I drug myself from sleep and out of the bed to the bathroom. Mother nature was urgently calling, and I had no choice but to respond. My sleep had been long and dreamless, a result of the pain medicine I had taken, and I had no concept of the time. We had gone to bed incredibly early, our bodies craving long hours of much-needed sleep. I did my business, brushed my teeth and did a quick self-check. My head seemed to hurt a lot less, and my scratches and scrapes appeared to be mending nicely. Good deal.
I exited to Ximena sleeping like the dead on her stomach in the bed. In the faint glow of light from around the curtains, I could see her hair was fanned out around her head like a dark chocolate halo and her mouth was wide open, a small trickle of drool sliding down her face and dampening her pillow. She was snoring lightly. I smiled to myself, remembering the first impression I had of her. Shot that to hell, I decided. Pink bunny slippers would do that.
I crept silently to the bedside table, grabbed my cell phone, and headed for the kitchen. The digital clock on the microwave announced the time as 6:25 AM. Early for me, but hey, when a girl goes to bed before 8:00 PM, anything is possible, right? I started a pot of coffee and rummaged through the cabinets for something edible. I found bagels and cream cheese in the refrigerator, so I threw one into the toaster. I slid my body onto a stool and started sifting through messages on my phone, feeling re-energized after a full night of uninterrupted rest.
I had a handful of text messages from Lula and my grandmother, keeping me up to date on general bonds office and Burg gossip. I had two messages from Connie listing a handful of skips who'd gone FTA since I'd been out of town. In bail bonds speak, FTA stands for "failure to appear", meaning someone accused of a crime failed to show up for their court date. Bad news for Vinnie, but good news for me since their capture fees were my primary source of income. Looks like life would be busy once again when I returned to Trenton, and lord knows Lula would be chomping at the bit to ride along after days cooped up in the office playing file clerk.
Since the office burned down a few years ago, there are no longer files to be filed in cabinets. The original files went up like tinder in a magnificent blaze of glory. The bonds office moved to an electronic filing system, so truth be told, Lula should be out a job. I guess Vinnie keeps her around to keep me alive. After all, it's challenging to replace a perfectly ordinary, mostly okay bounty hunter. I imagined Connie would be thrilled to get Lula out of the office soon, too.
My bagel popped, and I doused it with half a gallon of cream cheese. I contemplated the merits of eating the bagel standing over the sink instead of placing it on a plate like a civilized person. Eating over the sink had its merits, namely not dirtying a plate. And as far as I was concerned, the calories don't count if you eat them standing over the sink, right? In the end, I opted for the plate since Ranger had a dishwasher. Am I a domestic goddess or what?
I checked my voicemails next. Mostly drivel from Mary Lou and grandma. One from the cable company with a disconnect warning. I needed to pay my bill. Crap. Finally, I had one message from my mother. Since my gut reaction to her messages typically fell somewhere between 'dread' and 'I'd rather be dead', I had saved it for last.
"Stephanie, it's your mother," the message began.
Go figure. As if I could forget what her voice sounded like in the three days I'd been gone from Jersey. I rolled my eyes so hard I'm pretty sure I saw hair growing.
"Joseph is awake. He's in a private room at Saint Francis. Since you're unable to make it for a personal visit, you really ought to give him a call."
She continued the message by reciting a phone number, stating she loved me, and explaining she was making a nice chicken for dinner on Friday if I wanted to come. "Invite Joseph."
I sighed audibly and took another bite of bagel. I rummaged around in kitchen drawers until I came up with a message pad and pencil, listening to the message again to scribble down Joe's hospital number. It was too early to call, so I shoved the number in my messenger bag for later.
I heard shuffling footsteps and turned to find Ximena shuffling into the kitchen, eyes half-mast.
"Coffeeeeeee," she croaked in a voice more frog than human.
I scrambled to my feet and slopped some coffee in a mug, setting it in front of her. She collapsed onto a stool and sucked down half the cup. I filled it to the top again, then returned the carafe to the warmer.
"You're an angel," she said, giving me a drowsy smile over the rim of her mug. "Sleep well?"
"Yep," I said, taking a bite of my bagel. "You?"
"Like a corpse."
I nodded, recalling her sleeping form.
Ximena gave me a look. "What?" she said, indignant.
"Nothing."
"You looked amused," she said, resting her chin on her fist.
"You drool," I announced, bursting into a fit of giggles.
She scowled at me, then burst out laughing herself.
