Author's Note: Here are a few visual references I forgot to throw in at the beginning of the last few chapters. I don't know about you, but I like stories with pictures.
1) Google: "cigaretteracing" (dot com) to see how high end these boats really are. They're way beyond Ranger's cars. Check out the 38' Top Gun photo gallery and video. If you like a photo, the website allows you to easily download it to your computer or phone as wallpaper. Of course, Ranger would have the "Unlimited" version, but the photos are a different color. Google: "Palma de Mallorca, Balearic 2008 Cigarette Racing 39 Top Gun Unlimited " for interior views below deck.
2) Google: "Fortcampbellcourier Bulletproof body armor jacket doubles as flotation device"
3) Google: "projecto matchbox sized slide projector" to see Ranger's mini-slide projector and slide reels.

*Chapter 21*

Ranger and I took our places at the dinner table. Dad was already seated. Grandma was helping mom bring the last of the dishes from the kitchen.

"Evening," Dad said to Ranger. "Glad you could join us."

"Glad to be here," Ranger answered, casually dropping his napkin onto his lap. He seemed perfectly at home, as if he'd dined with my family hundreds of times.

Mom and Grandma took their places. Usually we passed the bowls and filled our plates, but not tonight. Our plates had been delivered with the meat and sides artfully arranged in the kitchen. Mom had outdone herself. We were having filet mignon with sautéed mushrooms, tender new potatoes drizzled with a dark wine sauce, and buttery glazed asparagus. There was a fancy salad with glazed carrots and croutons in a bowl placed to the side of our plates, and Basalmic vinaigrette in a small dipping dish. Everything looked beautiful. Crystal dishes filled with fruit and delicate cheese slices served as the center piece, reflecting the flickering light from the candlesticks. The lights had been dimmed perfectly to enhance the effect.

"Wow. Mom, this is amazing," I told her.

"Oh, it's nothing," she said, smiling.

Mom was wearing a little black dress and pearls. Her hair was done up like she'd been to the beauty parlor. When she turned, I noticed the pearl comb holding her hair up in back and as she leaned forward, her earrings dangled.

Grandma was as close to formal as I'd ever seen her. She was wearing dark green, her hair was light red, and her nails were dark red to match her lips.

I looked at Dad again. I expected to see his best black and white Tony Soprano shirt, but he was wearing a new pair of casual black suit pants and a dark blue dressy t-shirt with 3/4 sleeves. I was betting he had on black dress shoes, too. He was wearing his gold dress watch with the dark blue face. The shirt really set it off. I could smell that he had spent considerable time in the bathroom getting ready. On top of that, he'd had a hair cut. But there was more. His eyebrows seemed more controlled. Had they been trimmed? The ear-hair was MIA. This much fuss would normally have made Dad grumpier than an arsonist in the rain. And yet, he was smiling. Beaming, in fact.

I glanced over at Mom. She was on cloud nine.

Again, I heard the Twilight Zone theme song in the back of my mind...do-Do-do-dooo, do-Do-do-dooo.

We each had a wine glass. Mom had opened a large bottle before we arrived, letting it breathe. I noticed the cork lying beside the bottle. No screw top tonight.

She walked around the table and delicately filled each of our glasses, starting with Grandma and Dad. She lay a hand on Ranger's shoulder as she greeted him.

"Carlos," she said, smiling down at him as she filled his glass.

Ranger studied the bottle as she poured. It was plain dark glass with a white label. No picture or design on it. It looked practically generic to me. But what do I know? When I buy wine, I use the eenie-meenie-miney-mo method to make my selection.

"La Rioja Alta Viña Ardanza, Reserva Especial 2001." The foreign words rolled off Ranger's talented tongue, making my mother nearly swoon. "Excellent selection," Ranger said, paying my mother a direct compliment on something dear to her that Joe never would have noticed. Being Italian, Joe was usually focused on the pasta and the sauce.

"Have you tried it before?" my mother asked.

"Many times." Ranger brought the glass close and breathed in the scent. "You must have opened the bottle hours ago. There's hardly any oak."

