a/n: It has been pointed out to me that this story is moving rather too slowly... And I have a short attention span. So I am going to get it up here faster than I usually might. If no one reviews, well, TS as my mom always said. If you do review, many thanks.

Take a Chance 11, 12,13

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Chapter Eleven ~ A Fool for Love

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[Ranger]

Steph sits against me, her curls brushing my jaw. I'm not one for lounging around doing nothing but I understand her need to, I don't know, formalize our agreement? In Steph's world, sofa lounging is a big part of couple's life. She sighs and looks down, admiring the rings.

That part of the plan has gone well. She has been remarkably accepting and took my years of lying to her better than I expected and she seems determined to understand my work parameters as best she can.

Stephanie says softly, "The rings really are beautiful, Ranger."

I brush my lips across her hairline, quietly said, "I'm glad."

She snuggles into my arms and during the ensuing silence I think about the day Tank prodded me to produce these diamond extravaganzas.

We were on a stakeout together. Anything to get away from the paperwork at Rangeman. In the cover vehicle Tank projected tense vibes, unusual for him. An hour into the surveillance job I asked him, "What's wrong?"

Tank looked up. "Nothing, boss."

"I can tell it's something. Lula dumped you again?"

"Man, I'll never understand women! And don't give me advice! Steph's been running you stupid for years."

I was offended. "Surely not stupid?"

"Yep, stupid," said Tank, looking more cheerful. "Look in the Wikipedia, man. Next to stupid about women is a picture of Ranger Manoso."

"Shit."

For another hour or so we endured the tedium in stoic silence, watching the warehouse and environs, our senses alert, our thoughts elsewhere.

Finally Tank said, "Thing is, over the last couple of days I've been a fool."

I shrugged. "I never noticed the difference."

"I told Lula I didn't want to marry anyone who'd try to trick me into it! That I wanted it to be my idea or at least I wanted to participate in the proposal. In the friggin' planning!"

I tried to convey a manly yet sympathetic silence.

"So she said, In that case the wedding is off! and she threw that cheap piece of crap ring in my face and ran out crying."

"Ran out?"

"Yeah and we were at her place! I felt like shit."

?

"Because, you know, man, I do love Lula. Man, she is perfect for me."

I said dubiously, "You love her?" This really wasn't a conversation I wanted to have.

"I—Yes! Yes I love her!"

I asked Tank, "Would you have ever gotten yourself together and actually proposed to her? Or would you have just jerked her around for years, mouthing bullshit about no commitment, no relationships?"

Tank put his hand on his weapon and said, "Excuse me?"

"Let's face it, you'd never have thought further than the next time you got laid if it wasn't for Lula forcing the issue."

"Ranger. Focus here. We are talking about me, not you."

"I'm gonna ignore that, Tank. Because I'm not sure your accident insurance is totally paid up and it might cost a lot to patch you up if I decide to take offense."

We glared at each other. Then faced forward to watch the warehouse again.

Another hour passed. I said, "What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?"

"Huh? It's my day off, I was gonna spend it bed with Lula. But now? No plans, boss."

"Maybe we should drive into the city and looks at rings."

"Rings?"

"Yeah, you don't want to get married to Lula with that piece of junk she got, do you?"

"You said rings. Plural."

"Plural? Sometimes I forget we both have college educations. And can use words like plural."

"Plural this," said Tank and grabbed his crotch.

"Ah. No," I said. "And as for rings plural, well, I'll shop for Steph, too."

Tank shook his head but agreed. "Sure, boss. Brothers til the end."

"Til the end, Tank."

"There's our skip."

"Let's go."

We spent that Saturday in New York City. At Harry Winston, I inspected the rings they were creating for me with diamonds I have collected since the day I met Stephanie at the greasy spoon diner. The rings were made of "perfect" pure white whatever diamonds, beautiful old mine-cut diamonds, probably dating from the mid-1800s. I have watched the gem auctions for years, searching for the right stones.

I didn't want Steph to wear a conflict diamond, not on her wedding rings anyway. No newly mined diamond whose brief life was soaked in the blood and horror I knew all too well, the killing fields of twenty-first century Africa. Not that the world of diamond mines was ever as glorious as the myth of these much-romanticized stones pretended. The cutter at Winston had cleaned up the facets and re-polished the stones but they were not re-cut; re-cutting old stones destroys their value, their pedigree, so to speak.

I chose the largest stone, the engagement ring stone, a long time ago. For Stephanie.

Later we stopped into Choppard and I bought her a diamond floating heart locket on a diamond and platinum chain. Tank raised an eyebrow. I shrugged and said, "Just…because…" And yes, I realize I have no clue where the necklace's relatively small stones derived from. I make an effort, I'm not perfect, you know.

