Standard Disclaimer applies. Janet owns them…I don't. I'm not making any money, nor do I wish to. This story takes place in alternate universe. Characters are changed for better or for worse.

Slight smut warning. Enjoy!

♫-signifies a change in POV, may or may not be a change in time frame.

Chapter 7

Since then, a slight touch by someone she only half knows will turn her back into a bowl of pudding. Let's just say, I wouldn't be surprised if one of these days Mr. Richard Orr, Attorney at Law ended up mysteriously missing.

Stephanie's eyes retracted and any light in her face burned out at my touch. She stared at me as if I was about to kill her. Scratch that, she probably wouldn't have been that scared if I were about to kill her.

"Stephanie?" I asked.

The signs of abuse were crystal clear. Nobody needed to spell it out for me; I just wondered who the fuck did this to her.

Bree leaped down from the chair and grabbed her upper arms forcing her to look into her eyes, calming her.

I sucked in deep breathes of air. It was just Ranger, I told myself, he's not going to hit you.

"Babe?" I heard him say.

"I was pretty sure we established you wouldn't call me 'Babe.'" I noted and he looked like the world had just been taken off his shoulders. "So, does anybody have any questions on the plan?"

"Yeah," Paul spoke up, "What the fuck's up with you and Bree going in, Steph? Why can't we just going in SWAT style and do a bust?"

"Because, A, this is the way we're doing it, and B, SWAT style would result in too many deaths. Besides, we don't have enough troops to going in SWAT style. That's why. More questions?" There was none. "Good, D-Day will be March third." Today was January third and March third would give us two months for the set up.

Ranger and I were standing side by side in the bathroom brushing our teeth and getting ready for bed. I spat in the sink and rinsed out my mouth before attempting to talk.

"Ranger?"

"Babe, I'm sorry for this afternoon," he told me.

"Can we talk about that?"

He looked hesitant. "Do you want to?"

"Yeah."

We walked out to the sitting area and sat alongside each other on the overstuffed couch.

"I dated Dickie Orr for six months and he was charming, kind, loving, and a perfect gentleman. Then, things got sticky. We'd fight. He'd get upset if I went away for a week or two. Dickie'd yell. Eventually yelling turned to hitting. If I tried to hit him back, he would beat me like hell. He never raped me. He never even had sex with me. He hated me."

I took a deep breath before going on, trying to hide the tears that threatened to fall. "Dickie would strip me naked and take a stick and flick it at me across my stomach. Bree found out and eventually Paul and I talked them out of killing Dickie and just helping me get out. I was living in Grand Rapids, Michigan at the time. Bree and Paul helped me relocate to San Diego.

"Dickie isn't trained in any military tactics; he's a lawyer. I got to keep my name, but one day, Dickie just woke up and I wasn't living in my house. Paul stayed there and told him what happened and that was the end of it. I'm pretty sure he doesn't know I'm living in San Diego. I haven't heard from him since."

I realized the tears fell, followed by others and Ranger was holding me against him.

After a few minutes he whispered into my ear, "Babe, can I kiss you?"

I turned toward him. "Please do."

His lips gently brushed mine and his tongue slipped between my lips meeting mine. His arms encircled my hips and cupped my butt and I found myself straddling his lap. His hands skimmed up my shirt and I felt warm fingertips caressing my breasts softly, teasing my contracted nipples through my shirt. I could feel his growing erection pressing into my crotch through our pants. I let out a slight moan and his kiss became more demanding.

"Hey Boss!" someone yelled. It was Lester and in he walked. Mental note to self number one: shoot Santos in the foot when this job is over.

"Go away!" I yelled.

"It's Woody, he says it's important!" Lester replied, and then absorbed some of his surroundings. Mental note to self number two: give Santos the poor-awareness lecture. "Oh, Jesus, sorry!"

"Woody?" Steph asked.

"Do you really need an explanation?"

"Nope."

"Uh, hi Steph."

"Hi, Lester."

"Sorry, man. Call Woody."

I nodded my head and he left. I gave Stephanie a small kiss. "I'll be back."