"Why, yes, I did. Are you a wine connoisseur?" she asked, completely surprised.

"Not really, but I appreciate good taste, and good wine."

"Why, thank you," my mother said, blushing now.

I smiled, listening to Ranger banter with my mother. Not much about Ranger surprised me anymore. Ranger knowing about wine didn't surprise me. Ranger knowing how to banter was almost shocking. He'd lead me to believe handling small talk was my department. I should have known he was more than capable of handling his own small talk.

She moved on, pouring my glass.

"Do you have a wine collection?" she asked Ranger.

"No."

"Ranger usually has a couple bottles lying around," I said. "And they're delicious."

"What are your favorites?" Mom asked, ready to take note for next time.

"Like you, I enjoy Rioja Reserva. Señorío de P. Peciña 2001. Viña Bosconia 2003. The 2001 La Rioja Alta Rioja Gran Reserva 904. Why settle for a mediocre Napa cabernet when you can have a great wine for the same price?"

"You're so right," Mom gushed.

"2001. 2003." Grandma snorted. "You want a good wine, you'll have to wait a lot longer than that."

"Aged wines are always the best," Ranger agreed, conceding a point to Grandma. "But for it to be affordable, you have to have room to store and age the casks or bottles yourself. I have neither the space, time, nor inclination. Lucky for us, there are still a few vineyards willing to age their wine in oak barrels, making the flavor smooth and quite palatable after only 10 years. And 2001 was a particularly good year, so why wait?"

"Why wait, indeed," Mother purred as she poured her own glass and took her seat.

"Have you tried the '64 or the '73 Gran Reserva?" Ranger asked her.

My mother moaned, practically shivering.

"I take it that's a yes," Ranger said, reaching for his own glass. He raised it to my mother, "Salute," he said, before taking a sip of his own wine.

My parents each raised their glasses. "Salute," they answered, taking a sip.

Grandma and I just smiled at each other, taking a sip of our own.

"Let's eat," Dad said, always one to worry that the meat was getting cold.

Everyone picked up their knives and forks and began digging in.

Grandma was the first to begin the interrogation.

"So, Ranger. Word on the street is that you've challenged Morelli for his place at this table."

I choked on a piece of potato.

Ranger rubbed me gently on the back.

"That's the word on the street?" Ranger asked, raising one eyebrow..

"Lula told me about you and Morelli facing off down at the bonds office. The rest I got straight from Stephanie's cousin, Shirley."

"You got what from Shirley?" I asked, feeling my hackles rise at the thought of Eddie going home and blabbing who-knows-what to Shirley the big-mouth.

"Eddie told Shirley that you told Robin Russell down at the station that Ranger was off the market and Morelli was now available, permanently."

"Is that true?" Ranger asked me, putting me on the spot.

I sat my fork down on my plate and wiped my mouth with my napkin. This was the point where I would normally start making excuses or telling outright lies. I took a deep breath. That behavior had stagnated my relationship with Morelli. That was not what I wanted with Ranger.

"Well?" he prompted. "Am I off the market?"

"I didn't really think you were on the market...I mean. I don't think of you that way."

Ranger didn't give anything away in his expression, but I could see the amusement disappear from his eyes.

"What I mean is, I don't think of you as..." I faltered.

"A piece of meat?" Grandma offered, trying to help.

"Yeah," I groaned, weakly. "That didn't come out quite right."

That got him smiling again.

"Good to know," he said tenderly.

"What exactly did you say to Robin Russell?" Grandma wanted to know.

I cleared my throat. All eyes were on me, waiting for an answer.

"I, uh, said that Morelli was free, if she was interested in asking him out," I told them.

"And?" Ranger pressed.

"And, I might have said that you were no longer available...for the foreseeable future." I grimaced.

Ranger's lips quirked with the barest hint of a smile. "I see," he said, returning his attention to his plate.

"I hope I didn't overstep," I said, apologetically.

"Not at all," Ranger assured me.

