Chapter Fourteen ~ Babysitting

.

[Stephanie]

.

As the helicopter disappeared in the distance, Anthony headed to the house, herding the doggies with him. I heard him talking to them. Big scary mercenary does baby talk to the dogs.

Lula met my eyes and we smiled. She rushed to me and hugged me. Then she held out her hand, showing me the ring that Tank gave her the day before. I guess Ranger wasn't the only one worried about this "business trip". Lula's ring was wonderful, very Lula, a big sugar pink cushion-cut diamond surrounded by tiny white diamonds.

I showed her the rings that Ranger had given to me and she said, "Tank didn't get our wedding ring yet, he wanted to have it engraved with our wedding date. And you know what, girlfriend! I looked inside this ring, just to see and I said to Tank, Well then who the hell is this Tiffany girl whose name is on the inside here?"

I gasped and then my eyes locked with Lula's. She was nodding.

"Yes! That's where he got it. He said him and Ranger went shopping together! Sheee-it! I almost laughed right in his face. But—imagine that!—my ring is from Tiffany's, can you believe it!"

I could believe it. The pink diamond was gorgeous. And as Ranger's second in command at Rangeman, Tank must be very well paid, maybe even had a piece of the action. But my mental image of Tank and Ranger, shopping at Tiffany's, dressed in their black street clothes, armed to the teeth…? We both started laughing.

"I'm surprised that didn't make the nightly news! Can you just picture it!" I said.

"Tank said your rings came from a jewelry store across the street and that your rings were already engraved. He said Ranger was real fussy about the wording. What do they say? Can you tell me?"

"I didn't know they said anything. Ranger never said…?"

I was superstitious and didn't want to take them off. And I guess I wanted to see Ranger's message to me in private.

... ... ...

Right now, Lula and I followed Anthony back to the house. Lula pulled me aside and said, "Girlfriend, are we babysitting Alfalfa, there? He's like to bust our butts, you know. He hot but he got killer eyes."

Lula called Anthony Alfalfa because he wore his blond hair in short little dreadlocks, like Alfalfa from The Little Rascals, that old comedy show. Way before our time, but still. Anthony was so hot that the weird hairstyle somehow looked cool, not silly. Currently he had it adorned with little colored beads….just like Lula had hers last summer.

I said, "You and he have lots in common. You can talk about hairdos together."

"Hunh, I don't think so. Listen, if we're staying here I gotta get some supplies. Clothes. Make-up. Chocolate. Will you be okay with Mr. Triple X for a few?"

"Sure, take Ranger's car. Do you remember where the stores are? Where the mall is?"

"Yeah and Batman got that GPS shit anyway. I'll be fine."

I handed her the key to the big Mercedes sedan.

When I entered the kitchen, Anthony was bent into the fridge, bottles of pills lined up on the counter beside him.

He said, "Any beer in here?"

He straightened up with a Corona in one hand and popped a handful of pills in his mouth with the other hand. As he raised the beer to his lips to wash down the pills, I said, "Maybe beer doesn't go so great with your meds."

He froze, beer halfway to his mouth, and stared at me with his cold cold, no one's home dark eyes. Then he gulped down half the beer and swallowed the capsules, still staring at me.

My heart froze in my chest.

Killer eyes, just like Lula said.

I said, "Beer is good though, beer is great, enjoy…."

I was babbling.

A moment passed, seemed like years, and then his eyes finally changed—now they showed an unholy glee.

"Are you afraid of me, Steph?"

"No! I am not afraid of you." He grinned, flashing white teeth in his tanned face. "Well, okay, maybe a little."

"Bummer. You should chill. I'd never hurt Ranger's girl, no matter, like, how annoying you are."

"Why am I not reassured, "I answered sarcastically.

He said again, "Chill, babe. Anyways, I'm gonna take a shower and crash."

He had that stoner speak thing going on, kinda like talking to an incredibly hot but scary version of my pal Mooner. Anthony and his personal arsenal walked out, beer in hand. The three little dogs pranced after him, squealing and snorting.

As he headed to the stairs I could hear him cajoling them, "Now I know you guys can get your little booties up these stairs, c'mon, you, like, gotta try, guys. I can't carry you all today, I'm sorry. Oh, okay. Alfie-baby. I'll just lift you up…..C' mon, baby. Man, you gettin' fat, boy!" The pug snorted loudly. Anthony asked him, "Do you have a kiss for me, huh, smooches…..?" He made kissy sounds and the dogs squealed.

Eeeuw.

