A/N – Once again, thank you for all of your kind words about this story. The response to this story has been overwhelmingly positive, and I couldn't be happier. I'm especially glad that people are finding this story as funny as I do, and that I'm not just sitting here, giggling at nothing. So thanks!

A warning to sensitive readers – if you don't like fart jokes, you ain't going to like this chapter.

All the best, J.

Chapter 6 – Whoo, Doggy!

"I hope that will get you started, dear," Ella said.

"Yes, this is great. Thank you." I gave Ella a big hug. "It was awfully nice of you to do this."

"Nonsense," she said. "You need any more help, you just let me know."

I didn't hear the door open, but the familiar tingling up the back of my neck told me Ranger had just entered the conference room. Ella smiled at him, just as he laid a hand on my shoulder.

"Well, I should get started on dinner," Ella said, standing up. She looked at Ranger expectantly.

"Want to stay for dinner, babe?" Ranger asked.

I paused. On the one hand, I couldn't refuse any meal of Ella's; on the other, I would be eating with Ranger. I already found Ella's food orgasmic under normal circumstances, but sitting next to Ranger, suffering under my current condition, was probably asking for trouble.

"It's just dinner, babe." I could hear the amusement in his voice.

Yeah right. It was never just dinner with Ranger. But who was I kidding – it was an Ella meal. "Okay." I smiled at Ella. "That would be great." She smiled back at me, nodded to Ranger, and left us.

Ranger sat down on the table just in front of me. "Did that help you out?" he asked.

I looked down at the stack of papers that Ella had given me, and the pile of notes that I had made for myself. "Oh, yeah," I said. I now had recipes, menu plans, and shopping lists, all designed around my dietary concerns. "I had no idea she was a dietician. Did you hire her so your men wouldn't get fat?"

He smiled in his man-of-mystery way. "Something like that." He held out his hand; I took it, and he pulled me out of my chair. "I'm proud of you, babe. You're taking this seriously, making good decisions."

"You'd take that back if you saw what I did after you left this morning," I said.

The smile grew. "I heard about it."

I groaned; all of Trenton had probably heard about it. I had deliberately left my phone off, and knew my mother was probably going nuts right about now. I figured I would wait until tomorrow, when hopefully some of the sugar would be out of my system, and mom would have had a chance to iron or tipple.

"It was your fault," I said.

He laughed. "It's my fault you had a food fight in the middle of a Walmart?"

"Yes! You left me in a state!"

His eyes grew dark. "You weren't the only one left in a state, babe."

Oh, boy. I so didn't need to hear that right now. I swallowed hard, and resisted the urge to ask him to turn up the air conditioning.

"You were right to not eat those sugar-free Tastykakes, though," he said, changing the subject. "They're so full of chemicals that I'm surprised the FDA classifies them as food."

"That's exactly why I didn't want them."

He smiled. "Right."

"And I even managed to turn down a boston cream doughnut."

"But not three McDonald's cheeseburgers."

I blushed – one of his guys must have been following me again. "They didn't have any sugar in them."

"That's trading one evil for another," Ranger said. "You'll recover faster if you cut out the sugar and fat."

I scowled. "I know that." I made a show of putting all my papers together, just so I wouldn't have to look at him.

He moved in behind me, and turned me around so we were face to face. "I know it's not easy," he said, "but I know how strong willed you can be. You can do this if you just push yourself a little more."

"I tried going off sugar before, though, and it didn't work."

"Last time you made a bad deal with your mother. This time it's your health on the line. Remember that, and you'll succeed." He pulled me in even closer – now we were face to face, chest to chest, and pelvis to pelvis. "My babe doesn't give in," he said. "I know, because I've been trying to get you to give in to me for months now."

I wasn't sure who kissed whom first; I had the sneaking suspicion that it was me, or maybe it was a mutual thing. All I know was one moment we were standing facing each other, and the next we were lying on the conference room table, my papers getting mussed and torn beneath us as we fought to deprive the other of oxygen.

It was the feeling of him popping the buttons of my shirt open one by one that made my senses return to me. I managed to pull my lips away from his and pant, "We can't do this here."

"My building," he said. He tugged the corner of my shirt down and bit my shoulder, while his other hand slipped inside and fiddled with the clasp of my bra.

I felt myself going cross-eyed. "Yes, but we're being filmed."

His hand went to his belt, and I heard the jangle of his keys. "Scrambled," he said. And he went back to ravaging my shoulder.

"The control room windows look into this room," I said, "and there are no curtains on the windows."

