A/N: According to Google (because I'm a northerner and we don't say that up here), the phrase 'losing my religion' refers to losing your temper or being at the end of your rope. It's also an awesome song by REM, which is going to be inspiring the titles of the chapters.

People in the movies always seem to experience transformations in themselves after life-and-death moments—escaping a serial killer, walking away from a major accident unharmed, a loved one suddenly dies. I've had plenty of life-and-death moments in the last few years, but none of them seemed to cause any noticeable change in me. I just bounced back up like one of those blow-up clowns after it has been hit by a five-year-old, a stupid smile on my face while I resumed the position I'd been holding since I'd started working in bond enforcement. My love life hadn't been quite as predictable. Whenever I'd gotten too close to Ranger, it was like someone hitting me so hard that the weight in the bottom shifted and kept me lying on my side. Work would have to be done to help me get upright once again. Morelli and I had metaphorically knocked each other down a few times over the years, but we eventually found our way back upright and together. It had just happened recently, in fact. Morelli had knocked me over when he had broken up with me after sex, telling me that he needed to find a new job and make other changes in his life that would be easier done if he were single. I'd been hurt and angry, confused by his behavior. But then he told me the truth over dinner at a lovely restaurant in Trenton. He had been concerned about his health because of all of the digestive trouble he had been suffering over the years and had been poked, prodded and had lived through dietary restrictions for a month until he was informed he had an intolerance to xanthan gum. It hadn't been his crappy job, my crappy job, my affiliation with Ranger or my penchant for finding trouble. It had all been a food additive. It was almost laughable.

Almost.

We had laughed about it at dinner, but after a big meal, drinks and a round of satisfying sex in the bed where he had broken up with me less than two weeks before, I wasn't finding it funny anymore. In fact, it was down-right infuriating. Morelli was snoring softly in the bed next to me, oblivious to the fact that I was sitting up and glaring at him.

Was I honestly going to be with someone who had spent years blaming me for his indigestion? And what was almost as bad—worse, possibly—was that he had been scared that he might have cancer or some other major health problem and rather than discussing it with me he just cut me out of his life all together. I'd been prepared to accept a proposal from him the night that he ultimately broke up with me, but could I honestly see myself doing that? Could I get past this? It had always seemed like Morelli and I were destined for matrimony, but was it really what I wanted? I'd already been through one bad marriage and had been young enough—and thankfully, kid-free— to get out of it. Morelli was already thirty-six and I was soon-to-be thirty-four. If we got married, children would be a sooner-rather-than-later occurrence. Partly because of biology, mostly because of societal and familial pressure. My sister had already provided my parents with four granddaughters and was about to pop out another girl in the next few weeks. I hadn't had extensive pressure to have children because my parents wanted to become grandparents, but there would always be pressure from both sides to produce children because it would require us to have more stability in our lives. I had never been sure if I wanted to have children, mainly because I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep them alive. I was lucky to have kept a hamster going for as long as I had.

How could you love someone and keep them so cut out of your life? Both of the men in my life seemed to do that, but at least Ranger and I weren't in a relationship. When you were in a relationship with someone, it was expected that you would include them in important stuff. Over the past week and a half, I'd been hurt because it seemed like Morelli didn't want me anymore. What hurt now was the knowledge that he didn't trust me enough to tell me about this. Not even the concern that I would say something to anyone—his mother and grandmother apparently already knew about it— but trusting that I could be supportive. That even if he had been seriously ill that I would have stood by him. Was that a reflection of his feelings for me? He could barely manage to stick with me when I was a bounty hunter, but I was healthy and able to bring him a beer and have sex.

I climbed out of bed and turned on the flashlight app on my cell phone to help find my clothes. I was pulling on my pilates pants when Morelli woke up.

"What are you doing?" he asked groggily.

"I'm leaving," I replied tersely.

"Is there a problem?"

I left out a huff of air and turned to face him. "Yeah, there's a problem. You broke up with me—after sex—and lied to me about why you were breaking up with me. You thought you were really sick and you didn't tell me about it. You just went on and on about changes and told me not to date Ranger."

I was pacing next to the bed at this point, the Italian side of my genetics taking over control of my hands. "And what's worse is that you've spent years blaming me for all of these problems instead of going to get them checked out by a doctor when they wouldn't go away. How in the world do expect us to be in a relationship when you won't tell me this stuff?"

Morelli turned on the bedside lamp and climbed out of bed. Even naked, he looked intimidating as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You don't tell me things all the time, Stephanie. You get into dangerous situations with criminals without telling me. You run out of money and have to eat at your parent's house or risk getting evicted and you never tell me. And I could probably fill the Grand Canyon with the things you don't tell me about you and Ranger."