"Well," my mother said, breathing a sigh of relief that I hadn't chased Ranger off. "Carlos, I understand that you enjoy travel quite a bit."

"Yes," Ranger said, savoring a bite of succulent meat, bacon and all.

"Ranger grew up in Miami, and he's got a fantastic boat," I said. "He took me out on the ocean today."

"Is it fast?" Grandma asked.

"Oh yeah," I said, still vividly recalling the sensation of flying. "I assume you use it to travel up and down the coast to the other Rangeman locations," I said.

"I owned Rangeman locations in Boston, Atlanta, and Miami. But I've sold my share of Boston and Atlanta to my business partners."

"Why did you keep Miami?" Dad asked.

"Ranger was born and raised in Newark, but he went to high school in Miami," I explained. "He has family there."

"How's your daughter?" Mom asked. "Julie?"

Ranger smiled just thinking of her. "Good. She's working towards a college scholarship. Thinking ahead."

"Just like you," I said, smiling at him.

"She's going to make us all proud," he said, confident as any father.

"What does she want to be when she grows up?" Grandma asked.

"A chemical engineer. She's also interested in physics."

I did a double take.

"Why chemical engineering?" I asked.

"She's decided she wants to design liquid bullet resistant body armor."

"Because of that time you were shot?" Grandma asked.

"That might have had something to do with it," he admitted.

"Yeah, I think seeing her father get shot repeatedly at point blank range might have something to do with it," I said, shaking my head at his answer.

"Actually, it started with a science experiment for school. I was visiting at Christmas, and showed her how to make non-Newtonian fluids from common kitchen supplies."

I blinked rapidly to show I wasn't following anything he just said.

"We mixed corn starch with water, and I showed her that it becomes a solid when impacted. It doesn't behave like a common liquid. My intention was to suspend a blob on a sheet of plastic laid over a subwoofer to demonstrate its special properties with sound waves, but it had already been done on YouTube and she wanted to do something different. So, we used it to catch bullets."

"You used corn starch and water to catch bullets?" I repeated.

"We experimented with a BB gun, shot gun, and a .22, using various mediums. She made a video of each experiment to record her observations and wrote up a research paper. She got an A. I thought that would be then end of it, but she just kept on researching and experimenting. She's called me several times to discuss it," he admitted, obviously pleased.

"She's connecting with you," I realized.

"Yeah," he said, giving my hand a little squeeze under the table.

"That's great," I said, really happy for him.

"I understand you were actually an Army Ranger," Dad said.

"Ranger's not just a catchy name," Grandma told him.

"Are you a member of the VFW?" Dad asked.

"I could join, but I don't have time," Ranger answered.

Dad nodded. "I'd imagine between running a business, bailing Vinnie's ass out of trouble, and keeping up with this one," Dad said, gesturing towards me with his fork, "You've hardly got time to sleep."

"I'll get enough sleep when I'm dead."

"I used to spend time down at the VFW, but the pinochle's better over at the Elks Lodge. Maybe you'd want to stop by for a beer sometime," Dad offered.

"Sure," Ranger said.

"Does Rangeman do anything regular in the way of community service?"

"Rangeman IS a community service," I said reflexively. This got me a smile. Ranger had practically pounded that notion into my head when I was first starting out as a bounty hunter.

"If the Elks have benevolence projects related to the military or security that need funding, I'd be open to discussing it."

"Like care packages for the troops?" Mom asked.

"If it's body armor, yes. Cookies and DVD's, no."

"What about helping out with the soup kitchen?" Grandma asked.

"No."

"Why's that?" Grandma wanted to know.

"Anyone can serve soup. I devote my time to doing what no one else can."

On the surface, this may have sounded like an arrogant statement. But as we all sat in silence, chewing on both our dinner and Ranger's words, I realized he was right. There was only one Ranger.

"I understand that Stephanie has worked for Rangeman on occasion," my mother said.

"Briefly," Ranger nodded.

"I think Vinnie would understand if she wanted to work there full time, in the office."

