I wish things were different, but I didn't create the characters below. That honor and all the associated royalties belongs to JE.
Jenny (JenRar) you are simply amazing. Thank you for your hard work as the beta on this story.
Chapter 9 – A Little Help From my Friend
Stephanie's POV
When I think about the hierarchy at RangeMan, it's easy to think about Ranger at the top of the list, with Tank directly below him. Beneath Tank would be Lester and Bobby as equals, and under the core team would be the rest of the Merry Men. But walking onto the second floor, I was struck by the fact that only Hector had an entire floor under his control. He had a private office and oversaw all the electronic gear the company used, as well as the armory and gun range. He ruled it all with an iron fist, and his word was law down here. It wasn't until I walked out and saw the shear amount of stuff he controlled that it hit me. Never had the term "silent partner" fit a person as much as it fit him. Hector may not make much noise, and he certainly didn't draw much attention to himself, but he had an enormous amount of power within the company.
I followed him past the gun range, peeking in the clear glass separating us from the two guys who were tearing through little target men as though there had been a rash of paper cuts in the office and the cause needed to be completely eliminated. Beside the range was the gun room, which was locked with an electronic keypad beside it. I knew that only a small number of people knew how to get into that room, which made me wonder just how many dangerous weapons it contained.
I knew about the next closet, which was a misnomer because it was twice the size of my living room. It held every conceivable type of listening device, bug, wireless transmitter, tracking tool, and camera imaginable. I'd been down here before a few of my distractions because my outfits required a different wire, so I was familiar with the organized plethora of options.
Finally, we reached the end of the hall, where Hector put his thumb over a scanner before unlocking the door. I wanted to ask why he had that level of security when even Ranger's private space was secured with just a fob, but I wasn't entirely sure I would be allowed to know the answer. Plus, as curious as I might be, Hector still intimidated me a bit so I didn't want to push my luck since I'd already asked for his help on something else.
Having never been in his private office, I was unprepared for the scene in front of me. His desk was neat, much cleaner than any workspace I'd ever had. A quick glance at the few papers stacked on the top told me there was no point in snooping in here because everything was written in Spanish. He had a monitor on his desk as big as my television at home, and there were four laptops hooked together with cables on a credenza behind his chair. They were all active with some kind code running quickly across them. It was easy to ignore because it was moving at a pace faster than I could focus on it, and I had no idea what it all meant.
To the right of the door was an area with a row of bins that appeared to hold various computer parts and cables. Even that was neatly arranged, with each cable tied off to keep it in order. If it had been me, I would have thrown them all in so that it resembled an electronic box of spaghetti.
He gestured to a chair opposite his desk, so I sat down and then moved to the edge of the chair, not entirely comfortable because I had no idea how to explain what I wanted him to help me with. After I took my seat, Hector followed suit and placed his hands on top of the desk in front of him. Only a fool would have commented that it seemed strange to see a person who looked the part of a gang banger acting so at ease in an obvious corporate setting, but I couldn't stop the thought from crossing my mind.
"Help?" he prompted by repeating what I'd said to him upstairs.
"Yes, I need your help," I echoed, basically getting us nowhere. Finally, I realized if I didn't just spit out what I wanted, I'd never know if he could help. "Can you keep a secret?" I began and then wondered if he understood so I added, "This is really private. No one can know but you."
He blinked a few times and then ran his hand over his lips. I couldn't tell if he were trying to understand what I'd said or if he was debating the answer to my question. If I couldn't even get past this part of what I needed from him, there was no way he'd be able to help me with anything else. Just when I was about to give up and apologize for wasting his time, he dropped his hand away from his face and looked me in the eye.
He winked as he spoke with heavily-accented English, "I will keep whatever secret you have if you promise to keep mine, as well." His grammar was perfect even if his pronunciation made it obvious this wasn't his native language.
"You speak English?" I blurted out, obviously missing the part that this wasn't something he wanted to be common knowledge.
