Mercenaries R Us

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previously: "You looked—amazing. You looked—um—really hot. On CNN…..Will you be home soon?"

"….sure."

"Don't shower or shave."

Chapter Nine ~ The Interrogation

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Stephanie

I came out of the bathroom wrapped in Ranger's big terry robe, my hair in a Pebbles Flintstone topknot, my face all shiny and glowing with my new collagen cream.

"Eeek!" I yelled. Ranger was stretched out on our big bed, sound asleep, his arms flung wide, still wearing his Rangeman black utility cargoes and nothing else. He looked exhausted.

Unfortunately I was under the misconception that he was in XXX-istan again so my involuntary shriek slipped out and he woke up. It said nice things about our current relationship that he just opened his eyes, looked over at me and smiled.

Back in the day, he'd have rolled off the bed with his gun drawn. Guess he's getting used to me—to us.

His smile got wider and he was looking at my hair.

I said, "What!"

"You look like Woody the Woodpecker."

"Thanks a lot, hotshot. You look like a man who wants to sleep on the couch."

"Babe."

I faked a sad pout and said sadly, "Yeah, you think it's okay to tease me but it took me years to get over that time you said I looked like Smoky the Bear in my flannel nightgown."

"It wasn't you, babe, it was the flannel thing. And then you puked." [High Five?]

"Thanks for sharing that memory, Ranger."

"Later when I saw you in your little tank top and boxers I totally revised my opinion, babe. You were sitting on the fire escape in your undies, drinking a beer and sending death glares at poor Joyce Barnhardt. You were fucking adorable, babe, you looked hot."

And he told Joyce he was gonna ruin me for all other men. I tapped my finger on my chin and said, "Hmmm."

"Forgive me?"

"Oh okay." And I launched myself onto his hard body. He caught me and rolled me across the big bed, we were laughing, then we kissed.

I love it when Ranger comes home from a job.

…..

Later, much much later. "Ranger? Are you sleeping?"

"Hmmmm…"

"I have a hypothetical question…"

" Steph. I'm asleep."

"Just listen, okay?"

Possible sigh. "Go on." His breathing deepened, I figured he'd dozed off again. He had looked exhausted before our—reunion. I rambled on anyway, wide awake and overexcited.

"So here's the thing—If you were planning to recruit a guy for Black Ops or some other nefarious undercover job, wouldn't you choose some nondescript guy, some really nerdy insurance salesman type? And wouldn't you just give him a full complete really boring life, with lots of boring details. So boring in fact that people would be too bored to even bother to consider the idea that this guy is a—covert whatever."

"A covert, nefarious whatever?" Ranger responded dryly. Okay. Not sleeping. Huh.

"Well, yeah. Or would you pick a guy who is so hot that people stop and stare. A guy who cannot do low profile just because of the way he looks, not even if he tries. And then would you let him be a well-know figure around town, someone everybody knows and no one forgets."

Ranger put one of his pillows over his face and groaned.

"And, oh yeah—he's a real mystery man, so he arouses everyone's curiosity. He drives expensive black cars, lots of them. He has a gang of thugs working with him, each man hotter than the next. Everyone wears black, everyone is scary. And it gets worse because after a year or so he's running a really successful security business with branches all over the country. But still, he's an enigma. People talk, people wonder—who is that guy?"

I elbowed him in the ribs and add, "This guy who has his face and million dollar smile plastered on every possible media outlet in the world?"

"Playing with fire, babe," he mumbled from beneath his fluffy down hiding place.

I finished up, "Does that sound like good spy planning to you? I mean, what's that all about anyway? Really?"

Ranger was silent. I waited because I had the feeling he was deciding how to respond, not refusing to answer.

Ranger took away the pillow and turned on his side to look at me. He said, "My guys aren't thugs." I rolled my eyes. "But, okay, Steph, your points are good. However it's not so easy to recruit people for Black Ops. Maybe the insurance salesman guy lacked the talent or ambition to be a clandestine operative. Or for all you know, maybe he actually is…."

Whoa, really scary thought, Ranger.

After a moment he continued, "So 'they' use someone like me, someone who does have the necessary skills and is willing to do the job, and then 'they' create a cover to go with. So I was the ex-Army street thug, ghetto guy, bounty hunter that you met back in the day. But as it developed I needed more credibility and less hassle from guys like Morelli and I sort of morphed into the man who owns Rangeman. My cover still worked with that persona and I was able to actually pursue a real career, a business career, not just a covert operator's career. And so I had the best of both worlds. Or so I thought."

