A Second Chance

by Roscommon

Seven years after she left Trenton due to family tragedy, Stephanie Plum has learned to stand on her own and has built a life and career. Unexpectedly, she encounters Ranger, who has also gone through changes since they were last together. While helping Ranger to clear his name, can she show him how to have a second chance at friendship or more? (Now complete)

37. Making It Work

Note: FF apparently didn't send email notification when I posted Chapter 36, so you might have missed that one. It's relatively short and sets up something in this chapter, so I recommend reading that chapter before this one, if you haven't already.

Thanks, as always, to jbspencer06 for the sanity check pre-read. I don't own the Stephanie Plum characters; nor do I make any profit, though this story and any original characters are mine. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be errors.

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Chapter 37: Making It Work

"Son of bitch," Ranger spat as he felt the impact of a bullet sear across his left shoulder followed by the initial, telltale numbness of flesh not knowing how to react to pain. Rotating his arm quickly while ducking behind a panel, he determined that the wound hadn't impaired his motion. No bone or significant muscle damage; it was just a flesh wound. Good.

Glancing back, he saw Tank's shadow in the doorway facing into the large room. Without having to think, he knew Tank had that exit covered— handgun at the ready and short carbine strapped over his shoulder— while he scanned for the gunman they knew was still on the move within the building. Despite himself, Ranger had been impressed this morning when he'd seen the firearms Tank had brought for his own use. High-powered and deadly.

"All fully licensed," Tank had asserted under his breath while donning a bulletproof vest this morning, as though daring Ranger to claim otherwise. For his part, Ranger had simply smirked as he'd finished suiting up. He had his own weapons, his tools of the trade.

As Ranger had clicked his utility belt closed, he'd spotted Tank surreptitiously checking out his service revolver. It was a trusty souvenir from Middle East missions that Tank would recognize. anger had made sure to include in his second couriered package to Stephanie's house, of course after he'd ensured that his first package had arrived unopened. It was a weapon Ranger knew intimately, one that had seen him through some of the darkest times of service.

And now, with two fields of action in front of him, Ranger was glad to have a familiar weapon in his hand. And to once again have Tank at his flank. It had been too long; he could finally admit it to himself. Far too long.

The snapping, thundering sproing of a handgun firing from the alcove to the right gave him an updated location for the man who was currently his target, Mateus Figueroa. It was the closest he'd been to the man since he'd been in Allston a little over a week ago. This time, Ranger was going to catch the asshole. Alive, if possible, so he could be "persuaded" to confess that he'd framed Ranger for that faked gang assassination shortly afterward.

Wounded was okay, though.

Ranger made a signal to Honda's man, Agent Davis, who was in position to the left and slightly behind. He'd gauged him already, recognizing another ex-army man who'd know the tactics and signals he was using. Probably that's why Honda had assigned Davis to Ranger's portion of the operation in the first place.

Well, that and the fact that the agent was about the age to have been stationed in Afghanistan, so he probably had experience at reigning-in allied hostiles in an embedded training situation. Ranger felt a smirk briefly lift his lips at the thought of how he could've played this situation if he were back in Special Forces, getting ready for another undercover mission.

Right now, though, it was time to move. He slipped into the shadows in a half crouch, watching as Honda's man mirrored him. Ranger was glad he'd been able to find plans for this facility last night in an online zoning board website. While Fennelly's description of this building as a warehouse had been essentially correct, as soon as Ranger had looked at the structure's outline on the internet he'd known it was an old, repurposed factory that had been simply cleared out to serve as storage.

In essence, it was a building with open spaces separated by odd nooks and crannies, concrete pillars and half walls, the remains of internal freight lifts, and the shell of a mechanical room. When he'd showed the plans to Honda in the early hours this morning, the Homeland Security man had simply nodded. It was a classic structure ideal for urban warfare; an apparent open area riddled with obscured blind spots and nooks ideal for planned or impromptu ambush.

Not to mention the remains of a second floor supervisory level, which Fennelly had called a balcony when describing the building to Ranger. Unsurprisingly, that was where Figueroa's handler had been ensconced when Honda's team had crept into the building from its multiple entrances. Hidden behind plywood, he'd only been visible as a shadow cast by the high, partially intact windows that backlit the rear of the structure.