I rolled my eyes. I hated working in the office. I nearly went crazy when I was assigned to the research desk, and that tour of duty had only lasted a few days. I'd never survive a week, let alone months or years.

The corner of Ranger's mouth twitched. "I've offered to let her work for me anytime she likes," he said. "That offer still stands."

"Stephanie?" my mother prompted, eyeing me expectantly.

"I already have a job," I said defensively.

"You have a terrible job," she said. "I'll bet you'd even have benefits if you worked for Rangeman." Mom looked hopefully to Ranger. "Would there be benefits?"

Ranger's bad boy smile was no where to be seen, but I could sense the double entendre as he said, "Yes."

I blushed right there at the table, thinking about the many benefits of working for Ranger.

"Well?" my mother pressed me.

"Ranger doesn't really need me full time. I can just work for Rangeman when he needs me. Like consulting for a new security system, or going undercover, or investigating a break in. I hate doing office work. I don't want to work the research desk. I don't want to run background checks on prospective clients. I don't want to negotiate contracts or be involved in sales. I like my job."

"What about purchasing? You used to love your job at EE Martin," Mom argued.

"I was purchasing lingerie, not ammo and electronics."

"You could learn," she insisted.

"We could work something out," Ranger suggested.

"Like what?" I asked, downing the last of my wine.

Ranger rose from his seat and reached around me for the wine bottle. He stood behind me as he poured me another glass, leaning so he could stage whisper into my ear, "You could do both. You could work for me, on salary, with benefits. You'd have a company car, and if you want, a company apartment, inside the building, with secure parking. Rangeman already accepts work on a contingency basis from Vinnie. You can keep chasing skips. You need cuffs, weapons, or backup, Rangeman will provide it."

"You'll be losing money on that deal," I scoffed.

"I don't think so," he said, taking his seat again. "You'd be better equipped to take down the high bond skips."

"And Stephanie always gets her man!" Grandma chimed in.

"I've noticed," Ranger agreed.

"I was hoping for something less dangerous." My mother seemed disappointed with the proposal.

"This would be less dangerous," Ranger assured her.

My mother thought about it as she chewed a forkful of asparagus. "I suppose I do feel better when she's driving one of your vehicles," she said.

"They're bullet proof," Grandma said.

"Bullet resistant," Ranger corrected. "And they're not bomb proof. But they are reliable and they're constantly monitored by Rangeman."

"Just like Stephanie," Grandma said.

"Yeah," Ranger said, giving me a sly smile.

"I'll think about it," I promised, hoping for a subject change.

"Speaking of Stephanie's history of vehicular homicide," Grandma continued, "I can't believe that Panamera is still in one piece. I thought it would be a flaming pile of dog doo by now."

I grimaced.

"I heard Stephanie took great pains to keep it from getting so much as a door ding."

"Where'd you hear that?" Mom asked.

"From Stephanie's neighbor, Lorraine Klausner. Sally Sweet is her nephew, remember him? The hairy guy with the g-string. Lula and I were singing in his band last year."

We all grimaced, remembering Lula and Grandma singing "Rolling On A River", wearing few sequins and not much else.

"Anyway, she heard from old Mrs. Bestler, who got it from Dillon, the apartment super, that Stephanie used pepper spray to fend off the Johansen's when they were having a fight in the parking lot at her apartment building. The wife was about to open her car door into the Panamera so Stephanie dove over the hood of the Johansen's car just in time and shielded the door of the Panamera with her body. One thing lead to another, and Stephanie ended up blasting them both with pepper spray. The Johansen's were going up to their apartment on three to put out the fire when they got stuck in the elevator during another of those rolling blackouts. I guess it was pretty awful. Their screams got the attention of most of the first floor."

Ranger raised an eyebrow at me, and my mother dropped her fork on her plate. Dad snickered as he sipped his wine.

"That's sort of an exaggeration," I told them. Of course, not by much. "Dillon got them out in no time, and they seemed to have made up while they were in the elevator," I said, as if this excused the incident.

"You pepper sprayed your neighbors?" my mother gasped.