"Did I snore?" she asked.
"A little, but I only noticed once I woke up. Didn't keep me up."
She shrugged. "Fair enough."
I placed a bagel in the toaster for Ximena, smeared it with cream cheese, and set it on a plate in front of her.
"What's the plan for today?" I asked.
She took a bite of bagel, then talked through the wad of food in her mouth. "Check in at the control room, then go check on Ranger. Possibly bring him back here depending on his MRI results."
"You really think he might come home?" I asked, trying to hold my hopeful thoughts at bay.
"If by home you mean here, then yes. He probably can't go back to New Jersey for a few more days, even if the MRI is good. He's going to need physical therapy and pain management. We've got to get him mobile enough to get home on a commercial flight."
I nodded my understanding.
"It's Monday. I need to call Boston and clear my schedule. I had intended to return yesterday, and I had scheduled a full week of client meetings. I'll stay here until Ranger is well enough to go to Trenton. Most of the Boston and Trenton guys are going home today."
"Is everyone from Trenton going home?" I asked.
"It's critical Tank returns to resume normal business operations with Ranger out of commission. Lester is staying for security detail and for transport, but everyone else is leaving. I'll escort Ranger back to Trenton before flying back to Boston. There's not much more we can do here. Homeland security & the FBI have locked us out of the bombing. It's now a matter of national security. We've given them the footage we have, so we're done."
Ximena returned to her room to shower and dress, and I did the same in Ranger's, dressing in a black Rangeman uniform. I did an inventory check on my messenger bag, making sure I had money, pepper spray, and a stun gun. I had no intentions of running into Wulf, but I wanted to be prepared in case. We poured ourselves to-go coffees in the break room, checked in at the control room, then hopped into the Range Rover to head for the hospital.
Monday morning Atlanta traffic was hellish. In Jersey, driving on the turnpike is a high-speed, thrill-seeking experience. It's a perfect opportunity to practice creative four letter word combinations and proper use of Italian hand gestures. In Atlanta, rush hour traffic is door-to-door, bumper-to-bumper bedlam. Atlanta rush hour embodies the phrase going nowhere fast.
I impatiently sucked down coffee as we hit every red light on the mile of road between Rangeman and the hospital.
Two Rangeman guys I didn't know stood outside Ranger's room door. I gave them each a polite nod, and Ximena gave one a playful punch in the arm.
When we walked into Ranger's room, it was clear that he had improved significantly. His color was better, and he was more alert than he had been. He was wearing his black boxers with a black, long sleeved Rangeman t-shirt. His wounded leg was heavily bandaged, but the bruise on his head was fading from purple to green. I'd had enough bruises to know the transition to green was a step in the right direction.
"Morning, Batman," I said, walking to stand by his bed. I gave him a light peck on the cheek, and he brushed a stray curl from my forehead. "Sleep well?"
"Babe," he said, looking content.
"Have you got your MRI results yet?" Ximena asked, falling into a chair.
"Not yet," Ranger said, his eyes never leaving me. "How's your head?"
"A lot better," I admitted. "I see they took your IV."
Ranger nodded. "They've finished running antibiotics. Now it's time for healing and therapy."
We sat around making small talk. Ranger's breakfast was delivered a little before 8:00 AM. He had oatmeal with blueberries and almonds paired with a small carton of skim milk and a cup of coffee. He was halfway through the bowl when the radiologist arrived. He was short and heavyset in the middle with thin, bird-like legs. He was wearing brown loafers, khaki pants, a navy polo, and a white lab jacket.
"Good morning, Mr. Manoso. I'm Dr. Tallman, and I read your MRI results from yesterday. I've been consulting with your neurologist."
The irony wasn't lost on me, and I bit my lip to hold back the cackle that was trying to escape. Ranger cut his eyes to me, sensing my amusement. His face showed no expression, but his eyes sparkled with a mischievous glimmer.
Ranger and Dr. Tallman shook hands before the doctor continued.
"The MRI shows you've got a moderately severe concussion, but I found nothing that concerns me enough to warrant more invasive testing or treatments. The bleeding has stopped, and your body will reabsorb it. You haven't had a seizure for almost 48 hours on the low dose of Topamax that was prescribed. I'd like to keep you for another 48 hours for observation, and then you'll need to schedule a follow up appointment in a week. We'll keep you on the medication for three months, tapering it at the end. It takes some time for the brain to heal. If you remain seizure free, you'll be off the medication for good."
