Jane's Dilemma
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Previously on Jane's Dilemma: Steph said, "I'm coming with. I have my gun." Tank and I exchanged looks then shrugged, filing her under Ranger's problem. I love Stephanie Plum, but maybe not so much when she is armed and dangerous—to herself and others. We headed down to the safe room, Tank giving a quick update as we went.
Chapter 10
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[Stephanie]
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There they stood in their hand-tailored megabucks black tuxes, probably three of the hottest men on the planet—plus Zoe's new guy— faces taut, eyes focused inward, totally intent on saving—whatever. Totally ignoring me, girl hero, Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter and all-round badass. Well, okay, not. But still... I tuned back into the conversation. It seems the hotel—and NYC—are safe, but there has been a something, in...well, somewhere. I didn't totally catch it, the conversation mostly consisting of shorthand, grunts, some Spanish and a bunch of ESP.
Ranger said to Anthony, "Finish up here, take the girl home...get some rest. We'll meet at the airport tomorrow, 0900."
Anthony said, "It's been snowing all evening, man. May become a major blizzard by morning."
"That can't be an issue." Ranger's tone left no room for argument. The weather would cooperate. Or else.
"No problem, bro."
"Tank, Rangeman briefing 0500. And we need to get Lester back here ASAP. He speaks French, not that many of the men do. Go through the roster and pull out any operators or contract agents we have who speak any French or Creole."
"Yes, boss. Prelim travel plans?"
Ranger glanced at Anthony, then said, "Probably private jet to the DR [Dominican Republic], land in Santo Domingo, the capital."
Anthony said, "I have a couple of helis in George Town, on Grand Cayman. I can have them brought over."
I just had to ask, "A couple?" Who has a couple free helicopters, anyway?
Anthony shrugged. "Yeah...," To Ranger he added, "Well, like three actually. Two from that gig in Panama last year, remember? Plus my own, I always keep a heli in the Caymans."
"Okay, that works. Your people can bring them to Santo Domingo, we fly the helis to either an offshore aircraft carrier or right into Port au Prince. According to the general, we're looking to serve as both liaison team and muscle. There is no infrastructure standing, no police, no government. We may end up running protection gigs for the incoming medical teams, guarding supplies. Whatever is needed."
"Okay."
"I'll call you. Take Jane home, get some sleep. Tank, you and Lula better head back to Trenton, too."
"Yes boss."
Ranger turned to the new guy. "Dragan, you speak any French?" he asked the strange young man with the Count Dracula accent.
"Oui, mon colonel. Un peu vraiment." [Yes. Just a little, really.]
"You come with me."
"D'accord." [Of course, okay]
And Ranger walked off, dialing his sat phone. I no longer existed in his world. Just before he turned into the bunker-room, I yelled, "Ranger?"
He paused and looked up. "Babe. I'll meet you back at the Four Seasons later..."
Ranger likes the Four Seasons.
"But—I have Pinky waiting!"
Tank and Anthony had eeew faces. Tank mumbled, "TMI, Bomber."
"Save it, babe." He and the new guy disappeared into the briefing room.
Anthony gasped out, "Pinky?" over a startled laugh.
I turned and poked him in the ribs. "It's vodka, silly boy! We were gonna do body shots and..." I realized what I was saying and shut up fast.
"I have a body, I could, like, fill in for Ranger, sweetheart."
"I don't think so," Tank's deep voice chorused with my high-pitched squeak.
"Oh well. So, Steph? Need a lift?"
"No!"
"We can drop you at your hotel?"
"No! Thank you, but, no. We have a car here." I quickly hugged both men. "Stay safe, boys. Watch Ranger's back."
... ... ... ...
[Anthony]
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Tank and I watched Steph walk bravely back to the party, her FMPs clicking on the marble floor, her gun still clutched in her hand.
Tank sighed and shook his head glumly. "Lula isn't gonna be happy, missing her night at the Four Seasons."
I patted his shoulder. "And all that chocolate pudding she stashed in her doggy bag—all gone to waste."
"Oh man..." groaned Tank.
"At least she didn't plan a Pinky party."
"That is so not right, Antonio. The boss..." We laughed til our sides ached, a tension thing, I guess.
Tank said, "Let's get this show on the road, man."
"Sure."
... ... ...
Back in the ballroom, the evening was winding down. I collected Jane from the arms of some very willing to be of help Rangeman kid, kissed my mom goodnight and headed to the lobby.
Jane studied my face closely and asked, "Is everything okay?"
"Yep. Perfect. All is well in Plaza-ville. Though the chef who burned the french fries may not have a job tomorrow."
Jane frowned a little. "That's not what I meant..."
""Um..." I knew that, I was avoiding. Geez.
"Excuse me, Mr. Stewart?" interrupted the cloakroom attendant.
Give the lady a big tip, I thought gratefully.
"Yes?"
The coat check woman handed me an extra large pink and black Bergdorf-Goodman shopping bag. "One of your people left this for you, sir."
What? I'm young, I'm rich, I'm single—I have people. So sue me. At least it's not an entourage.