I wasn't sure if the tiny dogs belonged to him or to Jilly, they seemed to be household fixtures though. The pugs were named Alphonso, Popeye, and Rosalita. Alphonso was the baby of the other two, and he was some kind of genetic throwback because he was black. The other two dogs were pale tan with black faces, black curly tails and little black feet. They were adorable in a really ugly way. They were all very tiny and very fat with smushed-in faces and huge buggy black eyes. On the rare occasions that they ventured outside they all wore tiny matching Coach logo-and-leather collars. It seemed impossible that they could be the same species as Morelli's dog Bob, a huge floppy retriever mix. Supposedly the pugs were very smart, could have fooled me.

It was a large house but very quiet and after a few moments I heard a TV go on really loud, MTV blasting and then the shower running. I wanted to ask Anthony if he was supposed to get his bandages wet, but after the beer incident, no way. I sat down at the table and looked over at his bottles of pills. An opportunity to snoop is irresistible so I grabbed them and inspected the labels. One was an antibiotic, one an anti-inflammatory and one a strong pain killer. The labels bore the imprint of a military base hospital, apparently in Germany.

How odd, I thought.

The name on the label was Stewart, A R and a string of numbers. And let me see….DOB—he's 27, almost 28? I'd have thought 23, 24 at the most. Once there had been more information on the labels but his military rank and affiliation, if any, had been redacted with black marker.

While I was cogitating the shower had stopped but not the MTV clamor. I decided I better bite the bullet so to speak and go check on my charge. Anthony and Ranger had private suites on the second floor. There was a large living room with a huge TV, pool table, bar and big leather sofas. It faced north and had spectacular views over the salt marshes and bay. On each side were the guys' bedrooms, which were spacious and beautiful, with private decks and sliding glass walls overlooking the beach, one bedroom to the east, the other to the west.

I entered the hall that led to Anthony's room. To the left was a walk-in closet with louvered doors, closed at present. To my right was the bathroom, door open, steam pouring out. It smelled sensuously of expensive shower gel, but thank god not Ranger's Bulgari.

Anthony was perched on the granite vanity counter, swiveled so that he could see his injuries in the mirror. He had a towel around his hips and a first aid kit on the closed toilet seat. His soundproofed, rubber-edged metal ID tags swung on the doorknob and his clothes were heaped in the doorway. The dogs were lined up watching him, faces worried. I knocked softly on the door jamb.

I said quietly, "Need any help here? I'm pretty good with the tape and gauze, been shot a few times myself."

He did one of those weird Ranger-style pauses, no response, then he turned a bit so I could see his injuries for myself.

I gasped and black fog formed before my eyes.

A strong hand shot out to grab me.

"Jeez, Steph. Don't faint. It's not so bad. Maybe you can just wash the stitches down with the antiseptic? I can't reach."

"Um, yeah, sure. Just give me a second, okay? "

I got a grip and took a closer look. Anthony's body was beautiful, quite suntanned even in November, and warm and luscious as a ripe peach. He was muscular but less so than Ranger, and really very thin, maybe too thin. His wrist bones protruded and his ribs showed when he breathed. But he was beautiful. And cutting across all this boyish golden beauty were three huge slashes, cutting from below his ribcage around his hip to his stomach. He must have had a hundred or more black sutures tracking his body like ugly patchwork. The entire mess was red and swollen. The stitches actually looked more painful than the terrible cuts themselves. He also had large purple bruises higher up on his abs and chest. It looked like he had been beaten and slashed. It looked like he needed a good plastic surgeon.

I asked, "How did this happen?" I pushed the towel down a bit more and started gently patting the slashes with betadine-soaked gauze.

"IED—you know, a homemade bomb. I was just in the area, not really working, man. I was wearing a vest but a plate glass window blew out and the glass that didn't hit the flak vest cut me."

"Was the bomb intended for you?"

"Nah. If someone wanted to take me out they'd just, like, shoot me in the head, right.?"

He met my eyes and grinned. I kept busy, now with the Neosporin, spreading it onto large gauze pads that I taped over the wounds.

"You have really beautiful tattoos," I said without thinking.

Anthony's grin got wider and he turned so that I could see the tattoo on his lower back. It was some sort of tribal pattern, Hawaiian or Tahitian, and it ran in geometric curls of blue-black ink from the cleavage of his buttocks, around his backside dimples and over the small of his back. The skin without tattoos looked tanned and enticing, warm with palest gold peach fuzz. I resisted touching him there and stepped back.

I cleared my throat, my mouth suddenly was so dry. "All done."

He turned and I was lost studying his smooth tan chest and washboard abs. He had another tattoo around his navel, a lotus or hibiscus maybe. And he wore a diamond stud in his belly button.

"Steph?"