"They're a really nice young couple from Fargo," Grandma went on. "They had Mrs. Beslter over for pie and polka music."

"Isn't Mrs. Bestler the old lady that rides up and down in your apartment elevator, pretending she's working at a department store?" Ranger asked me.

I nodded. "That's her."

"Well, anyway, I'm sure everyone in the building knows by now," Grandma said. "No one will be parking anywhere near your car," Grandma assured Ranger.

"Great," I groaned.

"Now might be a good time to move into one of those Rangeman apartments," Mom suggested.

I rolled my eyes.

"You got room for two?" Dad asked Ranger, meaning he'd like nothing better than for Ranger to take Grandma off his hands.

"No," Ranger responded, without hesitation.

"I heard that," Grandma told them.

"You need to make up with Mabel," Dad told Grandma, his voice rising with irritation. "Life was a lot easier around here when we had two johns."

"I'm not apologizing to that stuck up old fart bag," Grandma yelled back.

Ranger looked to me for a clue.

"Mabel's the next door neighbor. She used to let Grandma come over and use her bathroom, but they've had a falling out, so now Dad and Grandma are back to fighting over the bathroom in the mornings," I explained.

"It's my house. I pay the bills. If I say it's my turn in the bathroom, it's my turn. End of story," my dad said to Grandma, laying down the law.

"I'm old," Grandma retorted. "If I say I have to go, I have to go, and you better make way," she told him.

Mom poured herself another glass of wine and looked apologetically at Ranger. "We've been thinking about a remodel," she said.

"Ought to remodel the family tree," dad grumbled under his breath.

"You see why you can't pick me up before 8:00," I said to Ranger.

There had been times that Ranger would have liked to pick me up earlier in the mornings, but it never worked out.

Suddenly, there was a pounding on the front door. Mom and I looked at each other. The walls were thin, and something told us this wasn't going to be good.

Dad got up and went to the door. Mabel pushed past him and charged into the dining room.

"I heard that!" Mabel yelled at Grandma. "Fart bag? I'm an old fart bag?"

"Well, if the Depends fit!" Grandma yelled back, throwing down her napkin and standing up.

Grandma tried to round the table, but mom grabbed her.

"Edna Mazur, you foul mouthed tramp! I don't have to take this kind of abuse. Do you hear me?"

"The entire neighborhood heard you!" my mother cried. "For heaven's sake, stop this fighting! We're friends and neighbors," she reminded them.

"Not anymore," Mabel said, storming out and slamming the door behind her.

We no sooner sat down again, than the phone rang.

"We'll just let the machine get it," my mother said. "Are we ready for dessert?"

"Ranger doesn't usually eat dessert," I told her.

Mom looked disappointed. "It's Stephanie's favorite."

"Pineapple upside down cake," Ranger said along with her, in unison.

"Yes," she said, pleased with his response. She beamed at me, her eyes telling me she thought Ranger was "the one".

The phone rang again, but Mom ignored it.

"Mom, would you help me clear the dishes?" she said to Grandma.

Grandma stood and was just reaching for her plate when the front door burst open again and Valerie appeared, followed by Angie, Mary Alice, and little Lisa.

Mom's eyes were as wide as the dinner plates when she noticed the large suit case in Valerie's hand.

"I've had it!" Valerie cried. "I'm leaving Albert!"

"No!" Mom cried. "You can't!"

Dad was giving mom the you-better-take-care-of-this look.

Angie and Lisa were crying hysterically. Mary Alice was racing around the table pretending to be a horse, a habit Valerie had worked hard to break, but which tended to re-surface in times of stress.

A car screeched to a stop out front, and Albert Kloughn, Valerie's husband and father to little Lisa, came running in. Albert resembled the Sta-Puft marshmallow man, and was about as scary. We're talking the original version, not the Ghost Busters version. Mom, Grandma, and Valerie all rounded on poor Albert, who was flubbadubbed, as usual. Pandemonium ensued.

Ranger took my hand and we slipped through the kitchen and out the back door, followed by my dad who had the good sense to grab the cake pan, which he handed to me.

