Chapter 12 - xx
Ranger was fully dressed before Marco answered the phone.
"Report," he barked into the phone.
"She's uninjured, just shaken".
Ranger waited in silence for Marco to continue.
"She shot a man tonight."
"Ozzy?"
"No. One of Ozzy's crew."
"Dead?"
"Yeah. Apparently, he was one of the visitors who had been at the house for most of the week. We never saw him arrive nor had he come out of the house before. He walked out slowly and managed to wander into the garage. We were sure it wasn't Ozzy, so didn't challenge him. He later came out of the side door of the garage with a large fireman's axe. He was swinging the axe and muttering in something unintelligible. Big as Tank with greasy ropes of black hair hanging over his eyes and down his neck. Barefoot, in dirty white shorts and wife beater that looked like he'd not taken them off for the whole time he'd been there. He hadn't shaved either – he had a grizzly beard and uneven mustache. When he spotted Steph and Alexis in their car he started toward them, his ranting getting louder with each step.
They got out of the car and Steph tried to talk him down. She and Alexis both pleaded with him to be calm and to put the axe down. But he was getting more aggressive, and continued toward them, swinging that axe and yelling now. Steph took her stance, warned him twice, aimed and fired three times. Alexis called me before she got out of the car, she had already called 911. Steph wasn't in danger; Alexis had her covered the whole time. I arrived before the local cops, and in time to see most of it. She's a hell of a shot, isn't she?"
"This wasn't her first. Did you get Ozzy?"
"Yeah. The shots apparently woke him up. Skinny runt came running out to see what happened, wearing only dingy boxers, looking dazed and disoriented. We grabbed him. He's safely behind bars for now. We didn't call Angel to re-bond him."
"I'll be there in a few hours," he said before slamming the phone into the cradle and running down to the garage. Marco's descriptive retelling of events made him recall when Marco had been an Army reporter embedded with his squads on multiple missions. Apparently, Ranger was the only squad leader who hadn't threated to kill Marco. He might have been a chatty nuisance, but he was a well-trained, solid soldier, was excellent with clients, and his reports were more than thorough.
Ranger angled into the black Explorer and started the engine. No Porsche today - not wanting whoever was on his tail earlier to easily follow him to Clearwater.
Ranger selected a Mozart CD, seeking distraction from further self-reflection during the 5-hour drive. It was only partially successful. The pre-dawn stretch of I-75 was almost empty of traffic, and cruise control left him with spaces of time that Mozart didn't fill.
He thought about how he had reacted the first few times he had killed as a soldier. His targets had been enemy fighters whose objective was to kill him or his team. Besides, the Army had trained him to kill. Even so, for days afterward he saw their faces. and it had torn at him. Even now, some of the faces haunted his nightmare. Although the nightmares were coming less frequently, there were still occasional nightmares. However, none as bad as the ones Stephanie had given him during the early years when she took unnecessary risks putting her life and that of those around her in danger.
He imagined that Stephanie would be having a similar reaction, but magnified as she was never trained to deal with the psychological side-effects of taking a life, nor would she willingly submit to working with a psychologist. Even the hardest of soldiers, with serious training and mandatory sessions with unit psychologists, were subject to PTSD after taking a life. She even flinched when she had to kill a spider. Steph had killed before but in reactive mode, not so methodically. She had never complained of nor exhibited any classic PTSD symptoms. Stephanie's coping mechanism of choice was denial; pretend it never happened. A mechanism that eventually fails.
The sky had gotten lighter; checking the clock, he realized he was making exceptional time. He would be in city traffic soon, so slowed to closer to the speed limit. The county Sheriffs' made most of their revenue from speeders along this stretch of Alligator Alley.
It was mid-morning when Ranger pulled into the secure employee lot at Apollo. He had stopped at a bakery two blocks away to pick up some Boston Creams and coffee. Steph would need comfort food - along with comfort - he reasoned. When he'd been in the bakery, he'd felt the warm tingle of their psychic connection kick in. Just how far did that connection reach? He'd never noticed it extending more than a few meters previously.
As soon as he entered the lobby, Petra greeted him with a hearty, "Carlos, kalimera".