"Huh?"

Ooops, busted again. I met his eyes, studying his face. His blond dreadlocks had those little clacking wooden beads, the sides of his head were buzzed military short and he wore diamond studs in both ears. There was yet another tattoo, gang-style, but tribal design, on his neck. Normal people don't get tattoos on their necks, it was one of the hardest areas to cover.

He had felt hot when I was bandaging his cuts, perhaps with fever. Now his face suddenly looked very young and exhausted, his handsome features drawn with pain and fatigue. His eyes were dark like Ranger's, and dilated maybe from the meds.

I said, "Maybe you ought to lie down."

He walked to the dresser in his bedroom, pulled out some flowered boxers, dropped his towel and gave me a great glimpse of his cute butt. One cheek was horribly bruised and I gasped again.

"Now what?"

"You have an awful bruise on your butt…."

"Yeah, the medics aren't known for their gentle touch. It's from the antibiotic they shot me up with in the field. It's a miracle I survived."

He was laughing a little, not bothered at all. I looked and found a small bar fridge like Ranger had in his room. I got out a cold bottle of water, set it on the bedside table next to the gun, the pager and the two cell phones.

These guys! And who uses pagers anymore, anyway? I looked around. The Uzi was hanging over a chair. The other gun? I pulled the covers up around Anthony and slid my hand under his pillow removing his extra gun. His hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist painfully.

"Let go of my gun."

"Look, I don't want you to shoot me if I come in later."

"Then stay out, lady."

He took the gun and slipped it back under the pillow. He sighed deeply.

He said, "Can you lift the babies up on the bed, please? And take off their collars? They're not s'posed to wear their collars indoors, it, like, mats their fur…I'm so tired….hurts to breathe….."

He drifted off. I set the little dogs at his feet. They scurried around but then settled. I picked up the remote to turn off the television.

"And leave the TV on," Anthony ordered.

Jeez….

I tiptoed out.

...

Chapter Fifteen ~ Anthony's Version of events

[Anthony]

So, like okay, Ranger sprung me from the hospital in Germany, on the grounds that I would promise to stay at Jilly's place to recuperate. I said, Sure no problemo... but man, uh,what's up with that anyway? I rummaged around in my mind to see what Ranger was thinking but he was blocking. Fuck. I closed my eyes and dozed off, drugged to the gills with pain meds.

At some point we changed rides, from my private jet to a military heli. My bossy freakin' sister appeared. As if I cared.

Years later the chopper settled down on the sand. The change in the engine noise woke me up and I very carefully set the doggy I was holding down on the floor of the heli. Alphonso doesn't much like to fly. The other two dogs were older, they were used to it, if less than pleased. All three gave me the pug glare and I shrugged. Ouch, big mistake. My torso felt like it was on fire, hundreds of tiny needle pricks drilling painfully. Oh wait, I do have hundreds of needle pricks, don't I—what, 300 stitches? My head swam and my vision went black and spotty. I felt a warm hand on my upper arm, and heard Tank saying, "Are you okay, man?"

"Sure, no problem," I lied fluently.

But it took both Tank and Nick to get me out of the chopper and on my own feet. Tank held me up as we approached Ranger and the two women.

Ranger locked eyes with me. I felt him ask, Are you okay?

I did the mini nod thing.

He smiled at me and his warmth and peaceful calm washed over me. God, I love Ranger. He is like drugs, only better. He radiated strength and power towards me and by the time we got to Ranger and the girls, I was walking fine. I shrugged off Tank's arm, saying out loud, "I'm okay, man."

Ranger tipped his chin at me in greeting. Thank god he didn't hug me, I'd have screamed like a little girl.

I turned to Ranger's girlfriend, I'd met her last summer, once or twice this fall….beautiful girl, very hot. Oh yeah, Stephanie. I kissed her on both cheeks and did a no-body-contact hug. Same with Lula. Lula was so cute! I can see why Tank is smitten, she's a riot, very sexy but an inner core of strength.

Not so sure about Stephanie. She watched Ranger leave, eyes full of tears, lips quivering. You can't cry whenever Ranger goes because, you know, that's what he does, it's his thing. In fact I pulled him aside and tried to talk him out of this gig, but no.

Yelling over the din of the chopper rotors Ranger said, "It's just a job."

"It is so NOT just a job. It is almost certain death."

"It's my job, Anthony."

"Shit, Ranger, all our lives you been running towards the apocalypse, sounding like some comic book hero, trying to bullshit your way into an early grave while babbling about It's my fuckin' job."

He feigned unconcern, said, "Rangeman takes the suicide jobs, hermano. That's what we get paid for."