"I wish I could tell you it isn't always like this," Dad said, shaking hands with Ranger.

"I understand," Ranger said, as Mabel came barreling out her own back door, brushing past us.

She entered our house to add her opinion on Valerie's situation.

"Don't think you and your brats are going to be welcome over at my house!" Mabel was yelling at Valerie. "You have Edna to thank for that!"

"I'll be at the lodge," Dad told me, as he fished his cab keys out of his pocket. "And you. Take good care of her," he said to Ranger.

Ranger nodded, looking more than capable as he lead me to the Turbo.

"They like you," I told him as he opened the door for me.

"Get in," he said, not wanting to waste any time making our escape.

Albert was physically tossed out the front door, landing on his back side in the middle of the front yard.

Ranger slid into the driver's seat and pulled out as soon as Dad cleared the driveway.

"Now what?" I asked, my hand on my chest as my stomach turned.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I have no idea what just happened," I said.

"Life," he said.

"Yeah, my life," I groaned.

"There are a lot of people who would love to trade places with you," he assured me.

"Would you?"

"No." He wasn't kidding. "But trust me, there are others who would."

"Do they all live in third-world countries?" I asked.

"Some of them," he teased.

"Great," I groaned.

"Some just like pineapple upside down cake."

I smiled, looking down at the cake pan in my lap. I did have the whole cake to myself now. At least that was something.

We drove in silence for a few minutes.

"Maybe this isn't the best time to talk," I said.

Ranger slipped his hand under mine. "Don't."

I looked over at him. He didn't look my way, just kept his eyes on the road, his face blank again.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Where would you like to go?"

"Your place or mine?" I asked, rolling my eyes at the cliche.

"Doesn't have to be." He waited for a beat. "We need to talk. I don't care where."

"Surprise me," I said, too tired to argue.

It had been a long day, and I was both physically and emotionally exhausted. The idea of tackling my emotional baggage with Ranger was just too much for me.

Ranger turned down Hamilton and pulled in behind the bond's office.

"Not here," I groaned.

"Just picking something up," he said. "Wait here."

Ranger entered through the back and returned a moment later carrying the silver cube that used to be my front bumper. He got in and handed it to me.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Are we going to need this?"

"Yes," he said.

We pulled back onto Hamilton. I stared out the side window, refusing to think at all. I knew that if I did start to think about what to say, I would end up chickening out of this "talk" all together. I looked down at the cube in my hands, balanced on top of the cake pan, and remembered Connie on her hands and knees, feeling around on the floor, sure a ring had been hidden inside. I rolled my eyes. Ranger wasn't one to do something that corny. If Ranger was going to ask me to marry him, he'd wine me and dine me first.

We came to a stop in front of a gigantic metal gate decorated by cars that had once been three dimensional but which were now smashed completely flat, making them two-dimensional representations of the cars they used to be. I shook my head. We were at Connie's cousin Manny's salvage yard. Apparently Ranger had access. No doubt I was right about Manny's involvement with Ranger's cars. And no doubt Rangeman provided security for the lot.

Ranger rolled down his window and inched the car towards a key pad on a pole a few feet from the gate. He punched in a code. The light turned green and the gate screeched and began to slide open. Ranger was vigilant, as always, making sure we weren't followed. He pulled the car inside the gate and waited until the lock re-engaged. We seemed to be alone, at night, in a dark salvage yard, with the mangled remains of thousands of vehicles.

Ranger parked. He popped the hood, which was actually the trunk in this car, and we got out. I was still carrying the cube, not sure what Ranger was up to, but now he had me curious.

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

"I want to show you something," he said.

He reached into the trunk and pulled out a black bag. He unzipped it and pulled out a pair of black boots. This appeared to be his emergency overnight bag. There were black t-shirts and cargo pants, and probably a couple guns and a knife in the bag. He knelt in front of me, slipping off my dress shoes and slipping my feet into his boots. "They won't fit, but they'll protect your feet," he said, slipping my shoes into the trunk and closing it. He locked the Turbo and lead the way into the darkness with a black Maglite he'd grabbed from the bag. I followed, my heart skipping a beat every now and then. I wasn't sure if my fear was due to the dark, due to the horrifying memory of my last visit to this place, or because I was alone with Ranger.