Ranger turned back onto his back and stared up at the ceiling for awhile. I amused myself while he was groping for words by admiring his profile—nice nose, really long eyelashes...and naked chest. Eightpack abs under mocha latte skin. It doesn't get much better, does it, ladies?

The silence got long and he looked a little sleepy again, so I prompted, "But?"

Sigh.

"One problem was, or is, that I'd get tired of being ghetto Ranger and I'd slip into my more normal way of living and speaking sometimes."

"Like when you quoted the Carl Sandburg poem that time when my truck blew up?"

"Babe, your truck got taken out by a rocket launcher. But yeah. I hoped you'd forgotten that since so much else went down that night."

"I'd never forget."

"Babe."

"Or like how you thought it was normal for a 30 year old single guy to have live-in help and his sheets ironed and gourmet food all prepared and keep his car keys in a sterling silver dish. With flowers in a vase? Normal like that?"

Ranger looked vague. "Sheets ironed? " He did a miniscule head shake, quarter inch to the left.

I smiled at him and said, "Okay, Ranger, tell me the truth. It never even occurred to you that your sheets might not be ironed, did it?"

"Babe, I was in the army. And I've slept in your bed."

"Yeah, but those weren't your sheets. Anyway where were we….? Your cover was difficult because you like your sheets ironed and….?"

A small curl of the corners of his mouth, his tiny smile.

"It was also very hard because I formed an immediate attachment to you. I fell in love with Little Miss Nosy from the Burg who wouldn't give up and go away, and who I loved more and more each time we met. Despite the nasty cop boyfriend….

"And no way am I gonna drive shitty cars, not even for Uncle Sam. But it was okay. My cover is so tight that no one has ever penetrated my personal data. The cops and so on just have vague suspicions and if they try to follow up they get closed down real fast by someone higher up. So that's how and why 'they' recruit someone who—this is so weird—looks like I do."

I was feeling all warm and fuzzy 'cause he said he loved me way back then when we met. Even if he did call me Little Miss Nosy. I smiled at the gorgeous man next to me.

"You must know how hot you are. God knows the media has made it very clear!"

Silence, eyes back on the ceiling. I resisted the compulsion to look where he was looking—omigod, did poor Ella miss an aerial dust bunny or something?

Ranger said, "No, the ceiling is fine." Then, "It's different being on the inside looking out."

"Ranger, no one is ever gonna feel sorry for you because you're not boring or nerdy. Or ugly. Or even nondescript. No way. Don't even go there."

Yeah I was laughing at him, just a little. Poor old Ranger, so freakin' pretty. I could hear my mom saying piously, Well Stephanie, it is his cross to bear. God doesn't ever send us too big a burden, you know.

He smirked a little and said, "And I had one other characteristic that made me a good candidate for Black Ops."

OCD? I thought snidely and the smirk turned to a grin. (obsessive compulsive disorder)

Ranger said, "No.''

"Then what?"

"An possible issue with any type of undercover work is that an operative may be swayed by the perks of their covert role, by money and luxury, that they can basically be bought. It's a real concern.'

"But not for you?"

"No, babe. I can't be bribed or bought off. Despite Ranger Manoso's mercenary persona."

"Why not? Because you're a good guy?"

"No, babe. Because I already have more money than God."

Silence.

"That bank that Anthony—um, works?—for?"

"Rangeman makes millions. The family business makes—more…"

This man is now my husband and the father of my child, I thought. And I love him to infinity and beyond. But I have no freaking clue who he is.

I opened my mouth to say—to ask—and realized I was just doing a goldfish imitation, no words were coming out.

''Let's go to sleep, babe, okay? We can talk more some other time."

"Ranger?"

"Mmm?"

"You said you can't be bought or bribed. But can you be seduced?"

I brushed my breasts across his chest, my hair floating around us as my lips roamed down his body. He pulled me up to face him and kissed me hot and deep. His tongue ran over my upper lip then he bit my lower lip gently. Heat and desire flamed through my body.

He leaned back on the pillows.

"Sure, Steph. Try me."

tbc

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