"Of course," he replied, grinning like a young kid instead of the hardened man he usually appeared to be. "But I don't like to, and the fact that few suspect it is possible works to my advantage."
"Smart," I replied, wishing at times that people would forget I knew English and leave me alone.
"It is something I do not want to get out, but I trust you to not speak of it. You may trust the same thing of me." He was proving his loyalty by giving me leverage to hold over him. I would have believed him had he simply told me he would keep my secret, but this removed all doubt.
"I've been talking to Ranger while he's been on his mission," I began, watching him closely for any reaction. I could have sworn his lips twitched, as though wanting to smile, but he managed to control it before it got to his eyes.
From there, I explained how we'd spoken at least once, sometimes two or three times each day. I told him about the strange way Ranger had been opening up to me and the concerns of the core team that the only explanation for that would be that Ranger was seriously injured and hiding it from us. It was strange to talk to someone who was obviously hanging on every word but not interrupting at all.
When I finished catching him up, I paused, not sure how to ask for what I wanted him to help me with. He leaned forward so that his shoulders were past his elbows and said, "There are three different places he might be. I don't think he is in this country, or we would know despite his attempt to keep it hidden. I will search their patient records to see if there is anything that could match with what he's been through."
"Wait," I jumped in, unable to believe what I was hearing. "You can find him?"
He squinted slightly, as though trying to understand what I'd meant. "No," he replied, popping the balloon of my hope with one word. "But I can tell you where he isn't, which should tell you where he is."
Now it was my turn to squint. "I…I don't understand." As much as I liked to consider myself to be an intelligent woman, I was completely lost about what he meant.
This time, he did smile before explaining, "Boss wouldn't check into a hospital with his name. If he was injured on a mission, his identity may be so well hidden that getting confirmation that he is in a specific hospital will be impossible. But I can find out if there is anyone matching his description that was injured in the line of duty during the dates before he started talking to you on the phone. It should be a small enough group that you can use that information to find him."
"How do I find him?" I hated to sound so inept, but I wasn't sure what he thought I could do that he wasn't capable of doing.
"I can get you the place to call, and even the phone number, but if you want to know for sure, then you will have to talk to someone and convince them to tell you that he is there. No one else could get that part done, but you might be able to."
"You overestimate my skills," I warned him, knowing that without my 'Burg connections, I wasn't sure how to sweet talk someone into breaking government regulations to disclose the identity of one of their patients.
Hector shook his head. "No, I've got your skills right; it's you who underestimates them."
Not sure not to respond to that, I leaned back in my chair and asked, "Will you do it? Will you help me find him?"
"What then?" he responded by asking. "I will help you find him, but what will you do then?"
Unfortunately, I hadn't thought that far ahead. I figured honestly was always the right way to go. "I'm not sure. I guess there's a part of me that thought if I knew where he was, I might be able to go see him, but they might not even let me in."
Hector mirrored my movement and grinned. "We'll find him first, and then I'll help you get to him. Okay?"
"How?" I couldn't help but ask.
"Leave it to me," he replied, not telling me much of anything. Yet, in all the time I'd been hanging around at RangeMan, I'd never heard of anyone saying Hector had let them down.
"Thank you," I replied, figuring it let him know that I appreciated what he was going to do and that I trusted him to help me work out the details.
A nod was the only response I got before he said, "No worries. I'll find you when I'm done."
Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I stood up and let myself out, returning to my desk, ready to keep busy so I wouldn't dwell on how long it might take Hector to dig through highly-secured medical files of servicemen. There was no way to even begin to count the number of federal and ethical violations that would represent.
Four hours later, I had processed payroll, returned a stack of client calls that Tank had given me, and signed RangeMan up for central billing for several of their suppliers to reduce the number of invoices sent from each location every month, forcing a longer than necessary reconciliation process. Every time I finished one project, Tank would grin and hand me another. It would have been easy to joke that it felt like he was taking advantage of my offer to help out, but he seemed go grateful each time I handed off a completed task that I couldn't tell him to stop giving me more. Plus, it was nice to feel appreciated and validated that I had skills that could help someone.