Honda's team, of course, had known the shadowy figure would be up there. While it had still been dark, his men had established position in the surrounding buildings, quietly neutralizing the handful of armed men they'd found. They'd determined by heat signature that Figueroa and his handler were in the building, with only a pair of snipers in the beams above the main room.

Though that pair hadn't stayed above the fray for long. Knowing that the two sharpshooters were in position, Ranger had outlined an approach that would move the man on the balcony away from his location, forcing the armed men to choose which target to cover on the ground. It was a tactic Ranger had used many times to split tactical teams in the field and also to disrupt their accustomed pattern of work.

As predicted, one of the two had shifted to follow Figueroa's handler. And, as Ranger had half-expected, it had caused a previously unseen sniper in another building to be revealed. At that point the action had split, with most of Honda's men pursuing the shadowy figure from the balcony, and Ranger in the warehouse to round up Figueroa.

As though his thoughts had triggered action, Ranger suddenly heard a volley of shots and running feet from above. Then a series of percussive clangs along the outside wall, from top to bottom, let him know that action had shifted to the ground via the iron tangle of fire-escape metalwork outside. Figueroa's handler was on the run, with Honda's men still in pursuit.

Though Ranger would've liked to be part of that chase, Honda had insisted that Ranger's target in the operation should be Figueroa. And, ultimately Ranger had agreed. He had the skip apprehension paperwork, so no questions would be asked about Ranger's part in a Homeland-directed operation. And since Tank still maintained his Fugitive Apprehension license in Delaware, Ranger could bring him into his case with no questions asked.

And if, during the operation, one of Honda's agents turned his attention momentarily to assist Ranger's part of the chase, that was explainable also.

Another shot echoed from Ranger's left, a rifle shot that hit one of the concrete supports in the room and shattered flint-sharp pieces of pebble and rock into the air. A second shot followed, this time erupting into the cement floor somewhere behind him. Based on the origin and angle of the shots, Ranger now knew the general location of the missing sniper. He adjusted his location slightly for additional cover.

As Ranger heard a rifle cocked behind him, he smiled grimly. Tank knew the sniper's general location also. Ranger's smile turned into an annoyed scowl as a gunshot erupted from the storeroom on the right, where Figueroa was holed up. He let it go, knowing that the man was essentially trapped and using up his ammo. Instead, he made a signal to Agent Davis that he could focus on the sharpshooter while Ranger kept Figueroa contained.

After another shot from the storeroom, Ranger returned fire. Just enough to let Figueroa know that he was still pinned. Meanwhile, the trailing crash of a rifle sounded behind him, and another shot came from where Honda's man was crouched. The voices and other sounds in the room told him that Tank and Davis were okay, so Ranger continued focusing on the situation ahead of him. He evaluated and discounted sounds from outside of the warehouse, since they indicated the chase was headed away from this building.

Ranger mentally reviewed the blueprints he'd seen of this building. The room Figueroa was in had only the single entrance, which Ranger was watching. So, he was trapped, but anyone going in to retrieve him was also walking into an ambush. Even in the haze from weapons fire, the doorway would be a clear shot from anywhere in the room.

So while action wheeled around him, Ranger considered the options for retrieving Figueroa. The man was in a room that was small and connected to the rest of the warehouse, so not good for a flashbang. Too much risk of injury, and a strong likelihood that anyone close enough to advance on the room would be affected as much as Figueroa.

Perhaps one of Tank's smoke grenades would do. After all, Ranger and Tank had experience with urban combat when visual input was basically non-existent. So, they just needed to get the sniper settled. And with that thought, another quick volley of rifle fire sounded behind him.

Scraping followed by a crash in the storeroom told Ranger that Figueroa was either making a defensive wall or building a path up to the boarded-up window along the back wall. Either way, Ranger wasn't particularly worried. A plywood or box wall wouldn't deter Ranger, Tank, and Davis if they managed to get into the room.

Regarding the window, Ranger knew that Figueroa would shortly discover that it faced an area being excavated, leaving over two storeys of drop. In other words, it wasn't an exit unless the man preferred serious injury or death over capture. Ranger didn't read him as being that type of man. He might be stupid enough to try, though.