He stopped kissing me, and sighed . "You're trying to tell me something, aren't you."

I pressed my forehead against him. "I'm sorry," I said. I mean, who was I kidding? I wanted to do it, and it was more than just sugar deprived hormones that were pushing me. But I still was with Joe, and I wouldn't cheat on him. But man, it sure was getting hard to stop at the preliminaries.

Ranger kissed my cheek. "No, this one's my fault." He sat up, and pulled me up so I was sitting beside him. "What did I tell you?" he said. "My babe doesn't give in." He drew a finger down my cheek.

What went unsaid was that one day I would give in. Ranger knew it, just as well as I did. The question was, when would I give in? What would it take for me to decide to step over that line?

We adjusted our clothes, gathered up my papers, and left the conference room. Hal was on monitors; he wouldn't look at us, and his face was bright red. Obviously Ranger hadn't scrambled the cameras soon enough. Ranger picked up a file from Tank, and then directed me toward the elevator and the seventh floor.

Dinner was waiting for us on the counter when we arrived – a chicken and vegetable stir fry, heavy on the vegetables and low on the sauce and meat. Ranger popped open two bottles of sparkling water, and we ate the food at the counter, which was much less threatening than eating at the table would have been.

"I've got a distraction job for you, if you're interested," he said, once we were finished.

"Sure." Thank goodness – we were going to talk about business and not get down to business. Plus, there was no denying I could use the money.

He took me into his study, and passed me a folder. "We're setting it up for tomorrow night around ten," he said. "The skip's name is Douglas Parcheesi. He's an accountant by trade, mainly for the mob. He's wanted for tax evasion and money laundering."

I flipped through the file. "Is he dangerous?"

"Not especially, but neither is he especially bright – and he carries concealed."

No surprise there - half of Trenton carried concealed. "What does he like?" I asked. "Conservative? Slutty?"

"Hockey jerseys and short shorts," Ranger said, smiling. "And push up bras."

Great – sports slut. Oh well, at least I wouldn't have to wear panty hose. "Any particular team?"

"New York Islanders."

Gah – I hated this guy already. "I don't have an Islanders jersey," I said. "I root for the Rangers."

He smiled. "I'll guess you'll have to convert him," he said.

I shuddered, knowing how close I was to being converted to a ranger of my own.

--

Somehow I made it out of Ranger's apartment without having sex with him. I went home, and tossed and turned for what felt like hours. I hadn't had any sugar all day, and I was suffering big time. I was tempted to call Morelli over, but I immediately had guilty thoughts about Ranger. Those, of course, led to hot thoughts about Ranger on his conference room table. Finally I gave in and had a lengthy visit with the shower massager. I felt better afterwards, and fell right to sleep.

The next morning I checked in with the bonds office. There was still no work for me, so I decided to hit the grocery store and pick up some of the items Ella recommended. I was actually feeling kind of excited. The meals Ella drew up for me were simple compared to the veal stock disaster, and I was feeling fairly confident that even I couldn't screw them up. Plus, it was nice to open the fridge and see food sitting inside. Like the spice rack, it felt homey.

I had just put everything away when the phone rang. It was Morelli. "Bob missed you last night," he said. "He's looking forward to visiting you later."

"Oh crap!" I said. "I forgot – I'm working tonight, but not until ten."

There was a pause. "Are you working with Ranger?"

No point beating around the bush. "Yeah, but it won't take long – maybe an hour or so. You could come for dinner at least."

Another pause as he contemplated this. "What are you doing for him?" His voice was suspicious.

"Just helping out on a stakeout," I said. It was kind of true; it was a stakeout. I figured telling him my particular role wouldn't win me any points.

He was silent for a long time. Finally he said, "All right." But he didn't sound pleased. "Do you want me to bring something?"

"Nope," I said. "I'm making us dinner."

"Oh God."

"Don't worry," I said. "I'm making chili dogs."

"I can't eat chili dogs." I could hear the wistfulness in his voice.

"You can eat these ones. I'm using soy weenies, veggie chili, and low fat cheese. And instead of fries, we're going to have three bean salad."

There was a pause. "You really don't have to go to so much trouble."

I scowled into the phone; either he was turned off by the soy weenies, or he didn't trust my cooking. Not that I could blame him, of course – my last attempt at cooking had been well documented. "Tell you what," I said. "I'll make it for my lunch. If it doesn't work out, I'll call you."

"And then I can bring something?"

I sighed. "Yes, then you can bring something." And I hung up.