"We aren't going far," he assured me. I realized I was squeezing his hand too tight, and tried to relax my grip.

"I might have missed a few," Ranger said, coming to a stop. He shined the light on an exterior fuse box. He lifted the lid, and flipped the switch. Several flood lights lit the area and I gasped.

"My cars!" I cried. "You had Manny crush all of my cars?" I glared at Ranger. "You said they went to car heaven. This looks more like a car mausoleum."

Ranger pulled me to him and kissed me.

A few minutes later, he stopped kissing me, and I tried to remember what I'd been saying.

"My cars," I whispered.

We were near the office, looking at what appeared to be some kind of show piece. There were several flattened cars secured to the upper portion of the 20 foot iron fence that surrounded the salvage yard. Directly in front of us was a wall of car cubes. The cubes appeared to be suspended rather than stacked, with a spacer in between, keeping them all even. Each section of the wall was 1 car wide and 5 cars high. All of the cubes were the same size. Most appeared to be dipped in paint, but a few were au-natural. Each had a personalized license plate mounted front and center, describing the vehicle, like a name plate. Or in this case, a tombstone.

"We started collecting with the 1984 Nissan pickup," he said. "That was the first."

I recognized the light blue cube.

"It got blown up," I said. "It wasn't blue anymore after the fire. There was hardly anything left."

"Yeah. Rocket launcher," Ranger remembered. "At first, Manny kept it around as a conversation piece. I mean, how many cars get blown up by rocket launchers?"

"Plenty," I grimaced.

"Well, that was the first we'd seen around here. Eventually, it was rusting away and we had enough of your cars to merit a little extra effort. Manny stripped them, crushed them, sealed them, and painted them. And we started collecting."

I looked sadly on the remains of my Baby Nissan Pickup. "I liked that one," I moaned, eyeing the personalized plate hung on the crumpled grill that read "1984 Nissan".

The cube resting above it was red and shiny, labeled "Honda CRX". That car had been doused with gasoline and set on fire.

"I liked that one too," I said sadly.

Ranger pointed to a two-dimensional, shiny black car, hanging on the fence right above the center.

"That's the one that really inspired Manny. It was only after he saw what you did to that car that he began considering his own projects. He didn't have to do anything but paint it and hang it up. That's exactly how it looked when we brought it in here. It's a work of art," Ranger said, almost proudly.

This wreckage was the result of a car bombing. But after it exploded, Ranger's Porsche Boxster had been flattened when a garbage truck rolled over on top of it. The asphalt melted, and held the whole thing together like an exploded diagram of a Porsche Boxster.

"That was the first time you ever loaned me a car."

"Yeah." He wrapped his arms around me. "The first time you ever went off the grid on my watch. Scared the hell out of me."

"I thought you were going to kill me."

I could feel him smiling. "You used to think I was scary."

"Seems like a long time ago," I said.

I remembered Ranger rolling up on the scene. Morelli had just read me the riot act. It was the first verse of what was now a very old song. Morelli thought Ranger's cars were stolen, that Ranger was a loose cannon, and that I must have been sleeping with Ranger. Ranger's response was very different. "Cars are easy to come by, Babe. People are harder to replace. Are you okay?" When he was sure I was really okay, he said, "Not much anybody's going to do with that dead soldier. Think we'll walk away from this one." Then he slung his arm around me and said, "You might be more the Humvee type." And now, after all these years, nothing had changed where Morelli, Ranger, and my car demolitions were concerned.

There was another two-dimensional car hanging from the gate, displayed like a smashed bug with the doors spread out like wings. One door and the trunk still sported the words "Pig Car" in black and white graffiti. The squirrel hair on the dash was showing through the hole where the windshield used to be. The bullet holes that had marred the rear windshield, courtesy of Joyce Barnhart, had been accentuated with paint, the glass laid carefully over the wreckage. I knew Ranger had appreciated the piece of work that car was too...I mean, work of art. I remembered him saying so at the time, but now I realized how happy he'd been to have it towed away before I blew it up.