Finally I steered Tank few blocks over, to Tiffany. We figured Lula was a Tiffany kind of woman, she's love that little blue box.

Despite recognizing me—or Carlos Manoso—the Tiffany security staff were visibly unnerved by us: two large, scary men-in-black who were obviously armed and dangerous. The sales staff, customers, and tourists were nervous too, And I wasn't thrilled with the fangirl stares I got. Tank was so tense he never noticed the stares he got—where people see me and wonder if I am someone they should know from the media, the same people see Tank and think pro football player.

We ignored the stares and whispers and charmed the grey haired, razor-thin saleslady, ending up with a five carat sugar-pink, cushion-cut diamond set in platinum, surrounded by tiny white diamonds. When Tank handed over his personal AmEx Black card, everyone in the store, including me, breathed a sigh of relief.

The current "suicide" job had not been assigned at that point. But I think both Tank and I had a premonition.

... ... ...

Chapter 12 ~ The Good Guys

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[Stephanie]

We held hands like teenagers hiking back to the empty beach house. There wasn't much more to say, at least not then.

Later that evening we were curled up in front of the dying fire, cozy and sated under a cashmere throw, tucked up on Jilly's white linen sofa.

I turned in Ranger's arms, studying his face in the firelight. He looked relaxed, lost in thought, his perfect features highlighted by the soft glow of the fire. Whatever racial and genetic mix had gone into his creation, it had produced a magnificent specimen. High cheekbones, straight nose. Generous mouth with a sensual full lower lip. Those perfect white teeth. His eyes were Latino dark, almost black, with lovely long eyelashes. In recent years he had been cutting his hair very short, saying it made him more low profile (as if!), but when I first met him, he had worn it long. I knew his hair was thick, straight, shiny, black—trust Ranger to even have better hair than me. Skin like warm brown silk—all over. Not many scars. The graceful athlete's body, overlaid with rippling buff muscles. Even his voice was beautiful, low and sexy; his natural accent when not affecting his ghetto cover was educated, articulate—East Coast with a hint of somewhere else.

I gave a happy sigh, having successfully put tomorrow and his leaving out of my mind.

Ranger smiled just a little and tucked a stray curl behind my ear. He caught my admiring look and said, "So, what? I'm just a pretty face? You fell in love with me for my looks?"

I thought, Well, duh…

But of course it was more than that. I pulled away from him just a bit so I could look into his dark, dark eyes. I wondered if it bothered him that most women, and even some men, regarded him with blatant sexual hunger. Truthfully I couldn't picture him noticing or caring, but who knew what went on inside his head.

I smiled at Ranger and answered, "Truth is, I fell in love with you because I figured out your deep dark secret."

"Babe."

"Yeah. I did. I figured out that inside that great body, under the black clothes, behind the gorgeous face and the million dollar smile—beneath the brilliance and intimidation, the stillness and silence, even under all the fire and magic—way deep down in your heart—you're one of life's good guys. A knight, a cowboy, a hero. A decent, honorable man; a loyal, loving friend. You are always there for me, come when I call, you rescued me, taught me , accepted me, and, yes, you loved me. Me. As is. Even if only in your own way, whatever the hell that means. And I always trusted you totally. I don't think I'll ever come home to find you screwing Joyce Barnhart on the kitchen table. You're a good guy, Ranger. That's why I love you. So, ooops, your secret is out."

When I said the part about Joyce Barnhart, Ranger had made a face like eeeeew, and did an eye roll worthy of any Burg girl. I laughed and lightly punched his chest. "I'm serious! I don't want you to think I'm shallow and only care about your looks."

"Or my money."

I had to laugh. He was teasing me.

"Money is good, Ranger."

He laughed. "Let's move this party to a wider arena, babe."

I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. No gun this time, just warm skin and hard muscles. He carried me off to his big bed. And coming together we forgot tomorrow for the remainder of the night.

I noticed he didn't deny being one of the good guys. I hoped it would be enough. Good guys never die, do they?

Chapter 13 ~ Leaving

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[still Stephanie]

"Babe, the chopper will be here in about fifteen minutes. Tank's dropping off Lula to keep you company."

"Okay, but I could drive back to Jersey by myself."

Ranger lounged against the kitchen counter and studied me. He was dressed in khaki cargos and a V-neck grey cashmere sweater, white tee shirt showing at the neck, and light tan suede hiking boots. He looked wonderful, if different.

He said, "I was hoping you and Lula could hang out here for a couple of days. The chopper is also bringing Antonio home. He was injured a few days ago and he really hates hospitals so Jilly talked him into coming here. It would be better if he wasn't alone."

My insides clenched. This was all my fears slammed right in my face. What if Ranger were hurt? Or worse. And scary surfer/ commando Anthony….

"Is he badly injured?"

"He'll survive.''

