Took forever. Again. I know. I know. But slow and steady wins the race. Right? Working my way to The End!

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

The Right To Remain Silent

by

SueB

Chapter 36

I knew Ranger Manoso to be a formidable soldier and a brilliant operative. During the days and nights spent hoping he'd live and fearing he'd die, I learned he was also a good man...kind and generous.

It was no surprise he'd never revealed these particular personality traits to me. His grandmother shared them because she thought I ought to know.

"He fix my house," she told me one morning in the midst of our vigil.

I'd opted for an hour or so of sleep, but she wouldn't leave Ranger's side. She spent hours holding his hand, filling the room with softly spoken Spanish. Her subject matter covered everything from plans for his future to fervent prayers that he would have one.

I didn't think she knew I'd returned, but she spoke to me as soon as I hit the door. Guess Ranger wasn't the only one with eyes in the back of his head.

"He want to buy me a different one," she went on, her gaze fixed on her beloved grandson's face.

I sat down to listen.

"But mine is a good place. Good people around me. I no want to move. So he make my old house new."

She spared me a quick glance to see if I was paying attention.

"He think I don't know, but he help my neighbors too. Mr. Posada got a roof. Fresh paint for Mrs. Santiago. Mr. Rodriquez, he need air conditioning."

The cuckolded Mr. Rodriquez as I later learned.

"He give them these things and make them glad to take them."

She looked at me again. "You understand?"

I did. Ranger had managed to refurbish the homes on an entire block while maintaining the owners' pride. I'd bet the crime rate in the neighborhood had plummeted too. Added bonus.

Neither task would have been easy. But then the man had built his reputation by excelling at the hard stuff...whatever it might be.

I'd never seen his personal living quarters, but I doubted he decorated with colorful curtains and rag rugs. His abuela used both those items to make her home both warm and welcoming.

With one small exception.

I wondered how much she understood about the room in her remodeled bungalow that Ranger had set aside for himself. The one he asked her not to fill with light and color. The one so different from the rest of the house.

The room wasn't grim. Utilitarian described it better. Stripped down, spartan. Furnished with a single-sized iron cot, a desk, some exercise equipment.

Nothing personal.

A base of operations.

That's where I found him.

I knocked once, heard 'Come' and went in.

He was running. Hard.

Wearing athletic shoes, loose black shorts and sweat.

On a mission...the treadmill ramped to a speed I wouldn't have touched even in my prime.

His body looked lean and strong, but he'd dropped weight during convalescence and the scar on his chest was still obviously new.

He acknowledged my presence with a look that challenged me to comment on the punishing pace he'd set.

Never could resist a dare.

"It's gonna really piss her off ya know."

He didn't respond.

"Your grandmother," I clarified. In case he wondered who I meant.

Still no reply.

"If you kill yourself."

His next look said, 'Fuck off.'

"'Cause I'd bet the farm she's already called in all her markers with the Almighty."

That got me a frown.

"Be a shame to waste them."

He jabbed a finger at a button on the control panel and little by little the machine began to slow.

Cool down.

He stepped off when the mechanism stopped, grabbed a towel and swiped it across his face, down his chest. He was careful of the scar.

"That's not what's going on here," he said.

"You sure? What is going on here?"

He took a deep breath and said, "Training. You forget. I have a contract to fulfill."

Sure didn't waste any time broaching the subject. No wonder his grandmother was worried.

"Ah, right, your contract. As I recall, we had a deal. Went something like this. You help me with my problem. I help you with yours."

I paused. He waited me out. I went on.

"If my problem got solved, your contract went away. If it didn't." I shrugged. "You're dead. Moot point."

"Deal's off," he said.

"Now that's interesting," I replied, "because my problem is solved and you don't look dead to me."

That statement was true only as far as it went. His body was alive, but his eyes were bleak and empty.

"I don't have a problem," he said. "Circumstances change."

"Goddamn right they change," I shot back, "and here are yours. You've been outed. You are no longer an asset. You are a liability."

My declaration failed to crack his reserve.

"C'mon, Harry. You've put liabilities in the field before. More than once."

"Yeah," I said, "the ones I wanted dead. You don't fall into that category. Not yet anyway," I muttered under my breath.

"I know you can find a use for me," he said.

I'd hoped to throw him off balance, but I was the one struggling for equilibrium.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You knew going into this operation that after it was over, one way or the other, your days in the field were done."

He held fast. Silent and unmovable. A stone wall to my mounting frustration.

"You wanted out," I reminded him. "Wanted the chance for a different life. Here's your opportunity. It's not a gift. Trust me, you've earned it."

"Right," he said, again wiping the towel across his face.

I thought I was getting through to him.

But then he said, "Men like us don't earn anything except death in some godforsaken excuse for a country."

So much for progress.

"That's what you think? That's all you get for standing up against evil in the world?"

He was quick to answer. Too quick.

"No," he continued, "not all. Maybe a shallow, unmarked grave...if we're lucky."

"Now there's an improvement," I said.

He ignored my sarcasm.

"Maybe more than we deserve considering what's evil depends on the asshole defining it."

Changing his mind was going to be harder than I thought. I had one card left.

"What about her? What does she deserve?"

His face went blank, but not in time to mask his heartache.

Score.

"Not...the...likes..of...me."

"Funny," I told him, "the man who wore this around his neck seemed to think otherwise."