I remembered the BMW, the blue 1994 Honda Civic, and the Rollswagon. The three black Honda CRV's all in a row. The sunshine yellow Ford Escape. The dark green Saturn SL2 that had exploded with Mama Macaroni inside. Morelli's second SUV, the one that was bombed in his garage. Another Ford Escape. A Chevy Monte Carlo, blown up by a rocket grenade. One of the last cars added to the pile of junk had also been recently destroyed by a rocket launcher, down on Stark Street.

My head was spinning. I gave up trying to remember all the details. I took several steps back, trying to take it all in, and began to notice the shiny black cars interspersed among the colored layers. Ranger's cars created a pattern, almost like a weave, amid the debris, tying it all together.

I stared in disbelief. "How could I have lost that many cars?" I had never tried to add them all up, but now, looking at the evidence, I was dumbfounded. "Look at all those cars."

"Look at all those close calls," Ranger whispered into my ear. That's how he saw it. Not cars. Near misses.

He slipped the Dart cube from my hands. He dropped it on the parched ground, and it cracked open with a metallic thud.

"This is for you, just in case," he said, showing me a plastic baggie. He must have slipped it in his pocket when I wasn't looking. Inside was a passport, driver's license, three credit cards, and a small black Sig Sauer that was sure to be loaded. He placed the baggie inside the cube, then closed it.

He carried the silver cube to a car on the right end of the display. I recognized the creamy rust color which was all that was left of my Dodge Dart. There was a square space right in the center of the sculpture and the cube fit perfectly into it. No one would ever think to try to pull it free.

"Your access code for the gate is 1953." He smiled with his eyes, if not his lips. "You've always been safe with Big Blue."

"Are you going somewhere?" I asked, suddenly apprehensive.

"No. I just want you to be prepared, Babe. For anything."

"Is there a tracking device in there too?"

"No. Everything here is untraceable. The cards are pre-paid, same as cash. Keep the strips away from large magnets, or the cards are worthless," he warned, flicking his eyes up to the giant magnetic disk suspended from a crane above the salvage yard.

No tracking devices. No ties to Rangeman. I realized Ranger intended for me to be able to disappear completely off the grid. His earlier talk about training me to take down high bond skips, and now this. Ranger was ready to trust me on a whole new level.

"Orin really spooked you, didn't he?" I asked without thinking.

The smile disappeared from Ranger's eyes.

"You've known that I love you for a long time now," he said, seriously.

I stood perfectly still, my heart pounding in my chest.

"I've loved you, for a long time," he repeated, softer this time.

There was a long pause while he let that soak in. I couldn't respond. What could I say? I'd known, but I kept on down the same dead-end road with Morelli as if nothing had happened with Ranger. As if the things we did and said didn't have any meaning once that moment had passed.

"I know you love me," Ranger said.

I nodded slowly, not able to look at him.

"I thought I didn't have time for us. I thought you wanted something I couldn't give you. I thought you'd get tired of working for Vinnie. I thought you might get yourself killed and rip my heart out," he admitted, his voice trailing off. "I thought, one way or another, I was going to lose you."

"I'm still here," I told him, my voice just above a whisper.

"I'm out of excuses," he said.

"Me too."

"I want you."

"I'm yours."

He lunged at me. My feet slipped out of Ranger's boots as I left the ground. My arms and legs were wrapped around him just as tightly as they had been earlier in the danger of the ocean, and once again, I was struggling to breathe as my heart pounded in my chest. But this time, we were engaged a kiss that burned white hot. So hot, that Ranger fell to his knees, giving in to a desire deeper than I had ever expected. His calm had vanished completely. There was no more calm. He held nothing back. This was pure Ranger. We were lost in an unstoppable free fall that left no doubt in my mind.

Ranger was mine.