Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: I'm in awe of the wonderful feedback I've received after the last chapter. As I can't reply to everyone directly, please know I am reading and am inspired and encouraged by your engagement.

Thanks, misty23y, for being my beta – you rock!

Chapter 10

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 15SEP18 0230

Stephanie POV

I'm walking. The path is crowded; I can't distinguish one person from another. All that surrounds me is a din of voices, a dull roar. I let myself be carried by the masses.

Embarrassing.

The word whispers through the roar of the crowd.

Failure.

It comes from another direction.

Disappointment.

I'm swiveling my head rapidly, never able to find the origin.

I move without purpose, carried by the masses. The words are so quiet I can barely make them out, yet it is the only thing I can hear over the progressively larger and louder mass. Repeating again and again, the words rise like a chant, gaining in intensity and volume.

Embarrassing. Failure. Disappointment.

I want to cover my ears, but my arms seem glued to my sides. I feel a hand reach out and brush my elbow. Then another on my waist. I attempt to find a way out of the crowd, but the more I push, the more they push back.

A brush against my breast. A grab of my bottom.

My breathing picks up as I fight the urge to panic. I try to look more intently at faces, hoping to see someone who will help me.

Hands are beginning to pull and tug at my clothing, and suddenly, I gasp in recognition.

The Slayers step out from the crowd. Ramirez presses in on another side. There's DeChooch and Uncle Sunny. Scrog. So many enemies. I turn away as their hands reach out, grabbing, pulling. Ahead of me, I see familiar faces from the Burg. There's my mother, Joyce Barnhardt, the Dick, Terry Gillman, Valerie, Joe. I attempt to reach them. As I get closer, I hear them chanting.

Embarrassing. Failure. Disappointment.

They reach out their hands, and the crowd consumes me.

I scream.

I'm out of bed, lurching, heaving. I don't know if it is from the alcohol or the dream.

Ranger POV

I enter my room, sweep it cautiously and make sure the space is secure. I see there is a door connecting our rooms. I inspect it. While there is no knob to Stephanie's side, it will be simple work for me to remove the faceplate and access the locking mechanism if necessary. I move to the patio and silently stand to the side, ensuring Steph would have no chance to see me should she be near the rail.

Listening, I can hear the liquid being poured into a cup. I sit in the corner chair, staring out at the horizon.

As I wait for her to go inside, I contemplate my next move. How long should I remain hidden? Without visual confirmation, I am reasonably sure the repetitive pours I hear are from her liquor store purchase. I don't want to scare or startle her while she is intoxicated. Tonight, I will monitor but keep my distance unless there is a threat. I'll observe through tomorrow and make a move if there is an opportunity. Pending a natural opening, I'll create my own the following day.

Stephanie always seems to have a Spidey sense regarding my presence, and while I've never told her, I do to her as well. We have a connection. I suspect she will figure out I am here without doing much besides waiting.

An hour passes, and the damp, night air has settled on me with a chill. I'm concerned at the number of pours I've heard. I hope she puts down the bottle and chooses to go to bed soon.

There's movement, and through the sounds of rustling and the door, I hear the irregular breathing of silent sobs.

The door closes, and I move to peer around the balcony edge. The sliding door isn't fully closed, and I watch as she stumbles to her bed, tangled in the blanket before collapsing. It doesn't take long before her breaths even out in the rhythm of sleep.

I easily vault the angled barrier between our balconies. A cup is laying on its side, a half-empty pint of whiskey beside it. I slide the door open enough to allow me to move through and ease it closed again. I move to the door between our rooms, unlocking it and ready to slip through should she begin to sense my presence.

My heart bursts at the sadness on her face. While I don't know if she will be happy to find me here, I will never regret coming. I just wish I could take this burden from her.

Steph begins to moan in her sleep and move about. It's clear she is having a nightmare. She's mumbling, and as the intensity of her thrashing increases, I can begin to make out words. Embarrassing. Failure. Disappointment. I frown, and my eyebrows knit together.

All at once, Stephanie lets out a terrified scream, bolts up in bed and runs to the bathroom. I freeze, then melt into the shadows. I can hear her throwing up. I desperately want to go to her, but in this mental state, I decide I will likely do more harm than good. The best thing I can do is to ensure she is safe and help her face the fallout tomorrow. I hear the running of water, and I disappear behind the door separating our rooms, but not closing it entirely so I can continue to monitor her.

Leaning against the wall, I hope for answers in the light of tomorrow.