When I spun around to go back to Tank's office to show him what I'd done, I saw Hector standing there patiently waiting. He gave a slight tilt of his head, which I assumed meant to follow him, so I dutifully stood up and let him lead me. I assumed we would go back to his office, but he hit the button in the elevator for seven and fobbed us into the apartment. Despite wanting to know why Hector had a fob to get in Ranger's private space, I kept my mouth shut, surprising myself that when it came to getting information to help Ranger, there was nothing I wouldn't do.
After the door closed, he motioned to the sitting area and took a seat at one end of the couch, angling his legs to see me as I sat at the opposite end of the sofa. Once I'd stopped moving, he handed me a small piece of paper that he had hand written a phone number on with enough digits that I knew it was out of the country.
Pointing to the paper, he explained, "Germany. That number is the nurses' station on the floor where I believe they've put him. You will have to call until you get someone to answer who is willing to give you some details. I don't think they'll tell you about his specific condition, but they can at least confirm that he's there. Then we'll talk about the specifics of how we're going to get there."
I nodded as he explained and then realized he'd used the pronoun "we" for who would be going to Germany, if that was where Ranger was being treated. "What do you mean, how we are going to get there?"
That schoolboy grin reappeared. "You thought I'd let you leave alone and go to another country with no backup?" After letting that much sink in, he added, "I promised to keep your secret, but I never said I'd let it drop after getting you started. I will help you see this through to the end."
A part of me wanted to argue that point – to tell him that I could handle it from here. But I wasn't entirely sure that was true, and the idea of going to another country – one where I didn't speak the language – was intimidating enough that I figured I'd be willing to face Ranger's anger over me letting someone in on the secret.
Hector's warm hand covered mine before he spoke again. "You call and get what you can. If you strike out with one shift, wait and call at the change of nurses to see if anyone else might be willing to help you. Once you get what you can, I'll make the arrangements to go."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked, glad to have the help but still feeling like he deserved the chance to back out if it turned out to be more than he was interested in investing.
"Si." He winked. "It beats sitting alone in my office all day." Then he stood up to add, "I think the guys are afraid of me. I've been here years, and no one has ever come to me for a personal favor except the boss. I'd do it for him anyway, but you are one brave lady, and I'm going to do it for you, too."
My jaw wanted to fall open, but something told me to hold that honest response, so I put my hand on my chest as a register of my shock. I think he misinterpreted the gesture as a sentimental one because he copied it, placing his right hand over his heart and bowing slightly at the waist.
After he left, I picked up my cell phone and dialed the number. I got a horrible screeching sound before an automated operator told me I did not have access to dial that number. I started to panic that Hector had given me some sort of government hotline and I was going to be busted by Homeland Security. Then I remembered I'd never traveled out of the country before, and my cell phone was for domestic calls only.
That seemed strange as I'd been calling Ranger from my cell phone with no problems, but I knew there was probably a really complicated explanation for why that call went through that involved routers, hidden connection points, satellites and computer encryption systems. I had watched enough television to know that some phones were truly untraceable, and figured if such a toy existed, Ranger would definitely have one.
Not willing to let a little thing like access get in my way, I reached over and picked up the phone on the end table. It took a moment for me to weigh the pluses and minuses of using Ranger's home phone for a call to Germany, but in the end, I decided whatever it ended up costing wouldn't come close to the cost of a Boxter. He hadn't batted an eye at the hit his budget took when I destroyed his car, so something told me he wouldn't complain about a few pricey phone calls, either.
I pushed the numbers with a purpose and waited for a friendly voice, who thankfully answered in English. I don't know what I'd been expecting, but knowing the hospital was in Germany, I guess I'd expected the phone to be answered in that language.
Unsure of how to get what I needed, I decided to go with the direct approach and told the woman, "I need to get some information about a patient on your floor and wondered who I should speak to about it."