I stuck my hands on my hips and prepared for a long battle. "You're a cop, Joe. Sometimes I can't tell you things because they might be illegal and I don't want to put you in that position. And I don't need or want your money. I make my own money and things aren't that desperate. I've gotten better about it. And as for Ranger, there's nothing to tell. We're friends and we work together sometimes. That's it. But you won't believe me."

"But it hasn't always been that. You've slept with him as recently as a year ago to my knowledge because I caught you with him in Hawaii."

"You didn't catch us. We were working."

"Working, my ass. When I mentioned that I was looking for you, the hotel staff tried to get me to wait until your trip was over. Apparently you two were making quite an impression on the housekeeping staff with the number of condoms you were going through every day and they didn't want me to disturb the happy couple."

I stumbled around, trying to find a suitable rebuttal, and came up with nothing. "Whatever. But that was last year. After that, we talked about things and got through it. We weren't totally committed—we had agreed we could see other people. But that's getting away from the point. You hate it when I even bring up Ranger and there's nothing to talk about. I haven't slept with him since Hawaii."

I didn't figure there was any point in the bringing up the times when I'd almost slept with Ranger. According to Grandma Mazur, almosts only counted with horseshoes and hand grenades.

"My point is that you don't trust me, and I don't think you ever will. Not with my job, not with Ranger and apparently not even with your health. So I'm done. I'm through with this relationship and you, Joe Morelli. Just because we've known each other forever and everyone thinks we should be together doesn't mean it has to happen. We should be with people we can trust."

I grabbed my bag and walked out the door, less indignant than I had been the last time, but still frustrated and hurt. I also couldn't walk as well because of my injured knee. I probably looked pathetic, but I didn't care. At least I'd been the one to end it this time. And he had been the only one naked.

I hobbled through the rest of the week on my knee as measly bonds came through as FTAs. Ranger's SUV was still helping me out, though the checks on the earnings from Blatzo and Gobbles had cleared my bank account. I was just waiting for the weekend before I got a new car. I knew Ranger wouldn't mind if I kept his SUV until then. He had his 911 Turbo and a bunch of other fleet vehicles. No one had known that Morelli had wanted to get back together, so I didn't have to break the news to anyone that we'd briefly reconciled before breaking up again. That was a relief, although it didn't stop my mother from telling me that I should apologize for whatever I had done to make him break up with me so that we could get back together. She didn't understand why I didn't want to be with him anymore. If someone had told her fifteen years ago that she would be eager for me to be in a relationship with Joe Morelli, she would have told the person to bite their tongue in half and swallow the pieces before she made the sign of the cross and threw holy water on them.

Morelli hadn't let up either. He called at least once a day and would send me text messages saying he was sorry, that he understood why I was mad, would I please call him. I ignored the phone calls and deleted the text messages. I was tempted to block his number completely, but held off.

I spent my boyfriendless evenings binge-watching Gilmore Girls while browsing the internet. I was tired of bond enforcement. I was tired of the unpredictable pay, having to work seven days a week, getting caught up in situations that put me in mortal danger. And I was so tired of the Burg, its gossip, and its inhabitants. The last part had been the most difficult to admit. While I did love the Burg and its people, I was tired of being smothered. It was annoying to constantly be on my guard because Mrs. So-and-So might see and call my mother, who would head for the liquor cabinet or ironing board—depending on the time—and would spend dinners moaning about her youngest daughter, the embarrassment of the family. The world was bigger than Joe Morelli, the Burg, and my family. So I started thinking about the kinds of jobs I would be able to do anywhere. The problem wasn't going to be finding a new location: there were twenty other counties in New Jersey, forty-nine other states in the United States and one hundred and ninety-four other countries in the world. Not that I planned to leave the country, but I wasn't going to totally rule it out. The problem was finding jobs within my skill set. And figuring out exactly what my skill set included.

I had been a decent lingerie buyer in the past, but it didn't excite me to think about going back to it. I had recently ruled out pastry chef or anything to do with food. I didn't know much about kids, so childcare of any sort was out of the question. My bachelor's degree—and my 2.3 GPA—was in sociology. Why I had studied sociology was still a question I hadn't answered. I guess it was because my roommate in college had been a sociology major and I figured it would be easier if we both were taking the same classes. She had gone on to get her Ph.D. in sociology and was teaching at some college in Switzerland. I wish her motivation had been contagious.

I took a quiz online that asked me random questions to determine what skill sets I possessed. It figured I must be good at math because I can mostly solve a crossword puzzle so I could become an accountant and that because I can speak to large groups of people without passing out or peeing my pants that I would be a good teacher. Helping people skills earned me predictable responses such as coach, counselor, or social worker. None of those things interested me.