Finally, he heard the sound of zip ties and the operational tones of Tank's voice. "Tango down," he called out, confirming that the sniper still inside the building had been captured alive. Ranger could hear the satisfaction in his former second's voice.

"Affirmative," Ranger replied. Then, considering the storeroom, he commented in a louder than conversational voice, "So that means Figueroa, in there, doesn't have backup now."

Ranger heard more scraping and the sound of glass breaking. Though effectively trapped, the man imagined he still had a hope of escaping.

"You know, Mateus," Ranger called out, using Figueroa's first name with what was probably insulting familiarity. "We got your buddy Fennelly yesterday. He's singing like a bird." After a pause, hearing nothing but some huffed breaths from the storeroom, Ranger added almost casually, "He says you were forcing him to do what he did, that it was all you."

"Fode-te," Figueroa's gruff voice called out in Portuguese. "Fuck you."

Ranger just smiled. "I got your sons, too. Joao and Hamidi, they're good boys," Ranger paused. "Don't expect to ever see them again, by the way."

Seeing Tank stand in his periphery, on the other side of the room, Ranger held up his hand to stop him in place. He then flashed a set of hand signals; old signs for when they'd been undercover and had learned to communicate complex ideas through gestures.

Tank nodded. While Ranger continued distracting Figueroa, his former second in command leaned over Agent Davis to discuss Ranger's plan in whispers. The gist of it was that Ranger wanted Davis outside to guard the windows, just in case Figueroa had delusions of flight.

Ranger could see that Davis wasn't happy, but Ranger just smirked as Honda's man started heading to the external door. Tank could be damnably emphatic when the situation required it.

While all that was occurring off to the side, Ranger kept talking. "You know, Mateus, while you're somewhere in prison for the rest of your life, your sons are going to grow up hearing all about what a bad man you are. They'll find out how you abducted them from home so you could have their company on your cross-country crime spree. How you'd kiss them on the forehead and then go out to kill people."

Ignoring the quiet swearing he heard from the room, Ranger continued grimly, "Or they'll hear what a screwup you were, trying over-and-over to frame the same person." His eyes narrowed, "And only after your boss grabbed you by the balls because you were making yourself too damned visible."

"Eh, cabrão," Figueroa's insult echoed from the room. "Why don't you ever get a hint? You should be grateful, you filho da puta. I let you live. A couple times."

Ranger felt his eyebrow wing upward. Under his breath he scorned, "Yeah, not so grateful for waking up in a car soaked in cheap booze and set up for a gang shooting."

"Huh," Tank's voice huffed with amusement from the pillar on Ranger's left, where Agent Davis had previously been crouched. "You're telling me this lowlife got the drop on you?"

Ranger grunted, and started to reply in irritation. Then Tank continued talking. "Any particular body part I should start with after we grab him?" Tank's smirk was audible in his voice. Ah, this was a game they'd played before.

"Dealer's choice," Ranger's voice purred sardonically as he glanced back at Tank. "Just make sure it hurts." As Tank's huffed amusement, Ranger added, "And smoke 'em if you got 'em." He pointed to the smoke grenade on Tank's belt.

Tank nodded, knowing exactly what to do. He stood from his crouch and reached his hand down for the grenade on his belt. As he prepared to throw, he commented, "Been too long since we've had a good Caribbean cookout." His eyes swiveled quickly to Ranger, then back to the door. "One smoked jerk chicken coming up."

"That's my kind of party," Ranger answered with a brief hunter's smile. Pulling on his tactical goggles, he prepared to rush the door. There was no way they'd miss catching Figueroa, trapped as he was and sightless as he was about to be.

And, he'd been right. About an hour later, Figueroa was in custody, being questioned on site by a couple of Honda's men. Ranger was amused to see that their disposition was less than sunny, since they'd returned empty-handed from their pursuit of Figueroa's handler. Well, Ranger knew that feeling.

Injured gunmen from the storage facility had already been transported to the hospital under guard, leaving only lightly injured members of Honda's team to be patched up. Along with Ranger, who was impatiently perched in the rear doorway of a cargo van that was kitted out as a makeshift medical station.