Ximena and Ranger were listening intently, but I was studying their reactions. Both seemed happy about the news.
"Do you have any questions or concerns I can address?" Dr. Tallman asked.
Ranger looked thoughtful before responding. "I will be checking myself out today. I will receive private care in Atlanta for several days before relocating to New Jersey. I need a referral for a neurologist there."
My breath hitched in my chest. I glanced from Ximena to the doctor. Ximena smirked, knowing this was coming. The doctor, on the other hand, looked horrified.
"Mr. Manoso, it is not advisable to leave our care until we've cleared all your injuries and provided an adequate amount of physical therapy. You're still weak, and…"
Ranger's face transformed from pleasant to stone cold. "This is notice. I am leaving against medical advice this afternoon. Please make preparations."
Dr. Tallman stood in utter disbelief, unmoving. Clearly he wasn't used to disobedient patients. He should have had a conversation with the physician from yesterday. He finally spoke, his face pale.
"There are forms you'll need to complete, Mr. Manoso. And you'll still have to go through the discharge process. We'll have to show you how to care for your wounds, and the physical therapist will want to provide exercises for home."
Ximena stood as if on cue. "I am Mr. Manoso's private care provider. Ximena Santos, ARNP," she announced, extending her hand. "I will be providing one-on-one care for his wounds and therapy needs from his home. I will be here during the discharge process to consult with the therapist and physicians. I also have a private physical therapist on call should it become necessary."
Again, Dr. Tallman was speechless. He stuttered for a moment before responding.
"Yes, ma'am. I will notify the nurses' station." Then he disappeared out the door into the hall.
I cut my eyes to Ranger.
"Are you sure it's a good idea to leave so soon?" I asked, taking his hand in mine and stroking the back with my thumb.
Ranger nodded, his face devoid of emotion. "It's safest for everyone. We have more access control at the Rangeman building."
The unspoken reality here was that it was a heck of a lot harder for crazies to access Ranger's building, and I would be safer from Wulf there than staking out in his room at the hospital. I sighed.
The discharge process began, and Ximena worked diligently with nurses, doctors, and the therapist to ensure continuity in Ranger's care. Ranger's lunch arrived just before twelve, which he ate before one last neurological evaluation. He suffered through another brutal physical therapy session in an effort to regain strength and mobility in his leg while I trailed along behind him, the therapist, Ximena, and a Merry Man. The second Merry Man followed behind me. We were way past 'crowd' territory, threatening 'parade'.
An hour later, Ranger was sitting in a wheelchair dressed in sweats, tennis shoes, and his long-sleeved black t-shirt. He had a ball cap on, covering the shaved patches of hair on his head. Much to his dismay, he'd be headed back to Rangeman in the wheelchair. His face advertised a new brand of exhaustion after his physical therapy session, and we were scrambling to get him out the door and to the safety of Rangeman to rest.
Diesel arrived as we were packing Ranger's things into a duffel bag.
"Hey," he said, stepping into the room and crossing to flop into a chair. He was wearing his typical boots, jeans, and leather jacket paired with a heather red shirt advertising Big Red gum. He looked exhausted with a three-day beard growth and dark circles under his eyes. Something seemed off about him. "I didn't expect you to get out of here so soon."
We explained we were headed back to Rangeman. Diesel didn't seem surprised by the news.
"Any progress?" Ranger asked Diesel.
Diesel didn't speak. Instead, he looked to Ximena.
"I can take a cue," she said, shuffling out of the room to close the door.
Diesel cut his eyes to me as well.
"If you think I'm leaving, you're going to have to take a ticket and wait in line," I responded, folding my arms across my chest and sitting on Ranger's vacant bed.
Ranger looked like he was thinking about smiling.
"Babe, I never said I wanted you to leave."
I rolled my eyes at him before looking back to Diesel.
"There has been some progress," Diesel said, staring at his shoes. "Wulf got to Clarke first, and he got the stone. He killed him to get it so the bomber has been eliminated."
Bomber? The Atlanta Marathon bomber eliminated? Relief coursed through my veins. The nightmare had ended. Dozens of questions began to form in my head, but I chased them away to focus on the exchange between Ranger and Diesel.
Ranger was stoic, absorbing the information. Ranger seemed to have more background on the situation.
"If the stone is in Wulf's care, your work here is finished," Ranger said, his voice icy. "Why are you here?"
"I need your help."