Frustrated I yelled over the noise, "Like, the buck stops with you."

"Exactly. It is my job, it's why I get the big bucks."

"Difference is—this time you won't be coming home to spend your big bucks. Just a flag and a grave. If you're lucky."

He said, "Prob'ly not a flag. Why is everyone fixated on the flag thing?"

I was not amused. Like me he has a drawer full of fancy combat medals and he definitely deserves a flag. But still.

"You know what they say," said my brother. "The best defense is a good offense."

I stared. "You got that wrong, man. Can you say "bullshit", bro?"

Ranger slung his weapons case onto his shoulder. This time he did hug me, but carefully.

I didn't scream. Or cry.

He said, "See you on the other side." I love you.

"Yeah….." I love you too.

Our eyes locked for long moments. Finally I said, "Ranger. I'm going with. Just give me a few days, okay?"

He just nodded a little but his eyes said it all.

Moments later Ranger walked away, maybe for the last time. I put my arms around Stephanie, turning her from the blowing sand, shielding her face into my shoulder. Her arms came gently around my waist, kinda fumbled with my weapons, but managed to hug me without hurting me. Her hands just skimmed my bandages, no pressure.

I felt it then—the zing—what Ranger felt for her. And my heart ached, for all of us. But I set her away and said, "Stand up and smile and wave! Do you want Ranger to remember you crying!"

She said, "Somehow Ranger doesn't strike me as the wave a fond farewell type, Anthony."

Ooooh, sarcasm, good.

Jilly brought the chopper around, she always does a bye-bye circle, she's such a girl….and I turned and called the doggies, walking off towards the house. As the pugs and I walked over the dune bridge, I heard Lula squealing, then Stephanie's low voice.

Beer. I wanted a beer and a hot shower, and about twenty hours to sleep, drugged to the max.

Steph popped into the kitchen, babbling to me about not drinking beer with the pain meds. I stared at her thinking, what the fuck is this about, what am I like six years old or what.

I must have looked meaner than I intended because her face changed and all of a sudden she looked scared to death. Poor baby. I wanted to reassure her but I figured I'd be lucky if I made it to my bedroom. I'd talk to her later….

The shower felt great if painful. I finally thought most of the mid-east sand was washed out of my pores. Funny how I never mind the sand from my own beach here….

Steph's soft, hesitant voice said, "Do you need any help? I'm pretty good with bandages, been shot a few times myself."

I froze, trying to see her face in the fogged up mirror. She thought I had a gunshot wound? I hoped she didn't puke when she got a good look, shrapnel with glass makes a mess of one's skin.

Finally I turned enough so that she could see my injuries. Her eyes tracked down my body and her face went dead white, her eyes huge and terrified. I reached out and caught her wrist.

"Jeez, don't faint.''

She got a grip—she had guts, I admit. And said, ''What happened to you?''

I explained very briefly, handing her the antiseptic wash to rinse the slashes. She worked very carefully, trying hard not to hurt me any worse than I already was hurting. So I had to act like it was okay, as she carefully finished with the ointment and gauze and the tape. I watched her face in the mirror to distract myself. She really was adorable, I could tell just when she stopped frowning over my cuts and started noticing my body, the rest of my body, I mean.

I caught a brief thought as her instinctive guard slipped, she thought I'd need a good plastic surgeon! I guess to fix up these scars later. And she thought I was beautiful, so sweet. She hadn't noticed that I look like Ranger yet though.

I turned to look at her face to face. Our eyes met, then hers drifted to my mouth, then my chest and tattoos, then back to my eyes. For a second she was looking at my eyes not into my eyes and it clicked.

She thought, He has Ranger's eyes, how odd. And Ranger's smile.

I slipped by her and put on my boxers, collapsed into the bed. I watched her as she set out a drink for me and tucked my doggies into bed with me.

What was the deal here? I wondered. This woman was sexy and beautiful and my brother loved her beyond words, beyond thought. And—and, what, Ranger? Am I going to love her too, is that what you want?

I again felt around for Ranger in my head but he was not there, his thoughts were focused elsewhere, or the pain pills were fouling up my abilities. I drifted off to sleep as the meds took the pain away to a bearable level. Finally I slept.

... ... ...

.

[Stephanie]

.

Late that night I carefully removed the two diamond rings and peered inside the bands.

The engagement ring read: the Truth is

And the wedding ring said: I love you Babe

No qualifiers this time. I slid them back onto my finger and wondered what jewelry store was across from Tiffany's. All I could picture was the Plaza Hotel. I would find out later in the week when I could check out the computers at Rangeman, I figured. I may be in love but I am still nosy.

tbc