I am so overwhelmed by the positive response this story has received. Thank you so much to all of you who have decided to stick with me through chapter two, to all of you who added me to your alerts, and to every single one of you that took the time to review chapter one or send me a pm. It seriously means the world. And in all honesty, the great response was a significant influence in getting this chapter out so soon. Again, thank you all so much.
Disclaimer: I wish that I'd thought of this stuff.
I sat on the curb outside of my apartment building wrapped in my red plaid comforter, staring at the blackened, burning twists of metal that used to be my car.
Someone had blown up my car… again.
Meaning I had made a new enemy with psychotic tendencies… again.
A Rangeman SUV arrived first on the scene, rolling to the side of the building as far away from the flames as they could have been with me still in sight. I hadn't called them; I didn't need to. Ranger keeps trackers on my vehicles. Anytime my little blip disappears from radar, it's easy to assume my car has been totaled. Needless to say, this isn't the first car that has met its maker under the care of Stephanie Plum.
Tank approached me flanked by Lester, Ranger's less serious and more sexually promiscuous cousin, both moving in a Stepford-soldier fashion, mirroring their movements as if they shared the same brain. Their faces carried the same serious expression that all Merry Men adorned in their Rangeman blacks, though a smile twinkled in Lester's eyes—he found this amusing.
Tank's massive form, which obviously denoted his name, stepped in front of me while Lester made his way to stand behind me. In most other circumstances, I would have complained about their overprotectiveness. Today, I was too busy focusing on not throwing up on their boots.
"Hey, guys," I greeted unenthusiastically.
Tank's head nodded once in greeting. Tank only uses words when absolutely necessary. He's intelligent and has his funny moments, and is even a generally good conversationalist. But it took me three years to figure all of that out. Tank's a quiet guy.
"Are you injured?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I was in my apartment when it exploded."
Before he could ask me anything else, I had to know:
"Have you spoken to him?" I asked, not having to specify who he was.
I took his single nod as an affirmative.
"How is he?"
"Alive," he answered, which pretty much summed up everything that mattered in the world of superhero mercenaries.
A fire engine showed up next, with a team of five bushy firemen excited at the sight of hot flames and rolling plumes of black smoke. They made no move toward me, instead focusing on the task at hand; I'm sure Tank displayed copious amounts of assurance that I was being well taken care of.
A blue and white pulled up across from the fire engine and out from behind the wheel stepped Eddie Gazarra, with Big Dog angling out of the passenger's side, both donning wide, graceless grins.
I didn't have memories of a time before knowing Eddie; he'd been my best friend since I could remember. I loved seeing them because I knew that I wouldn't get any legal shit for having my car blown up. Plus, they wouldn't stare at Tank and Lester; they already knew who they were and why they were here. But I equally reviled their appearance because I knew the personal jokes and jabs were going to be grossly abundant.
"I think this is 20," Eddie said, strolling up to stand in front of me next to Tank, arms folded across his chest.
"I'm pretty sure it's only 19, Ed," Big Dog answered as he scribbled something down into a small notebook.
"Nope. It's 20. You're not counting Morelli's Cherokee."
"Does it count if it's not hers?"
"Weren't most of them Ranger's anyway?"
"What are we counting?" I asked. I had a feeling I already knew.
Carl answered. "Number of cars you've owned that ended up charred."
Lovely.
"Any idea who it was this time?" Big Dog asked, watching the firemen do their job.
I shook my head and rested my cheek on my knees.
"Hey. You okay, Steph?" Eddie asked, squatting down so that we were eye level.
I took a deep breath and could feel the gazes of the men around me, their ears perked, waiting for my affirmation. "Why does this always happen to me?" I sighed, directing my words at no one in particular.
My question was met with stunning silence. I raised my head and looked to the four men in front of me. I could practically hear their frantic, synchronized thoughts: Please don't cry. Please don't cry. Please don't cry.
