I was half-way back to my apartment when my cell rang. I let out a long suffering sigh - half wishing Bob was there to commiserate with - upon seeing Ranger's number and wondered if I could get away with not answering. Of course, knowing Ranger he'd have his SWAT team on my ass in minutes, so I answered.

"Babe, you're skipping out on all the fun."

"Ha ha, Ranger."

"Tank'll be picking you up in twenty minutes at your apartment. I suggest you be there." He hung up before I could respond, though the cab of my truck was filled with curses.

Mrs. Williams, one of my neighbors from down the hall, was hobbling out to her car when I pulled into my parking lot. She waved as enthusiastically as an 80 year old can, trying to get me to come over. Knowing my luck she just wanted to show me her newest gun – all the seniors in my apartment had guns and they were all bigger than mine.

"There's a nice young man waiting outside your door for you." She beamed, no doubt hoping for some good gossip to spread across the 'Burg before I got my door unlocked.

I, on the other hand, was a bit nervous. Nice young men do not hang out outside my apartment waiting for me. Instead they leave calling cards, of dead bodies on my couch or bombs tossed through my window variety. Nice young man my foot.

In times like these one has to make a decision. Go up and get shot at, or stay and wait for backup. Granted backup was actually coming to drag me off somewhere unknown, but it was still backup. The wuss in me wanted to wait on Tank. But the realist knew that Tank was just going to grab me and drive off – no checking out nice young men. Looks like I was going up.

I decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator. That way, if he was watching the elevator I'd come up behind him. Thankfully Dillon, the super, had just oiled the hinges on the door to the stairwell, since Mrs. Balrog had taken to complaining about the noise again. Coming out on my floor, vowing to start running again, I could see a very definite 'Elvis' hairstyle standing in front of my door – watching the elevator. Reaching in my pocketbook I grabbed my tazer and crept up behind him. I was nearly there, just inches away, when I stepped on the old creaky board outside my door. He jumped, turning around and into my tazer just as I zapped him. Down he went, shot from his gun going wild into the molding along the ceiling. Instantly all my neighbors were at their doors, guns trained on me. Ignoring them, I cuffed Postolli. The day was already looking up.

Leaving him in an unconscious pile outside my front door, I dashed inside. Rex got a few carrots in his cage as I rushed through the kitchen. If I was going to be forced into hiding, which is what Tank would do regardless of the mass of human flesh on my doorstep, I refused to go unprepared. I need the essentials – shampoo, hairspray, hairdryer and curling iron – if I was going to live in that safehouse. One top of the toiletries I tossed my sexiest underwear – just in case – and something other than my usual jeans and a flannel.

I returned to the front door to be greeted by the sight of a man who looked as though brick walls wouldn't survive the impact if he ever chose to walk into them. Tank had arrived and he was starting down at Postolli where he lay on my doorstep. "Is that..."

"Yep, have time to swing by the station?"

He quirked an eyebrow and pulled out his cell. I rolled my eyes and prodded Elvis with the toe of my hiking boot, trying to discern if he was waking up or just having a slight seizure. I could hear his conversation with Ranger as I tried to make my oh-so-important decision. "Interesting development. Stephanie's got Elvis."

He glanced down at the passed out perp, then over at me with a sly smile crossing his features. "Looks she hit him with her zapper. We'll take him by the police before meeting up with the rest of you."

After hanging up, he hoisted Postolli up over his shoulder and headed to the elevator. I damn near had to run to keep up with him and his cargo. I'm certain we broke a half a dozen traffic laws on our way to the station, where Ranger and Larabee and Long Hair were keeping Costanza company by the back door.

"Nice job, Babe," Ranger said, nodding to Tank who was carrying a convulsing Postolli in and dropping him on a bench. I handed the paperwork to the docket lieutenant and turned my catch of the day over to the authorities. As much as I wanted to wash my hands of the whole affair, I had a feeling it was not even close to being over. And I was right.

The minute the paperwork left my hand and I was given the body receipt, Ranger had grabbed me by the elbow and led me to his jeep, Larabee and long hair climbing in behind us. No one said a word until we reached a hotel in the heart of the business district.

At the hotel, a round of introductions was finally made. I paid attention as best I could, though I was first to admit to suffering from hormonal overload. They had brought Bob with them and he was playing, or as close to playing as a lazy dog came, with the kid, whose name was JD. Mustache was teasing them both, before sidling over to me. "How do you do. Your name's Stephanie? I'm Buck Wilmington. How does a beautiful woman like you end up a bounty hunter?"

"Buck." Larabee's tone held a warning to it and Mustache moved back to teasing the kid. Larabee finished the round of introductions, pointing out that GQ was named Ezra, long-hair was Vin, the big bear of a guy was Josiah and the health nut who worried about Bob's eating habits was Nathan. I barely had the chance to get all that down before they started reporting in to him.

