel the alcohol start to hit me. I welcome the feeling. The next song that comes on is Pat Benatar's "Love is a Battlefield." Honestly, I don't know why these songs have such a theme relating to love, but they're good, belt your heart out songs. Maybe the theme is trying to tell me something, but in my foggy state I sure as hell am in no mood to listen.

I continue to listen to music until the wine bottle is completely empty and my eyelids feel like a hundred pounds. I make it to the couch where I promptly fall asleep (more like pass out, but who wants to admit to that?).

I slowly feel my body waking up. Ouch, I feel sore all over. What did I do yesterday? As I start stretching slowly, I realize I was sleeping on my cramped couch. My neck promptly protests and I groan. I must have slept with my neck at an odd angle because it hurts to move and feels stiff. Moving my neck, moves my head which does not like moving so fast. I feel like I am spinning, and I haven't even gotten up yet. Ugh, reasons to not drink a whole bottle of wine in one night. I'm afraid to open my eyes, but I forge through anyways. I head to the kitchen where I grab some water and aspirin. After popping two, I grab a Coke and a Tasty-Cake since I have no fries. I usually like going to McDonald's for a large fry and Coke which takes care of the hangover. Since I don't feel like driving I'll make do. I've decided to push Ranger out of my mind as much as possible and focus on being a better me.