I offered my hand with his dog tag chain pooled in the palm. He stared at the damaged ring nestled on top. Whitehall's bullet had ruined the setting, but the diamond sparkled, intact and unmarred.

"That," he said, lifting his eyes to mine, "was...a mistake."

"I don't think so."

"No?"

"No."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Easy call. You don't make mistakes. You'd be dead if you did."

He laughed, threw the towel over his shoulder and opened his arms, giving me an unobstructed view of the nasty scar on his chest.

"Almost was," he said, "if not for you."

"If not for her," I corrected. "Get this straight. I shot Whitehall, but I didn't kill him. She did that. One shot. To the heart."

He came back in a cold, hard voice.

"You get this straight. I can't live in her world and I sure as hell can't share mine. Stephanie and I said our goodbyes. We've parted ways. And Harry, better stick to your day job. Matchmaking isn't your strong suit."

Politely saying, 'Butt Out'. I wasn't easily discouraged.

"Parted ways, huh? Yet she went to DC and ditched your pal so she could ask Whitehall how to contact you. Know what, a woman like her made that kind of effort to find me after we'd parted ways, I'd be more than a little curious as to why. You're not?

His answer was to turn away and climb back on the treadmill.

"You're a fucking idiot."

I braced for an explosion, sure even I couldn't call Ranger Manoso names and get away with it.

What I got was a change of subject. Words that chilled my blood.

"My skills are marketable. You don't have work for me, I'll find someone who does."

Given the sensitive nature of his employment, he damn well understood the consequences of turning mercenary.

"You go to work for anyone other than Uncle Sam, I'll kill you myself."

Called my bluff. The son-of-bitch. He smiled when he replied. "I know."

He pushed a button and the treadmill started. It began slowly, but picked up speed until he was running almost as fast as when I'd arrived.

I studied him. Looking for weaknesses. Unlike earlier, his stride was off, strained instead of fluid, his breathing labored.

He wasn't as strong as he'd first appeared. I could buy some time.

"You got a death wish? Wanna go out in a blaze of glory? Fine. But you're not ready. Endurance is for shit. Get in shape."

I went on before he had a chance to argue with my assessment. "You'll get work. When I decide you're ready. Not until."

He went back to running and ignored me when I walked to the corner of the room. But there was no way he could miss the metallic clink of the dog tag chain and diamond when I spilled them onto his Army-issue desk.

I closed his door behind me and turned to find Ranger's grandmother not a foot away. She'd changed her clothes since our morning tete-a-tete and wore a simple house dress covered by a colorful apron. It was freshly starched, pressed and gripped tightly in her capable hands.

She would need to iron it again.

Her expression said it all. Tense, pained.

"You were listening."

She didn't pretend otherwise.

"You would do that. Kill him. My Carlos."

Not a question. She had no doubt.

Until that moment I hadn't realized how much she grasped about the work Ranger did for the government. Apparently quite a bit.

She shook her head, sorrow clouding her eyes. "After you work so hard to save him."

I could ease her mind. Say I was his friend. That I'd never hurt him. Wouldn't fly. I'd let her get too close and she was a savvy woman.

I'd be lying. And, even after all the years I'd spent perfecting the art, she'd know it.

Instead I said, "It won't come to that."

"No?"

"No...I have a plan."

Too bad I didn't know what it was.

She raised an eyebrow. Family trait? Damn DNA.

"This plan of yours, it must bring his Stephanie back to him."

She was right.

"If it doesn't," I said, "he's a dead man."

There was no lie in that.

Eerie, she sounded just like him, "I know."

#######

The office door opened. They never listened to me.

"You pull the short straw, Santos, or you just too damn stupid to follow orders?"

"Tank."

"'Cause I distinctly remember telling you yahoos to leave me the hell alone until I finished this paperwork. Especially if you wanna get paid."

There was no snappy comeback. Not a good sign.

"Phone call."

"So?"

"It's Dolan."

That got my attention.

"You sure?"

"Won't identify. Number's blocked."

It was Dolan all right. Shit.

He'd been diligent about keeping me apprised of Ranger's condition, calling several times a day in the early going, tapering off as things improved.

Two days ago he'd rung with an update of a different nature. He informed me, in so many words, that Steph's connection with Whitehall's death had essentially been eradicated. Buried so deep that by the time it came to light, no one would care. We'd all be dead and gone.

The guy was something. Truth was he scared the crap out of me. Kinda like Ranger.

"Line 2," Santos said, indicating the blinking yellow light on the phone beside me. He left the office without my telling him. Nosy he might be, but even Santos knew Dolan was for my ears only.

The intel on Steph had been welcome, but there was no reason to hear from him again so soon. It couldn't be good news.

No need for preliminaries with Dolan. My stomach lurched and turned over as I picked up the line and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Your partner is a very stubborn man."

A joke? Did he think he was funny?

I'd have laughed if he hadn't pissed me off.

"You call and scare the livin' shit out of me just to say Ranger Manoso is stubborn? How 'bout sharing something I don't know?"

"He wants to go back to work."

"Suits me fine. I've got piles of paper here he can handle. Ought to keep him occupied and out of trouble for a good six months or more."

My little outburst met with silence. I must be missing something.

"He wants to go back to work for me...in the field."

Ah, hell.

"He's a fucking idiot."

"On that," Dolan replied, "we are in complete agreement."

TBC