a/n Thanks to everyone who has read, bookmarked and especially extra Thanks to those who have reviewed. It's quite a thrill to hear from you guys. And if I know you're liking this story, more Mercenary Ranger stories may be appearing in the future. So - let me know?

love, sunny d.

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The Price is Right

Chapter Five - Be Prepared

As soon as we got home from the second penguin debacle, I called Maitland at the NSA and rescheduled our meeting. I haven't been in Trenton for more than a day at time for weeks and neither had my men. I could loaf for a day or two, right? Plus all that damn paperwork...

Now I was parked at the curb in front of a dingy tenement a couple blocks off Stark Street. I noted Steph's newest black Mercedes SUV was parked nearby just as a guy in baggy jeans and a wifebeater ran out of the alley beside the building. The guy skidded to a stop and looked hard at my new Porsche Panamera sedan but the blacked out windows kept him from seeing me clearly. He tugged up his pants and ran past. I watched in my rear view mirrors as he hopped into a crummy chopped "low-rider" Nissan pickup and drove away.

Huh. Needs a tune up and a muffler, I thought and waited patiently for Stephanie to appear. Seconds later she too came out of the alley and stood hands on hips, looking pissed off as her skip disappeared around the corner. Then she caught sight of me and her pissed off ratcheted up a few notches.

Sigh. Sometimes a man can't win.

By now I knew my wife well enough to understand that she did NOT want me to grab her skip and she didn't want me to send a couple of my men to do it either. No, she wanted to do it herself. Or, as she liked to say, What's the point?

Did I really want the mother of my child, this whitebread girl I so foolishly love, to chase after low-lifes and criminals? No, of course not. But truth is, she was good at it, in her own hapless, I Love Lucy sort of way, so who am I to tell her to change? I'm smart enough not to walk in Joe Morelli's footsteps. Steph is Steph, gotta love who she is, not who she'd be if only this or that could be changed.

I got out of the car and leaned on the fender. Steph marched up to me, said, "Yo."

I said, "Yo yourself" - I know my lines - and since I couldn't kiss her here on the street I reached out and tucked a crazy curl behind her ear, gently brushing my knuckles over her jaw as I finished.

She said, "What's up?"

"I brought lunch." I motioned to the car and, always up for food, Steph squinted through the window, then looked quizzically up at me. I added, "Ella thinks we need some time alone together. She packed a picnic."

Steph said neutrally, "How romantic."

"Yeah, well."

Steph smiled wide and my heart clenched. The time wasted on a picnic was worth it. Then she glanced down the road and said, "That was my skip who just drove off: Sheemon Duane Rassmussin, GTA, FTA."

GTA - grand theft auto, great. Vinnie and I were gonna have a talk soon.

To Steph I just said, "I figured."

"It didn't occur to you to stop him?"

"Babe."

"Babe, what, Ranger?"

I said, "I did something better." I handed her a small GPS device. "I put a tracker on the vehicle. This way we can have a nice healthy lunch" -she scowled- "and then you, or we, can go get the guy at your convenience."

"You had a tracker with you?" asked Steph.

I smiled at her. "Always prepared. The SEALs motto."

She said, "That's the Boy Scouts. And besides you weren't a SEAL."

?

"Were you?" she whispered.

I ignored her question, way too complicated. No, I never was a SEAL, exactly, because I was never in the Navy, but I was never really a soldier either, though I was/ am? a commissioned Army officer with a rank and a uniform and medals and stuff. I was, I am, an operator or operative, a clandestine agent, a black work assassin. And a mercenary, of course. But I had passed the SEALs training courses just like I'd passed the Rangers courses and other Spec Ops training. Before I became whoever the hell I am these days. But at least she didn't ask if I was a Boy Scout. (I wasn't, do I need to tell you that?)

I said, "Whatever," mimicking Julie, my preteen daughter. "Are you going to argue with the man who just tagged your nemesis's vehicle?"

She punched my bicep lightly and gave me the Miss America smile. She said, "Actually I could just kiss you!"

Yeah, yeah. Get in line…. "Okay."

A few breathless moments later, when I had totally lost track of hostile Stark Street eyes watching and god knows what else, she leaned back a little and whispered against my mouth, "So Ranger, how about you feed me and then show me how this gadget works?"

"Gadget?"

Evil Steph grin. She pressed close against me. "Maybe later, Ranger." She waved the handheld GPS module in my face.

Oh. That gadget. Too bad.

"Can I at least help pick up the skip?"

"I don't need help."

"Yes but I need a break from being an office drone."

"Oooh. The picnic is a ploy to get out of all the paperwork, is it? Tired of counting your ill-got millions, sweetie?" Steph teased.

I shrugged. I loved when she teased me. No one else ever did — they were mostly too scared. As if! Yeah, more Julie-speak, she visits a lot these days….

I walked her around to the passenger side of my car, opened the door and she slid in, looking happily at the big canvas L L Bean bag full of Ella's great food. She said, "Ok, Ranger, you can help."

Thank god.

She added, "I don't want you to get computer ass."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, from too much sitting. Your butt will get fat and flat, it'll get wide!"

She giggled.

I started the car and growled, "You'll pay for that, babe.'

"Oh goody.''

tbc