The meal was surprisingly simple to make – the hardest part was opening up all the cans. I mixed up the three bean salad and the vinegar dressing that Ella recommended, then heated up the chili in one pot, and cooked a weenie in another. I shredded a small amount of low fat cheese, and put the chili dog together. I took a bite, and practically groaned – it was so close to the real thing that if I closed my eyes, I could believe it was bad for me. It was so good that I ate three more of them. I even ate a cup full of bean salad – that was pretty tasty too.

Joe and Bob came by at about six-thirty. He peered warily into the kitchen. "Is it safe?" he asked.

"Ha ha," I said. I looked down at his hand. "What is that?"

"Beer."

"You're not allowed to have beer."

"It's lite. I figured since we're eating fake dogs, we might as well have fake beer."

"I can't drink beer. No alcohol for a month, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." He took a beer for himself, and popped the rest in my fridge.

"It smells good in here." Morelli sounded surprised. Bob was wagging his tail and looking for the take out bags. He seemed confused when he couldn't find any.

I put my annoyance about the beer and Joe's confidence in my cooking skills aside and put the chili dogs together. "Wait until you try these," I said. "They taste so good." I piled three chili dogs on his plate, three on mine, and three on a plate for Bob. Morelli and I got bean salad, and Bob got dog crunchies.

I watched as Morelli picked up one of the dogs. He eyed the weenie with suspicion. "Soy, eh?"

"Try it," I said. "You can hardly tell the difference. Look, Bob likes them." Bob had already eaten his three chili dogs, and was moving onto the kibble.

"Bob eats furniture," Joe said.

I ground my teeth together. "Try it," I said.

Morelli sighed, and took a bite. Once again, he looked surprised. "This is good," he said. And he ate up the rest of the dogs.

"Don't forget the bean salad," I said.

He shook his head. "Sorry, Cupcake," he said. "I'll eat a veggie dog, but I won't eat the beans unless they're cooked in tomato sauce and bacon."

"Fine," I said, "then I'll eat them." And I did. I popped the button of my jeans when I was finished, and whooshed out a breath in relief. That was a lot of food, and topped off with the four dogs I ate at lunch, I was starting to feel a little bloated.

Morelli got another beer, and turned on my television. Bob jumped up beside him, and fell asleep. I stared at the two of them for a moment, then went into the kitchen and cleaned up, feeling resentful. No "Thanks for the meal, cupcake." No "That was good, cupcake." No "Let's celebrate you not burning down the kitchen, cupcake." He wasn't even considerate enough to keep the beer out of my house, or not drink it in front of me. I knew how good dogs and beer tasted.

I couldn't help but think of Ranger, and how he drank sparkling water with me last night, even though he probably would have preferred a beer or wine. And he had been proud of me for making good food choices. Morelli hadn't even acknowledged my efforts to stick to a diet. And he wasn't even helping with the cleaning up. He was treating me like a burg housewife.

I must have been banging the pots and pans around a little loudly, because Joe said, "Something on your mind, cupcake?"

"No," I said.

"Leave those dishes and come sit down," he said, patting the spot next to him. And he smiled.

I grumbled, but decided the dishes could wait until the morning. I sat down, and he put an arm around me, pulling me in close. It would have been romantic, if he hadn't been holding Bob the dog in much the same way.

About an hour later, I groaned. Morelli looked at me. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"My stomach's a bit upset." I let out a belch that was chili dog flavored.

Morelli had the good graces not to wave his hand around in the air, but he did wrinkle his nose a little. "Maybe you should brush your teeth," he said.

Yeah – and find an antacid. "I'll be right back."

The bathroom break helped. I went back to sit with Joe. He neglected to put his arm around me this time.

Fifteen minutes later, the beans kicked in. I squirmed in my seat.

"What's wrong with you?" Morelli asked.

"Nothing."

"Still not feeling well?"

I let out another belch. "Not particularly," I said. And then I farted – loudly.

There comes a point in every relationship where you eventually become so comfortable with one another that the passing of gas is seen as no big deal. Joe and I had reached that comfort level quite awhile ago – or at least, Joe had. He had no problem with lifting a leg and letting one fly. I didn't mind so much, so long as he wasn't sitting on my coffee table when he did it. I had also made it clear from the beginning that I would not tolerate any commentary on his flatulence. Why men had to rank their farts according to quality and volume was beyond me. If he thought he did a good job, then he could keep it to himself.

I wasn't so keen on sharing my farts in public – it just wasn't something the Plums did. So this fart – this astronomically loud and long fart – was a bit of a shocker to both of us.