I took the bag and pulled out a fur-lined velvet coat with a hood and a pair of black suede UGGs. "For you, Jane. It's been snowing all evening, your little pashmina thing and sandals just won't do the job."
But.."
I bundled her into the coat and after a few sputters she leaned on me while she changed into the toasty boots. Without her high-heeled evening sandals, Jane was tiny. Fragile. I wrapped the cashmere shawl around her throat and dropped a kiss on her cute little nose. "You look adorable, " I grinned and pulled up the hood.
Jane stared at me then ran her hand over the fur lining, raised a dainty eyebrow. I said, "It's fake." I hoped I wasn't lying, it looked suspiciously like real sable. I pulled on my own topcoat and dialed the limo and my bodyguards on my cell. Five minutes later we were cruising down snowy Fifth Avenue, warm and cozy in the big car.
Jane said, "I had a good time. It was...fun." She snuggled against my shoulder and we held hands. The ensuing silence was comfortable. In an intimate kind of way.
... ... ...
[Jane]
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The party's over...I look like Lara in Dr. Zhivago, all ankle-length velvet and incredible, soft fur. The hero has wrapped me up in romantic finery of his own choosing and has swept me off my feet. Well, not really. But Anthony Stewart was charming and kind and very, very appealing on a quirky kind of way. The big Mercedes plowed easily through the snowy Manhattan streets. I looked up in wonder—the skyscrapers' tops wreathed in colored lights and swirling snow, the rare emptiness, the silence. When we hit the Village I was totally entranced, leaning past Anthony to peer out the tinted windows. I said, "Look at this, it looks so magical!"
"Mmmm." Did his lips brush across my hair?
"It's amazing! It could be a hundred years ago—no cars, no tourists..."
"No transvestites, no 'hos.."
I giggled. "C'mon! Isn't it beautiful?"
"You are beautiful, Jane."
His lips brushed my cheek, but I was too intrigued by the scene around us to react. "Look! There's the park, Washington Square! See the arch? Let's get out and walk the rest of the way home. It's like a fairy tale—the snow, the holiday twinkle lights..."
"Walk?"
"Please? I do have boots," I smiled at him.
"Okay..." He lifted the intercom handset, told the driver to pull over and let us out. I heard some garbled static, then Anthony snapped, "Don't argue with me."
The car stopped and we got out, followed by a less than happy MIB, one of the bodyguards. He glowered at Anthony who shrugged and linked our arms. The man followed discreetly, his eyes constantly sweeping the snowy streets.
Greenwich Village in the snow at Christmas! It was an amazing sight, one I will never forget. The mounds of snow hid the cars, hid the dumpsters; it piled up on wrought iron fence railings like marshmallow frosting. The bay windows of the old brownstones glowed warmly golden, many with huge Christmas trees all shiny and bright and hopeful.
Anthony gently squeezed my hand and we stopped to take it all in, leaning back against the fencing, looking back across two hundred years of city life. Finally I shivered and Anthony turned to me, his big warm body cutting off the wind. His gloved hands held onto the fence rails on either side of my shoulders and when I looked up into his snow-flecked face, he leaned down and kissed me. Not a polite little kiss on the cheek either. His mouth was icy cold on mine and then suddenly I wasn't cold at all. I was hot, we both were hot. It wasn't December, it was suddenly July...
He deepened the kiss and I wrapped my arms around his neck as my knees threatened to buckle under me. He wrapped his arms around me in return, and despite all the heavy layers of winter clothes I could feel every contour of his hard body pressed tightly against mine.
The kiss ended. Silence. He took my hand and we started walking again. "Jane...I have to go away for awhile."
"Like Lester?" What is with these guys?
"Sort of... Actually, Les will be there too."
"Be there? Be—where?"
He didn't answer, just said, "Can I call you when I get back?"
"Um. Ah...But, Lester?" I was not at my best or most eloquent.
"Oh yeah. Lester." He looked around, waved a hand and the black Mercedes rolled up next to us, nearly silent in the snowy night. We let ourselves in, Anthony saying, "I think we walked...and talked...enough." He rolled down the privacy glass and leaned forward, ""Go around the block and pick up Taylor, man. Poor dude is freezing his ass off out there."
"Yes, Mr. Stewart."
The other bodyguard got in and they drove us the final couple blocks. Anthony walked me upstairs to my door, carefully unlocking my apartment's half dozen locks, turning on the lights.
"Wanna look under the bed?" I asked a bit sarcastically.
"Okay." He opened all the closet doors, checked the bathroom. And yes, looked under the bed.
Finally he said, "Clear," and gave me his beautiful smile.
"Thanks again, Anthony. I..."
He touched my lips to silence me, his finger feather light and sweet. "It's okay, I understand. Good bye, Jane." And he was gone. I looked at my closed door and whispered, "Stay safe. Be careful. I'll—pray—for you. All."
... ... ...
I walked to the window and watched the black car turn the corner and head west.
Cinderella was home from the ball. And Prince Charming—in fact, ALL the Prince Charmings—were headed off to...what? To war?
My phone rang.
... ... ...
epilog to follow