Hey everyone! Thank you so much for all of your kind words. I seriously was not expecting very many reviews at all. Within a couple of hours of the first chapter going live, my inbox was full of review notifications and story/author alerts etc. Thank you!
This chapter may be a little off. I have no idea if the FBI would consider using someone like Ranger to track down a wanted man, but hey, it's Ranger. Anything's possible right? I thought that was the point of fanfiction?
A special thank you goes out to Lyllyn, for pointing out something in the first chapter that I hadn't even thought of - thank you!
Once again, I unfortunately don't own any of the Janet Evanovich characters. Vincent Grimaldi and Dominic Cavello belong to James Patterson, I just borrowed the names. Angelina Sabatini and Anthony Tracchio are good friends of mine, so they belong to themselves! The title of this chapter comes from Vertical Horizon's album Running On Ice. Don't own that either. Well, I own a copy of it but you catch my drift...
Running On Ice - Chapter Two: Candyman.
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It's amazing how good food can make everything seem better. The fuzzy head from earlier had gone, I wasn't tired any more, and I could've sworn I heard birds chirping. All thanks to the stack of New York pancakes, bacon and coffee, currently occupying the tabletop in front of me. And I hadn't even taken a bite yet. If I hadn't have known better, I would've thought hell had frozen over. Ranger had actually taken me to the IHOP just off Parkway for breakfast. He had smiled a lot and engaged in small talk during the car ride. I'd also somehow persuaded him to order the apple-cinnamon waffles with syrup and whipped cream. Yep, something hinky was definitely going on here.
Ranger studied me intently as I happily dug into the little plate of heaven before me. The muscle twitching in his jaw was the only outward sign that he was amused by my eating habits. Stoic, corporate Ranger was back. It was time for the catch.
"Babe, I need your help. With a job." Ahh, there it was. Straight to the point, as always.
"Hold on," I replied. I dumped two packets of sugar into my coffee, stirred and slugged half of it down. "Okay, hit me." The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he were about to laugh at me, but he continued nonetheless.
"You remember Anthony Tracchio from a couple weeks back? Morelli's friend?"
Eugh. Creep. I wasn't entirely sure who that was aimed at: Tracchio or Morelli. Tony Tracchio had been a gangster, or so he liked to think. He was small-time, busted for carrying concealed, a common occurrence in New Jersey. It had turned out he was one of Morelli's poker buddies, so Joe had arranged for my cousin Vinnie to front the cash, and ensure Tracchio's freedom until his rendezvous with a judge. Like any self-respecting crook, Tony had hopped it as soon as he was free, thus missing said date with said judge. Of course, I'd been tasked with hauling his sorry ass to jail. But not before he'd tried to cop a feel while I waited to sign him over to the cops. I shuddered at the memory. As for Morelli? Don't ask. I'd finally decided enough was enough, and had called it off with him, permanently. No, seriously. Thanks to the ever-expanding Burg grapevine, my mother had heard about our break up before I was even halfway home from Morelli's place, and had left a lovely voicemail worrying about the state of my sanity.
"Yeah, I remember him. He skipped again? Didn't think a judge would bail him out if he bounced the last time?" By now, I had a rhythm going: pancake, bacon, pancake, bacon, coffee. Pancake, bacon, pancake, bacon, coffee. No way was I letting my breakfast get cold while Ranger barely touched his.
"Nope, he's been sorted. It's his brother-in-law's turn now, Vincent Grimaldi."
The knife and fork in my hand fell to my plate with an almighty clatter, and a few of the counter patrons turned in their seats for a gawk.
"Vincent Grimaldi is Tracchio's brother-in-law? Are you actually kidding me?!" I practically squeaked. Grimaldi was big-time. Bigger than big-time. Rumor had it that he was the main east coast peddler for La Cosa Nostra. Also known as? The Mafia. The Sicilian crime family, with well over 100 clans in operation in the US, each as scary as the next.
This time Ranger did laugh. "I thought you'd have heard of him."
"Heard of him? He's freaking famous in these parts. You even look at him the wrong way, and you get a one-way ticket to a six-foot hole in the Nevada desert! Hoooold on...what does RangeMan want with him? I assume it's RangeMan you're talking about?"
Ranger pushed his plate to one side, clasped his hands loosely on the table and leaned across. Instinctively, I leant forward, matching his pose, our faces just inches apart.
"Yes, it's RangeMan," he all but whispered, "but we're working with the Feds. One of the suits from the Newark field office remembered me from a job that, well, I can't really tell you about, but he came to me two days ago, asking if I could put a trace on this guy, bring him in if necessary. He's wanted in seven different states, and the Bureau's intel showed him leaving New York and entering Jersey three days ago."
"Riiiight, so what do you need me for? Trace him, nab him, sell him on. Game over." I leant back and eyed him suspiciously over the rim of my coffee cup, waiting for the catch. He didn't disappoint.
"It's not that easy, Babe. Grimaldi's nearly 50, he's got a world of experience on him. If any of my guys show up where he is, no matter how careful they are, he's gonna know something's wrong and the shit will hit the fan. He's been running from the Feds for years, he knows what to look for. And lets face it, we're not exactly able to blend into the background."
You don't need to tell me twice. Every single on of Ranger's Merry Men is a perfectly-toned, handsome demi-God. Even Santos. Of course, who could forget the Cuban Sex God himself? Certainly not me. I was surely drooling at this point. Ranger pushed on, seemingly unaware of my discomfort.
"Although, he won't be suspicious of a little blue-eyed brunette..." he added nonchalantly. If I hadn't been so alarmed at the prospect of being used to bait a Mafioso, I'd have chewed him out for calling me little.
"I'm not gonna like where this is going, am I?"
"The reward is one point six." Ranger leaned back and narrowed his eyes slightly, as if to emphasize the financial gain.
"Holy crap." I started making a mental note of all the things I could do with a share of 1.6 million dollars. New car, get Grandma Mazur a place of her own, shoes. Lots and lots of shoes. Wait a minute...
"Don't try and distract me with the money. Tell me what I'd have to do, then I'll tell you if I'm in or not." I crossed my arms and glared at him, even though I was sure he could still see the dollar signs in my eyes.
"The Feds have been tracking him, unsuccessfully, for years. They've crossed states with him and had several near misses, but have never managed to actually get their hands on him. He's taken out several agents. He sets them up. Baits them, then leaves them hanging. Literally, in one case." He paused to take a sip of his coffee.
"There's a wedding taking place out in Belmar this weekend. Angelina Sabatini is marrying Dominic Cavello. The Feds are betting big bucks Grimaldi will be there."
Sabatini rang a few bells, but I couldn't come up with anything for Cavello.
"How do they figure that?"
"Because, nothing, not even the federal government, is going to make Vincent Grimaldi miss his closest niece's wedding."
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What do you think? What does Ranger have planned? Will Stephanie go ahead with it? Or will she just jack it all in now and call it quits? Will the Grimaldi capture be her last ever distraction? Let me know, as always! Flick.