"Holy shit!" Morelli bounded off the couch. "What the hell was that?"

"Oops! Sorry!" And before I could stop it, another one squeaked out. This one wasn't so much noisy as it was smelly. Bob woke up and looked around, wondering who his competition was.

This time Morelli did wave his arms around in the air. "Damn, Steph! What have you been eating?"

"The same as you," I said. "Chili dogs and bean salad."

"How much did you have?"

Too much, apparently. "What's the matter? Can't a female pass gas?"

"Cupcake, I didn't even know girls could fart like that," he said. "It sounded like a shotgun blast." He looked down at my butt, as if expecting to see green smoke.

I stood up, which set off another fart. Morelli jumped back out of my way, and Bob, all excited, farted too, afraid he might be missing out on something.

"Jeez," Morelli said, covering his nose with his hand, "I don't know which one of you smells worse."

Hypocrite - like he had never stunk up my living room. I went to open a window, and headed for the hall.

"Where are you going?" Morelli asked.

"The bathroom," I said. I needed to get tarted up for the distraction job, but I obviously needed to take care of other pressing business too.

"Thank God," he said. Joe looked after me with something akin to horror. I stomped down the hall, and ate a few more antacids.

I stayed in the bathroom awhile, showering and putting on makeup. Then I got dressed. I had originally planned on wearing jogging pants over the short shorts, figuring Joe wouldn't approve of the subtleties of Ranger's operation; but after the meal, and the beer, and the farting, I figured, to hell with him. I was still feeling pretty gassy too, so I wasn't particularly thinking about sparing anyone's feelings in my hour of discomfort.

The shorts were super short, just this side of a crescent moon. Top that off with the push up bra, Rangers jersey, ankle socks and runners, and I was every drunk jock's dream date. I traipsed into the living room.

Despite the window being open, it still smelled kind of funky. Bob was asleep on the couch, and Morelli was gone.

I found a note attached to Bob's collar. Sorry Cupcake, but I got a call while you were in the shower – some gang bangers went at it, and I've gotta go clean up the mess. I'll stop by and pick up Bob in the morning.

I'm not normally a gambling girl, but I'm betting it was the farts that drove him away. After all, he usually took Bob home with him – he probably figured why stink up his place with Bob's chili dog farts when my house was already lingering with it. It was just as well. I wasn't feeling particularly charitable toward him this evening, and with this gas problem there was no way in hell I was going to have sex with him. At least now I had the bed all to myself. Plus, if he had seen the short shorts, he would have popped a vein and gone all macho, and the way I was feeling, that was a scene I didn't need. Plus, no sex with Joe meant no guilty Ranger thoughts.

My phone rang at nine-thirty. "Yo."

"Yo yourself."

"Tank will be by in five minutes. He'll bring the wire. You ready?"

"Yep. I'll meet him downstairs."

"Wait in the lobby." And he hung up.

Tank's expression was unreadable as I climbed into the Rangeman SUV. He merely handed me the wire and the file folder on Parcheesi. "Nice jersey," he said.

"Thanks." And that was the end of the small talk.

I slipped the wire in just under my bra, then studied up on Parcheesi as we drove to the bar. Parcheesi was not your typical accountant. He looked more like your typical wiseguy, wearing a short sleeved, three button knit shirt, and casual slacks. His hair was slicked back, and his face screamed weasel. He looked like an ass grabber. Sure enough, I found out he had been charged with sexual harassment three years ago, something Ranger neglected to tell me.

Halfway there, I discovered another hitch. My intestinal woes didn't like the car ride. I really didn't want to fart in front of Tank, but if he hit another pot hole, we were going to have a problem. My only hope was to hold it in, and let it rip once I was out of the car and in the noisy bar. No one would notice in a sports bar. I hoped.

Unfortunately, it was a lot harder to hold onto a fart than I supposed. I started squirming in my seat, hoping a change in position would help, but it didn't. Then, to top it all off, these really awful gurgling sounds started up, and it was obvious they weren't hungry gurgle sounds. These were angry, why-did-you-eat-seven-soy-dogs sounds.

I could see Tank sneaking peeks at me now. He looked uncomfortable, kind of like the time I was handcuffed to him after Stiva kidnapped me. Only this time he looked afraid as well as uncomfortable.

His code of silence was finally broken when I let out a not-too-subtle burp. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." I felt like I was going to explode. And five seconds later, I did - I let out a fart that would have sent Bob running for cover.