She then motioned him through the monitor room and into the back room of the single story structure. Steph was curled into the corner of a large sectional couch, watching the door - waiting for him. She must have smelled the donuts, since she jerked up the minute Ranger entered the room.
Sliding off the couch, she rushed over to him, took his hand and pulled him after her back to the couch. When he sat, she took the bag of donuts, placed it on the coffee table next to one coffee, kept a coffee in her hand and snuggled up next to him, resting her head on his arm. He reached his other hand around and cupped her face; brushing his thumb over her cheek.
"Babe?" He asked quietly, as others had followed him into the room.
As usual, Steph understood his single word question. "Still a little stunned. What's in the bag?" she asked between sips of coffee.
He studied her for a second. Yes, she looked a bit out of sorts. The soft skin around her eyes looked slightly bruised; her complexion under the slight Florida tan was two shades paler, and the normal sparkle was missing from her now-somber blue eyes. He felt a subliminal pinging, reawaking the primal protective instincts that had always been his impulse around her. This woman drew him in as none other had before, gave rise to the desire to shelter and protect.
She had always hated when he was overly protective, and would be especially resentful now that she was a full-fledged member of Rangeman. Yes, he had to admit, she had proved she was much more capable of taking care of herself than she had been a year ago - no longer just randomly reactive in a situation, but controlled and calculated, and deadly. Still, the thought of the danger she had faced kicked his heartbeat up a notch. The thought of losing her to some senseless violence created a knot in his stomach that writhed, a tangled nest of moccasins ready to strike. It was apparent that Steph had no intention of talking to him about her ordeal or her feelings about it – at least not now. Denial mode fully engaged.
"For you. Go on," he said as he brushed a light kiss on her forehead. She grabbed the bag and leaned back against the sofa.
"Mmmmm. Boston Cream." She mumbled as she handed him the single dry bagel that was in the bag and the second cup of coffee, "Efharisto." This pried a small smile from Ranger, who had been surprised how much Spanish she had mastered in the last year. He found that he had to be more careful what he said around her, even in Spanish. Now, she's started on Greek?
He slid his arm around her, nestling her against his side, safely under his protection, where she soon fell asleep. He dozed contentedly off and on. They were disturbed an hour later when a Sheriff's Office detective insisted they needed another statement from Stephanie. He listened as she went over the details with the detectives again and answered their questions, and felt the knot swell in his stomach again, but was impressed and proud of how she handled the detective's questioning. She was calm and thorough, the consummate professional. With that statement completed, they were still waiting for the INS investigator to arrive. Seemed the axe wielder had been identified as Malick Karimov, an Uzbek national with a long-expired student visa. He was a person of interest in assaults in several states. There may be a bounty for axe-man as well.
Once they were satisfied that there were no more statements needed, he and Steph returned to her hotel room to catch up on much needed sleep. After he closed the door and locked it, Steph caught him as he turned back into the room. "I owe you a proper hello" she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck and one leg around his hips. His hands automatically grabbed her butt and lifted her, freeing her other leg to wrap around him as well. Their lips crashed together in a frantic fight for dominance, as he carried her through the living room area to the bedroom.
The next morning, he woke as he turned on his side and flung his arm over – something soft and warm. With a smile, he pulled her in close and embraced her familiar contours. He inhaled the soft vanilla scent of her hair, and savored the familiar taste of the skin behind her ear. He was infused with a warmth that went beyond comfort. This, he mused, must be happiness.
Had it been so long since he'd experienced that feeling that it would blindside him?
As Steph responded to his attentions, he considered the meaning of this obviously elusive feeling. He had told Steph many times that he loved her, but always attached caveats. He had been convinced it was a transitory or situational emotion. He'd felt love for other women, but it usually faded rather quickly. With Steph, he felt like he had stepped into quicksand, and it sucked him in deeper every day. Question, was, did he want to pull himself out? Or keep sinking?
As she moved against him, he felt a different warmth, that of a propane torch igniting in his groin with the inferno spreading rapidly through his body, until he thought flames would sprout from his fingers. He felt a corresponding fire swell in Steph as she turned in his arms and pressed burning lips to his already scorching skin. How could he have ever discounted the rewards to be reaped from such familiarity? Thinking of rewards, he returned his attentions fully to claiming those before him.