She gave me a standard response that they weren't allowed to disclose information about their patients on the phone. While she was going on about privacy regulations, an eyelash got in my eye, and I nearly dropped the phone because of the sudden stinging sensation. Tears were rolling down my cheeks from the pain, and then my nose got into the program and began to run, as well. There weren't any tissues nearby, so I tried to discretely suck up the drips while she spoke.
Evidently, I wasn't as quiet as I'd hoped to be because she stopped in mid-sentence and said, "You know what, I've been where you are, honey. Try not to get too upset. I can't tell you a thing, but I can hand you over to my supervisor, and if there's anything we can legally disclose, she'd be the one that could do it."
I thanked her profusely and waited as she set the phone down. There were several voices in the background, and I had to give up trying to listen in because it was too muffled. Finally, a voice seemed to cut through all the others, growing louder until her throaty tone was coming directly to my ear.
"Henderson here." She spoke with a sort of authority that basically dared anyone to try to cross her. I rolled my eyes, wondering if Ranger was there, how he was getting along with this apparent ball-busting nursing supervisor.
I began from the beginning that I was calling from Trenton, and I completely understood that she couldn't confirm anything about a specific individual but wondered if I could ask her some hypothetical questions about a patient that may or may not be on that floor. There had been the sound of a keyboard being abused in the background when she got on the phone, but the moment I mentioned Trenton, she stopped typing and listened.
"Hypothetical questions?"
"Yes, like do you have a patient who was injured in the line of duty approximately four weeks ago?" I began, unsure how to keep it vague enough that she'd answer, yet specific enough that I could confirm it was Ranger.
"I have several," she replied before giving me my first glimmer or hope. "I don't want a name, ID number, or a birth date, but does the guy you're looking for have any scars?"
"Scars?" I repeated, unsure if I'd heard her right.
"You know, identifiable marks," she clarified. "If you're close enough to him to deserve to know what you're asking about, then you'll be able to answer my question."
It was so easy to shut my eyes and picture Ranger without his shirt on. I'd seen it several times in the gym, while a few even better memories came from my apartment or his. As soon as I got the mental image I needed, I described it. "He was shot in the chest and neck at close range, so there are two bullet wounds where the collar of his vest couldn't protect him. There's a smaller scar on his right thigh from a through-and-through bullet, and a knife wound on his left leg that's about two inches long now. When he had the stitches in, it was closer to three inches, but it's gotten smaller as it's faded and healed. There's a faint scar on the bottom of his right foot. He got that as a kid when he stepped on a broken bottle, but he lets people believe it was in the line of duty. There's a round scar on his right arm, near the shoulder, and a small one on the center of his left shoulder. He doesn't talk about those, but I think they're old bullet wounds, too."
"You can stop," she interrupted me before I got to what was beneath the towel. I wouldn't say anything there was scarred, but my dreams and memories would allow me to give her one hell of a description if that's what it would take to get some kind of information out of this woman.
"You don't have a nickname, do you?" she asked, again catching me off guard.
"I'm sorry," I replied, "I don't understand." I thought we were talking about Ranger, not me.
"What does he call you?" she demanded. There was a change in her voice that told me if I answered this question correctly, she just might be willing to help me.
"Babe," I answered without hesitation. "My name is Stephanie Plum, but he calls me Babe."
"Ms. Plum, the person you are looking for is on my floor, and I'd do just about anything to help him," she replied, making my heart rate kick into double time with both relief that I'd found him and worry that he must be in bad shape because of how she'd worded her response.
"If I just happened to be in the neighborhood in a couple of days, would it be possible for me to see him?" I asked, figuring I had nothing to lose.
There was a throaty chuckle before she spoke. It reminded me of someone who smoked packs a day, which seemed odd for a health care professional. "Honey, if you were to appear in the lobby, you would only need to ask for Henderson on floor eleven. I'll personally come down and get you to walk you up to his room."
A smart person probably would have thanked her and gotten off the phone. I wasn't feeling intelligent at the moment. I was feeling the rush between wanting to stand up and dance that I'd found the man that could stay hidden for years if he wanted to and wanting to curl up in a ball and cry over the fact he'd been locked up in a hospital for all the time we'd been talking on the phone. Instead of doing any of those things, I opened my mouth.