Tank coughed, but didn't say anything. He just rolled down the window, and kept on driving. A minute later, we pulled into the rendezvous point, and we both jumped out of the SUV like it was on fire.

Ranger and Lester were waiting for us. Lester was grinning like mad. "Okay," he said, "who laid the bomb in the car? Was it you, doll?"

I froze in horror. "What?"

"Come on, don't deny it," Lester said. "We heard it over the mike, didn't we, Ranger?"

"Santos…" Ranger warned. But even he looked like he was thinking of smiling.

The mike? Then it hit me – I was wearing the wire, and it was obviously live. My face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"It was me." Tank's voice was a bit strained, like he had just been holding his breath. "I ate that burrito for dinner."

Lester eyed him, then shook his head. "Nah, it wasn't you. I heard your burrito fart before. It didn't have the right timbre."

Ranger, Tank and Lester looked at me. I gave an exasperated sigh. "Okay," I said, "so it was me. Deal with it."

Lester laughed. "Ha! I knew it! Girl, where'd you learn to fart like that? That had some serious power behind it. You must have pushed it out, huh?"

"Eew!" I cried.

"Enough." Ranger's voice was quiet, but firm. Lester sighed, and mouthed, "We'll talk later" at me. Like I was dying to get together with him and discuss our flatulence.

"Our man's in there," Ranger said. "Hal and Binkie are in place in the bar. Lester will follow you in. Tank and I'll be waiting by the door."

I nodded, and then realized a snag in the operation. "I'm not allowed to drink right now," I said. "What if he buys me a beer or something?"

"Just pretend to drink it," he said. "Trust me, he isn't going to be paying attention to anything but those shorts. Now go get him, tiger."

The bar was half a block over. It was your typical sports bar, filled with lots of televisions and pictures of has-been hockey and football players. I looked around for my mark, and found him at a pool table with a few other guys. He looked a lot like his picture. So did all the other guys he was playing with.

I got myself a diet coke, and plunked myself down at the bar, making sure I was in full view of the pool table. Less than a minute later, Parcheesi was standing beside me, giving me a full out leer. Ranger's intel was good – Parcheesi was eying my boobs through the jersey with obvious interest.

"Come play some pool with us, cutie," he said.

I knew exactly why he wanted me to play pool with him – my shorts were going to ride up to kingdom come whenever I bent over. That wasn't my biggest concern about bending over right now, though. I decided to end this quick. I just wanted to go home, disinfect myself with Lysol, and drink Pepto Bismol until all was right with the world.

"I'm not very good at pool," I said. "I'm good at other things though." I gave him my sexy smile, and crossed my legs.

He laughed, his eyes never leaving my legs. "I bet you are, hot stuff," he said. "Why don't you show me after I finish this game?" And he tugged off the chair, and dragged me over to the pool table. He handed me a pool cue, and pointed to the table. "Go on," he said. "You're going to put the 7 ball in the pocket there."

Just as I suspected, it was a long shot, and the way he had me positioned, I would practically have to lie across the table to reach it. "Wouldn't it be easier from over there?" I said, pointing to the other side of the table.

His friends laughed, and Parcheesi smiled. "You'd think so," he said, "but this way is better. Now just lean over…" He pushed me down so I was splayed across the table, and he leaned in on top of me.

Across the room, I could see Hal and Binkie on their feet, looking like a couple of angry dinosaurs. I shook my head at them, and readjusted the pool cue. "Now I hit the ball like this, right?" And I jerked my arm back, and shoved the end of the cue into Parcheesi's groin. Then I farted on him for good measure.

"Ugh," Parcheesi said. He fell down on the floor, clutching his crotch. Then the smell hit him, and he turned green. His friends took one look at him, and burst out into troll-like laughter.

"Oh my goodness!" I cried. "I'm so sorry! I didn't break anything, did I?" I managed to prop him up, but I couldn't get him to his feet. His buddies were laughing too hard to be of any help.

"Need… air…" he choked.

"Good idea! Here, I'll take you."

"Let me help you, miss." It was Hal. He grabbed Parcheesi by the back of his shirt, and hauled him to his feet.

His buddies stopped laughing when Hal got involved. "Hey, wait a minute!" Then they saw Binkie standing there, his arms crossed, and they backed off.

"She… farted… on me," Parcheesi groaned.

"Now why would I do that?" I said. I turned to his buddies. "We'll be right back, okay?" And I followed Hal as he dragged Parcheesi out the door, where Tank and Ranger were waiting for us.