"I'll be okay," I assured with a sigh, hoping that it wasn't a lie.
My stomach was pretending that it wanted to be fed again by the time Big Dog, Eddie, Tank, Lester, and the fire marshal, whose name was legitimately Red Marshall, were done listening to me regale the events just as they had happened.
"Where were you?" Upstairs, in my apartment.
"What were you doing?" Not blowing my car up.
"What alerted you to the fire?" The flames and smoke.
"Did you hear an explosion?" Was that the big "boom" noise?
"Did you see anyone at all? When you were looking out your window or when you came downstairs to the parking lot?" I would have looked, but I was mostly distracted by my car being on fire.
"Do you know of anyone harboring ill will against you?" Have you let anyone out of jail lately?
Red took off quickly, muttering that he would be in touch with Trenton PD with a diagnostics run of the fire's origin. Carl and Eddie each pulled me into their arms for a hug and dropped smiling kisses on to my cheek before heading off to patrol the wicked streets of the Burg… or to tell Morelli that I was A-Okay.
Tank and Lester hung back until the scene was cleared before approaching me again.
Tank steeled himself to speak. Normally, he and Ranger were partnered, making him B-string of the duo and not required to take any initiative to verbalize. And even though Ranger was a man of quiet communications, he was equally well at expressing himself in words. Tank was less comfortable in verbal situations.
"Would you like me to leave a team outside of your building?"
My eyebrows shot clear to my hairline. "I get a choice?"
Lester chuckled lightly and Tank smiled.
Of course I didn't.
"It was nice of you to ask, anyway," I ground out, crossing my arms over my chest like a child.
"I would like to reiterate that all Rangeman resources are at your immediate disposal at any time should you need our search engines, a car, or somewhere safe to sleep."
I nodded.
"Call if you need anything. I'll brief the first shift in ten."
Layman's terms: We'll be leaving in ten minutes and someone else will be here.
Good to know.
"I'm sort of sick, so maybe let them know I'll probably be up and down all night."
He nodded. "Should I have them obtain anything on their way here that might grant you more comfort?"
I mulled that over and then shook my head. There were a lot of things I needed, but I really didn't want them to go to the trouble.
Tank gave another nod.
With a small, hardly noticeable smile that someone who didn't know him would have missed, he turned and walked towards the SUV.
Lester led me up to my apartment and did a run-through to ensure that no lunatic pyromaniacs were hiding under my bed.
"Thanks, Les."
I plopped myself onto the couch and curled into a ball on my side.
"Anytime, Beautiful. Go take a hot shower. Call if you need anything."
Great. Lester thinks I smell bad.
I heard the door shut and the locks tumble into place. I decided that resting was a good idea before I took a shower, considering everything sucked and I felt like if I got up I'd just fall back down anyway.
I heard a noise behind me and sat up quickly, throwing my gaze to the kitchen table.
A familiar figure sat stoically, smiling at me with a grin wider than I'd ever seen from him. His onyx eyes crinkled at the corners and love poured out from his stare, making my stomach drop to the bottom of my feet.
"Ranger?" My voice was strange, strangled. Almost as if it wasn't my own.
Suddenly, his gaze shifted over my shoulder, his smile falling. His bright face turned dark instantly and if the look had been intended to me, I would have been terrified.
As it was, I turned, following his eyes, and found myself face to face with Edward Scrog, the man that had shot Ranger point blank when he'd come to rescue me and his daughter, Julie, from having been kidnapped; the man who had framed Ranger, took his identity and ran amuck with it. This man had tried to ruin the life and reputation of the man I loved.
And then he'd tried to end him.
I felt all of the air leave my lungs and I struggled to gain purchase of the situation, my heart stuttering in absolute terror. I told my feet to move back, away, towards Ranger, towards my kitchen with the cookie jar harboring a gun that I knew was not loaded and in effect, useless.
But I was frozen, completely immobilized by my fear.