''Of course I'll stay here but won't he be pissed to have us babysitting him? He's a really scary guy, Ranger.''

''You can just say you and Lula want to hang at the beach and shop at the malls here. He probably won't ask though. He's used to Jilly having houseguests. You don't need to play nurse or anything, just keep an eye on him and if he gets really bad, high fever or whatever, take him to the hospital. Call 911 if he won't go."

Yeah, right, so he shoots the EMT crew? I thought. Ranger had more confidence in my ability to mind Anthony than I did. But I'd try. And I'd have Lula for backup.

I stood up and moved into Ranger's arms. He enfolded me in a warm hug, resting his cheek against the side of my head. I could have stayed in his arms forever, but he finally pulled away and kissed me. He was kissing me goodbye. My heart was breaking….

''Gotta go, babe.''

I too heard the sound of the arriving helicopter.

''No luggage?''

''No. Just...'' He gestured to his weapons duffle by the back door.

We walked over the dunes to where the big military chopper was settling into the sand. Usually the guys landed their smaller corporate helicopters at a nearby marina parking lot. Today, Jilly had taken advantage of the deserted beach and set down right by her house.

The chopper doors opened.

Tank jumped out of the helicopter, followed by Jilly's husband Nick. If Ranger had not been standing beside me I might have thought he was Ranger, the two were so similar in build and coloring.

The men helped Lula to the ground, then Jilly's three little fat pug dogs plopped onto the sand.

Oh man, I'm dog sitting as well as sniper sitting.

Ranger said, "Antonio likes the little dogs…."

ESP.

Lula and the three dogs started to trudge through the sand. Lula was waving and yelling, "Hi, white girl. Man, my Via Spigas aren't meant for this sand shit."

Then Tank and Nick helped Anthony out of the chopper. Tank supported him with an arm under his shoulders as they approached. When the men got to where we were standing, Anthony shrugged Tank off, saying, "I'm okay, man, enough."

Jilly remained in the pilot's seat but she smiled and waved enthusiastically. Anthony nodded hello, and gave me a brief hug and kiss on each cheek; surprisingly Tank did the same. Last was Nick, who always created the weird vibe of double vision—two Rangers?—until he flipped back his sunglasses and I looked into his light Caribbean blue eyes. Once you saw his eyes any resemblance to Ranger was forgotten. His eyes were strangely beautiful and disconcerting in his dark face, blue as a Siamese cat's eyes, blue as a tropical sea. He too hugged me and gave the double kiss. Our eyes met and held. There was an attraction there, maybe only due to the Ranger clone thing, maybe something else. Not that it would go anywhere, anyway.

I wondered about a job that would involve Nick too. My understanding was that he stayed out of the line of fire, he was an office guy. Not today though. Nick and Tank turned immediately back to the mission at hand, pleasantries over. Ranger and Anthony stepped aside, heads close, faces intent. Ranger rummaged through his duffle checking equipment while Anthony spoke. Their body language relaxed after a few sentences and Ranger appeared to agree to something. The men hugged, to my surprise.

Seconds later Ranger also hugged me and kissed me, first gently, then briefly hot. He drew back, holding my wrist, turning up my palm. He pressed a set of car keys into my hand.

"Have Lula drive my Mercedes back to Trenton. The other black Mercedes is for you. It's an engagement present."

And he gave me another set of keys. "The plates are on order, they should come in a few days. And when you bring my Mercedes to the Haywood garage be sure Lula goes with you. I left something there for her too. It's a surprise, don't spoil it.

"I love you, babe." That smile, those eyes….and he was gone.

Lula and I stood on the dunes watching the helicopter lift off. To my surprise Anthony put his arms around me and held me, shielding me from the churning sand and hiding my tears. Hugging Anthony was a real experience. He made Ranger seem under armed (so to speak). He was wearing a grey zip front sweatshirt and yes, ratty cargo shorts. Under the hoodie he was armed with double Glocks in a shoulder holster, with another gun in the waistband of the shorts, and what felt like an Uzi strapped on his back. This was not a cuddly guy despite the buff blond surfer looks, big brown eyes and cute blond dreadlocks. Investment banker, my ass….

Even through my tears I had to laugh. Damn! Expecting an invasion? I thought. I could also feel the bandages all around his middle and wondered what had happened to him. And how? This was not a man who took any chances.

After a moment, he shook me gently and said, "Straighten up and wave. Smile! Do you want Ranger to remember you crying when he left! " His voice was soft but the tone was sharp.

I did stand straight and smiled through my tears. Lula was made of tougher stuff than me; she looked dry-eyed and determined. But her lips were quivering.

"I don't picture Ranger being the type to look back and wave a fond farewell, Anthony."

"Maybe not but Jilly always does a goodbye hover."

The helicopter circled briefly overhead, then it was gone.

tbc