Please note: I am a Babe. In the end (I promise) things will work out…Please note: I am not a Cupcake. In the end (I promise) things will not work out. Consider this your one and only warning from here on out.

Standard Disclaimer applies. Janet owns them…I don't. I'm not making any money, nor do I wish to. This story takes place in alternate universe. Characters are changed for better or for worse.

Okay, so I'm sitting here, while it's actually 80° in Michigan, in my basement wearing a very pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. This is due to it being 80° in Michigan for the first in a very long time and I got very, very sunburned. So, here's the first chapter to my newest Alphabet Story.

Slight language warning.

Chapter 1

I sat behind my desk staring at a search Silvio printed off for me, wondering where in the hell my skip could be. Sometimes, my job was great. Other times, like this, my job gave me a headache, double vision, and an urge to beat the living hell out of the punching bag in the fifth floor gym.

I might have almost possibly been on to something (but probably not) when my office phone rang. Not many people called my office directly. It's not that people didn't speak to me, it's just that they generally call the lobby, get transferred to the comm. room, and then Tank places them on hold while he informs me about the caller. In which case, it probably the lobby or the control room.

Neither of which showed up on my caller ID. I took one look at the phone number with the '202' area code and knew who it was instantly. Fuck.

"Carlos Manoso," I identified myself to the person on the other line.

"Manoso, you have a plane ticket coming your way. Along with directions on where you're going and a rental car," Gerald Simmons' voice instructed over the phone.

"Let me guess, the government is sending me on a vacation to Hawaii," I said dryly.

"Funny. You're going to meet your co-captain of a team you're going to lead. Everything's being faxed to you now. I want you gone soon. Don't fuck this up, Manoso."

"No problem, sir. I'll be out the door the second my men receive the fax, but can you tell me about me partner?"

"No underestimations. That's all." Click.

No underestimations, huh? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Who the hell was I being paired with?

Tank knocked once on the door before opening it. "Fax for you man; looks like you're outta here, eh?"

"Yeah, Simmons just called me. I gotta go meet up with a new co-captain for a team we're gonna lead."

"Who's the newbie?"

"I don't know. Hell, I don't even know if he's new to captaining. All Simmons told me was no underestimations."

"That's fucked up man. Stay safe and don't get dead." We shared one of those manly hugs-slash-handshakes and I was out the door to pack some clothes.

I stood waiting to board the plane to San Diego. No underestimations. I couldn't even imagine. Who was I being paired with, Barbie? I always thought a good rule of thumb was to expect the worst, and then when you find the outcome out you might even be relieved.

Barbie. I was being forced in a team with fucking Barbie. Great. I was looking at the directions from the airport to Barbie's house in San Diego, when I realized, I didn't even know the name of whom I was meeting. This kept getting better and better. Next, I'll find out I've been sent on a suicide mission.

I came in the door of my San Diego Spanish style house from work and Lucy waddled up to me on her two hind legs. "Hey, Luce!" I greeted her. She smiled showing her teeth and wrapped her arms around my neck as I hoisted her up on my hip.

Just then, the doorbell rang. All I had to do to answer it was simply turn around and swing the door open…which I did. And there stood a man in black.

The plane landed, I got my rental car, and was now driving through an upper-middle class portion of San Diego. Spanish style houses with terra-cotta tiled roofs and green front lawns lined the streets.

I swung the black Cadillac sedan in a driveway addressed 40295 Tropical Lane; behind a candy apple red Jeep Liberty. The sprawling three-story home was on the left of the street. The lawn was well tended to and gardens spread out over the land with varying colors, shapes, and sizes.

I took inventory of my surroundings. Small children, Hispanic and American races, were chasing a ball down the block; nothing seemed threatening. I opened the door to the car and got out, taking the manila folder that held the information about the case.

I headed up the side walk, stepped up the three steps to the porch and rang the doorbell.

A few seconds later, the door opened to a very petite woman. I put her height at about five-foot-zero; weight at about eighty pounds; the monkey on her shoulder at about…whoa, hold the god damn phone; there was a fucking monkey on her shoulder.

Okay, moving past the ape, she had a band of thorns tattooed around her left bicep. A ring in her eye-brow and her nose and off to the side of her lips. She still was holding a monkey, for some unknown reason. Her hair was about to the middle of her back; long, golden brown, and fell in sexy curls. Her face was round with full lips (making me wonder about other piercings and tattoos she might have), and sun kissed cheeks and nose. Her eyes were a piercing, sharp blue color, as if she might strike out with venom any minute. I oddly found myself instantly attracted to her. Barbie…is she who I was paired with? I remembered Simmons words…no underestimations. Okay, then; Barbie with piercings and a tattoo. Huh.

She wore a very tight black tank-top, exposing about an inch of cleavage; and khaki baggy cargo shorts. Very short shorts. She was barefoot and holding a monkey.

"I'm not exactly sure who you are," I admitted.

"That's alright," she said, "I already know who I am. Who are you?"

"Well, uh, Gerald Simmons sent me here to get acquainted with you. Unless there is another person living in this household that has a contract though the government?" I paused for her reply, and actually got one.

"It's only me and Lucy here," she told me.

"Lucy?"

"Meet Lucy, my daughter," she said and the thing on her hip stuck its hands out and did some weird thing with its teeth; maybe a smile.

"Babe, that's a monkey."

"First off, don't call me 'Babe.' Second off, Lucy is not a monkey; she's a chimpanzee. Learn the difference, since you obviously don't know already. Third off, you still haven't told me who in the hell you are."

I stuck my hand out, "Carlos Manoso; street name's Ranger."

She looked me up and down as if trying to decide if she should give me her name. God, this woman was gorgeous. She hesitantly took my hand. "Do you go by Carlos or Ranger?" she asked. Okay, still don't know a name. I mean, I know the monkey's…chimp's…name, but still don't have the chick's. Ugh. What had become of my life?

"Either or."

"Which one do I call you…as your partner?"

I gave her my best smile. "You can call me Carlos."

She gave a slight nod and set Lucy on her feet. Lucy walked off, out of sight. "And you are?" I asked.

She extended her hand. "Doctor Stephanie Plum. To you…as your partner…you can call me just call me Stephanie."