Scrog raised his gun and pointed it directly at my chest, his face emotionless as he fired off two loud shots that rang and echoed through my head. I looked down and saw that my shirt was wet with blood.
I turned around to find Ranger suddenly standing behind me just a few inches away, staring at me like there was something he wanted to tell me, something so pressing that it couldn't wait until after the homicidal maniac with a gun was taken care of.
Something was wrong with him; something was so wrong.
I did the only thing I could think to do.
I had to protect him.
I had to.
I reached around Ranger and pulled the Glock from the waistband of his cargoes, twisting back to Scrog. I didn't hesitate as my eyes immediately slammed shut as my finger clicked through eight hard rounds.
My eyes opened slowly.
The scene before me caused me to stumble back in horror.
Ranger stood in front of me with eight holes in his perfect chest, each of them black and seeping deep crimson. His shirt was soaked through and scarlet droplets began puddling onto the floor.
"Sorry, Babe," he said, falling to the ground with a sickening thud.
I let out a loud, bloodcurdling wail that pierced through my slumber and wracked my body into consciousness. I tumbled off the couch and onto the floor, hugging my knees and pressing my face into the rug. There was no controlling myself as another cry escaped my lips, tears pouring down my face.
It was only a dream, Stephanie.
Why the fuck are you making so much noise?
Be quiet.
Just a dream.
He's alive.
You didn't kill him.
Scrog didn't kill him.
Everything is just fine.
Just a dream.
Calm down.
Just a dream.
Just a dream.
"It was just a dream," I whispered in attempt to rouse myself from the terror.
I doubled over, unable to stop as my body heaved water and stomach acid onto my throw rug. I heard a crash and looked up to see Bobby and Hal, faces all business and guns drawn low.
My tears renewed themselves in earnest and my stomach convulsed grossly with dry surges.
"Ss-s-sor-rry… So-oh sor-ruhhuh-yy."
I drooled and trembled and cried as my body leaned forward and heaved through another empty lurch.
I heard quick footsteps out the door and then felt strong arms wrap gently across my torso and up under my knees so that I was being carried carefully with my back against a hard chest.
Before I could force words of protest through the curtain of hysteria, my shower was on and I was deposited into my tub fully clothed.
"H-h-hey-y-y!" I trembled, not sounding threatening at all.
I would have moved, tried to escape, but my muscles weren't listening to my brain.
"Bobby said we need to bring your fever down," Hal said, adjusting the knobs on the shower.
I sat under the water for a few moments, expecting it to get warmer, but it just kept getting colder and colder until my teeth were chattering and my body was shaking with shivers.
"T-t-too c-cco-old."
"It's only lukewarm, Steph," Bobby said as he shoved through the doorway, a med pack thrown over his shoulder. "It feels colder because your temperature is so high."
Hal moved out of the bathroom; there was hardly room enough for one Merry Man, let alone two.
"When was the last time you had anything to eat?" Bobby asked as he calmly shuffled through his bag.
His voice sounded strangely far away, as if he were speaking to me through a tunnel.
"Stephanie?"
What was the question?
"I need you to open your eyes, Stephanie."
But I'm so tired, Ranger… Bobby, I'm so tired.
I felt myself swaying, swaying, swaying...
I leaned forward, corrected, leaned back, corrected, then leaned forward until arms caught me and hauled me out of from under the freezing spray.
"Call the infirmary and let Vance know we're on our way. Tell him to be prepared to run diagnostics and to start a saline drip. She's dehydrated and we need to break this fever STAT."
Bobby, I'm fine. Really. It's just a stomach bug. Just need to sleep it off. Sleep…
"Stephanie, we're taking you to Haywood."
Haywood? I like Haywood. Haywood is safe. Haywood is Rangeman. Rangeman is safe.
I'm so tired, Rangeman. So tired…
It's not my favorite chapter, but they're all going to feel like fillers for a while. Stick around. :)