I generally ignored them while they did; instead concentrating on this new mess I've managed to get myself into. While I didn't mind on an aesthetic level being shut up in a hotel room with eight drool-worthy men, I had a feeling that I wasn't going to enjoy this much. And I do hate it when I'm right.

They had barely finished reporting in to Larabee when the plan came to light. Word was already out on the street that Steve Postolli wanted to 'talk' with me. It was the whole 'dead or alive' part of 'talking' that worried me. And it soon became apparent that me talking to him was going to be part of the trap. Apparently GQ, er Ezra, was an undercover agent and had set up a time for him and Tanner to meet with Postolli. Reason being that they had gotten their hands on me and were going to turn me over to him in exchange for some 'product.' I, myself, wasn't too excited about this plan. But not only were Larabee and his merry men going to be lying in wait to capture Postolli, but Ranger said he'd have his team of rogues there as well. That was almost a relief. The whole 'dead or alive' thing still worried me, though.

The warehouse we were meeting them in was definitely of the abandoned type and I couldn't help but wonder just how cliched the elder Postolli was. My arms were behind my back, though Vin and Ezra left the cuffs unlocked, so it was all just for show until Postolli showed up. Bob plodded along next to Tanner, less than excited to be here as opposed to partaking in his afternoon napping marathon.

We hadn't been there long when a black Mercedes pulled on in. Several men stepped out and approached us, one in particular glaring at me so fiercely I knew he had to be Elvis's brother. I found myself wondering just how soon Larabee and his men would be showing up. My musings were cut short, however, by Ezra – who was suddenly lacking an accent. I swear that Tanner winked at me and my dumbfounded look before turning a poker face to Postolli and his thugs.

"Mr. Postolli, I see you got my message."

"Is that her?" Postolli demanded, gesturing to me.

"Of course, Mr. Postolli. You did specify that you wished to speak with Ms. Plum for some reason. I even managed to get her dog as well."

"I wouldn't exactly say I wish to speak with her," Postolli sneered, walking over to where I stood. "Let's just say that my cousin is back in jail and I want revenge."

He had his gun out by now and I could feel my knees knocking together. I've stared down the barrel of a gun more than a few times in my years as a bounty hunter, but it's something I'd never been comfortable with. Ezra interrupted him, however, before he could get any further. "Now, Mr. Postolli, you do understand my proposal?"

Postolli turned and glared at him, angry to be interrupted during his extraction of revenge. "Of course. Why else do you think I asked you to meet here? The guns you requested are in those crates."

He gestured vaguely with his gun and glared at Tanner who stepped in front of me, but backed down while Standish walked over to inspect the merchandise. "You also understand that I'll need to inspect these before I turn Ms. Plum over to you."

The arms dealer acquiesced as his bodyguards opened the crates so Standish could look over the guns, but he made sure to stay near me and Tanner. Standish took his time, pulling several different weapons from each of the crates. He held each of them up in the light, looking them over for any signs of defects. He refused to acknowledge Postolli's growing impatience as he went through his inspection.

When Standish did finally put the last of the guns away, Postolli damn near gave a sigh of relief. I'm sure he did at Standish's next words.

"I daresay these are satisfactory, Mr. Postolli. I believe we have a deal."

"Good. It's time for me to deal with this bitch." To my dismay, the gun was back in my face. Any actions on his part were interrupted by Larabee's men shouting for everyone to drop their weapons. Before I could move out of the line of fire, I was pushed to the ground as Postolli was tackled and disarmed. Looking up at the men running in various directions around me, I decided the floor was a great place to stay – rolling out of the way as men with guns converged around me. Bob apparently agreed with me, slobbering all over my face before settling on the ground next to me.

Eventually all the bad guys were rounded up and Steve Postolli was thankfully out of my life. Tank and the rest of Ranger's SWAT team loaded themselves into their various black vehicles. The ATF team had called up their Trenton counterparts to arrange Postolli's transport to Federal prison and eventually to Denver, and Ranger didn't particularly want his men around to catch any flack. After spending some time watching Larabee glare unfortunate Trenton fed into submission, I looked up to see Ranger standing above me. He was looking at Bob with a look of what was the closest I've ever seen him come to awe on his face.

"That's quite the dog you've got there, Babe."

"Huh?"

"Your dog," Wilmington said, coming over. "Who do you think knocked you down when Postolli tried to take a shot at you?" The rest of team seven nodded in agreement as they made their way over to us, several of the guys stopping to pet Bob.

And Bob just sat there reveling in all the positive attention he was getting for once. I leaned over to pet him myself, garnering another slobbery doggie kiss.

"Good boy, Bob. From now on you get all the doughnuts you want."