The problem was that I was a bit of a thrill-seeker. I liked to live on the edge, but didn't want to completely fall off. Having some structure appealed to me, but I also wanted my independence. I didn't want to have to wear formal clothing all the time or be trapped in meetings for hours on end. I wasn't ambitious or financially stable enough to open my own business, though I couldn't say what business I could have run even if I possessed those things. Being a private investigator appealed to me, so I considered trying to get hired on at one of those. But I feared the pay might be similar to what I made in bond enforcement both in quantity of dollars and predictability as to when the money would come in.

Perhaps location was a better place to start. If I could figure out where I would like to live, then I could start looking for whatever jobs were available. I didn't like snow, so I wanted to head to warmer climates. Florida, maybe. But Florida had a lot of hurricanes and humidity. I thought about Georgia. Atlanta was a nice place; but as unfair as I knew it was I couldn't get the sound of the dueling banjos from Deliverance out of my head. I thought about California, but it was too expensive. Arizona was nice, but there were lizards and rattlesnakes. The same reasons ruled out New Mexico. I wouldn't look good in a cowboy hat so Texas was out. And Utah seemed a little too conservative. I shut my laptop and gently beat it against my forehead. How could I not know myself well enough to figure anything out?

"Problem?"

I nearly jumped out of my seat to find a slightly amused Ranger walking into my living room. He was dressed in a black suit with a black shirt open at the collar. Like he had just left a dinner meeting with an important client.

"Geez, I didn't hear you come in," I said, taking a seat as my pulse started to slow down.

"I need the Cayenne back. I left you with one of my fleet vehicles," he said.

"Thanks. I'll find something this weekend so you can have that car back."

"You've got that look, babe," Ranger said, taking a seat in the arm chair across from me.

"What look?"

"The one that says you're standing on a ledge and looking down."

I blew out a sigh as I pulled my feet up onto the couch and laid down. "I'm sick of my life. I want to move away to a place where there isn't any snow and people haven't heard of me and get a new job that isn't bond enforcement. Or anything to do with preparing food. Or watching children. And won't require me to go back to college. And I can't find anything I'm good at that sounds remotely interesting to me that has steady pay and allows me to be somewhat independent."

"Sounds like an existential crisis."

"Tell me about it. How did you know you wanted to get into private security?" I asked. "Or that you wanted to go into Special Forces?"

"I didn't know that I wanted to be in Special Forces until I'd been through basic training and someone recommended I go to Ranger school. I just knew the college thing wasn't for me and I decided that the military was a better option. I didn't know what I would do or if I'd like it. I just took the chance. Private security appealed to me because it tapped into skills I already had and having my own company allows me the independence that is a natural preference for me."

"My problems start with not knowing what skills I have and just keep going from there," I replied.

"You're intelligent, observant, good with people, a decent shot, and kind," Ranger said. "Those are good skills to have, Babe."

"Those qualities apply to a lot of people. They all have different jobs. Career-building websites want me to be an accountant, coach, social worker or teacher. I'd be terrible at all of them."

Ranger got up from his chair and came to sit next to me on the edge of the couch. "You've gone through these phases before. They always seem to pass."

I shook my head. "Not this time. I'm sick of living in a bubble. I want to get away from Morelli, and I need to get a job where I'm not constantly getting cars destroyed or attracting stalkers. If I didn't have my family to rely on for vehicle loaners and meals, I know I would have left this job years ago because I couldn't have made it on my own."

"What's wrong with Morelli?"

"He broke up with me because he thought he was sick and didn't want to tell me about it, but he's not sick and he wanted to get back together. But how can I be with someone who doesn't trust me enough to tell me things?"

"He probably just didn't want to worry you until he knew something for certain. He had enough of his own stuff going on. He didn't want to worry about you worrying about him added to it," Ranger said, running a hand along my side as he did.

"Is that why you don't tell me things?"

"Sometimes. A lot of the time, probably."

I pushed myself up and scooted away from him. "Men."

"And women," he countered. "I have to go. But if you're serious about this, I have a job that I think would be a good fit for you."

"Thanks, but I can't spend my days running background checks or watching computer monitors. I'll die of boredom. Or because I pestered one of your men too much and he shot me."

"It wasn't what I had in mind. I had three men threaten to quit after you worked in the office the last time. It's actually a position at a private school in Miami. A lot of important people send their children there and we have a pretty heavy security detail in place. Google the Menendez Preparatory Academy in Miami. If you think you might be interested, I'll take you down there to see the place and give you more details on what the job would entail."

He placed a kiss on my lips and left.

I sat on my couch for about thirty seconds after he left before opening my computer and googling the Menendez Preparatory Academy. I had ruled out Florida because of the humidity and hurricanes, but lots of places had humidity. And if it wasn't hurricanes, it would be tornadoes or mudslides or droughts or blizzards that wreaked havoc. I told myself to look at the place with an open mind and clicked on the link to the school's website.

A/N: This story is going to have Stephanie and Ranger both going down difficult paths. There may be times when they seem out of character, but trust me that it is part of the plot and stick with them. Thanks for reading!