"I'm not planning on telling him I'm coming." I felt like I owed her a better explanation than that. "He can be stubborn about letting people see him when he might seem weak. But his voice on the phone has been…off lately, and I'm worried."
"That makes two of us," she replied in a softer tone, sincerity ringing in every word. "The sooner you get here, the better it will be."
"Thank you," I replied, wishing I could hit her up for exactly what I was walking into but knowing down deep that she wouldn't tell me anything else over the phone. Talking in hypothetical terms was one thing, but more details than that could get her into trouble. And until I proved how committed I was to helping Ranger, a stranger on the phone wasn't worth sticking her neck out over.
She gave me a few more details about how to reach her once we got there and then reiterated that the sooner I arrived, the better it would be.
The apartment was silent as I set the phone down. Even Rex seemed to know something big was going on and had gone into hiding in his fresh soup can. I lifted my cell phone and dialed the number Hector had written at the bottom of the slip of paper; in the note beside it, he'd indicated that it was his personal phone number.
"Hola," he answered, sounding strangely personable for the one of the guys around here.
"Hector," I said without formalities, unable to hold back. "I found him. I know exactly where he is, but I've got to get there fast. I think he needs help."
"Start packing," he replied without questioning if I was sure or requiring me to disclose all the information I'd gotten on the phone. This man who barely knew me was willing to act on my word alone that this was the right thing to do. "We'll leave in three hours."
"What about the guys?" I asked, knowing there was no way they'd let me go alone if they figured out what I was up to. At this point, I was under voluntary house arrest of sorts until Malone was found and returned to the system. There was no way they were going to accept me stepping out the front door with a suitcase in my hand without several people trying to tag along.
"I'll handle that," he said with complete confidence. "When you're packed, go back down to your desk and work. Leave your suitcase next to the door inside his apartment. I'll take care of it. When I've got everything together, I'll come get you at your desk."
There were thousands of questions I wanted to ask, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. Something told me that just as Hector had trusted me when I said we had Ranger's location, I needed to trust him when he said he would handle everything. Instead of asking any of the questions in my head, I simply thanked him and stood up to start packing.
I had no idea what I was about to walk into, but I knew down deep that I'd be able to handle it because Ranger needed me, and I'd move heaven and earth to show him that I was not only capable, but willing to support him, even when he didn't want to ask for help.
Ranger's POV
I was hovering in that in-between place of sleep and wakefulness when the door opened to my room. It wasn't slammed opened as it was the last time someone came in, so I blinked my eyes open to see who had entered.
Henderson was running through her regular checks of my vitals, and even though it seemed totally out of place in light of our last conversation, she appeared to be fighting a smile.
"What's got you in a good mood?" I asked, wishing I could think about something other than my prognosis for a few minutes.
Her features got sharper, and I had a feeling she wasn't going to share whatever had caused her previous happiness. After she finished everything she needed to do, she made a few notes on a tablet she carried in her pocket and then stepped back. "Let's just say, even the cases that seem impossible to make any progress on can sometimes get a boost in the most unexpected ways. I'm happy to have cracked a really tough one today."
It was hard for me to remember that she was probably in charge of the care of a good number of patients other than me. I'd been isolated in this room – of my own choosing – for quite some time and hadn't even considered the demands some of her other patients must put on her.
"If anybody could crack a hard case, I'm sure it would be you," I told her sincerely.
The smile returned to her face in full force at my compliment. "Nothing is beyond hope as long as at least one person refuses to give up."
While I wasn't entirely sure I agreed with that, it didn't seem like the right time to argue the point. My situation wasn't going to get any better because she refused to give up. Her determination wouldn't impact my body's ability to do what Maxwell wanted to do. And it certainly wouldn't repair the nerve damage I was going to have to live with. As far as I was concerned, there was little left to hope for in my situation.
Short of something unimaginable happening, I couldn't see the possibility that it would change.