Ranger inhaled briskly, the bite of cold air in his nostrils balancing the burn of antiseptics along his exposed shoulder. If this were his mission, his minor wound would've waited until after the mission debrief. Annoyed at having been tagged by a wild shot, like a rookie, he'd removed his jacket and sweater as soon as he and Tank had delivered Figueroa into Honda's custody. Quickly, through his T-shirt, he'd verified that he'd only suffered a flesh wound.

Despite that, both Tank and Honda had glowered at him until he'd sat down to get his shoulder cleaned and bandaged. Possibly trying to participate in a briefing with occasional drops of blood pooling from his arm had proved to be too much of a distraction for those not used to working with him.

So, while a stocky, obviously ex-military paramedic worked to clean his shoulder wound, patch it, and protect it in gauze, Ranger watched the Homeland operational wrap-up underway in the parking lot behind the storage facility. He shivered once as a gust of chilly wind swirled against the open door where he was seated. He shook his head, though, when the paramedic offered him a foil blanket. He wasn't going into hypothermia, he was simply impatient to put his sweater and coat back on so he could return to the impromptu briefing with Honda.

At least Tank was in the huddle with Honda, professional in his SWAT-style gear, seamlessly acting the part of Ranger's partner as though no time had passed since the last time they'd worked together.

Ranger shifted as the other van door opened, revealing a member of Honda's team who'd also been injured. Bruised and scraped from tumbling down a rusted ladder, the agent had also twisted his ankle in pursuit of Figueroa's hander. Now done with being iced and wrapped, Honda's injured man joked with the female agent who'd come over to help him out of the vehicle.

Exhaling, Ranger realized that he was observing the two agents jostle with a pair of crutches as though cataloguing personality traits and weak points to use later. He shook his head and looked aside, refocusing his gaze briefly in the distance where snow continued to filter down in moist, lazy petals.

He flashed to a long-forgotten memory of Stephanie. It had been a snowy day outside of Tasty Pastry. She'd been argumentative, berating him for cataloging people instead of getting to know them. And for not paying attention to her opinion. At the time, though, he remembered he'd been more focused on the fact that her temper had been high and she'd been wearing a navy beret; a combination that Ranger now recalled had inspired several nights of quite enjoyable French Resistance fantasies. His lips twisted in amusement; just the memory made him feel a bit more lively than he should, sitting in the cold with a deep, pulsing ache carved along the muscle of his shoulder.

But, yet again, Stephanie had been right about him. In more ways than one, he reflected ruefully. After all, what did it say about him that he'd focused on weaving Stephanie into an extended fantasy to ignore the flesh-and-blood woman who was criticizing him for ignoring her input? Interestingly, he realized that he'd just envisioned that fantasy again, but this time with Stephanie at her current age. She was glaring in undisguised impatience from under that blue beret. Maybe his subconscious was catching up.

As the two agents moved away from the van, crutches finally in hand, Ranger swiveled his attention back to the paramedic who was still finishing his gauze work. Huffing in annoyance, Ranger kept himself still to avoid interrupting his patch job. The quicker it was done, the sooner he'd be able to rejoin Tank and Honda.

Though, at the moment, the action had shifted back to Figueroa. Ranger watched as Agent Davis escorted the cuffed man to one of the dark SUVs parked beside a row of storage units. Ranger wasn't sure whether he was satisfied that Figueroa looked disheveled, or displeased that he didn't look worse than that. With a tilt of his head, he decided to go with satisfied.

Especially since the man had confirmed to Agent Davis that Ranger had been framed in the staged gang slaying in Boston last week. While Figueroa didn't confess to his active involvement, the combination of Ranger and Tank glaring at him had encouraged the man to provide at least that amount of clarification before Ranger had been banished to the medical van.

Unsurprisingly, as questioning returned to that point, Ranger had heard Figueroa pin the supposed gang shooting on Krc, with his very visible facial scar. It was a potentially clever move, since Krc was now dead and couldn't deny Figueroa's claims. And, if Ranger recalled correctly, the Boston PD had found a couple witnesses who'd seen a scarred man driving in the car shortly before the shooting. The same car in which Ranger had later been dumped.

The main point, for now, was that Figueroa's statement to Agent Davis, spoken in Honda's hearing, provided a foundation that could overturn the charges against Ranger. He'd seen Tank buttonhole Davis on his way to the Homeland SUV; Ranger had no doubt that Davis was being instructed to make that part of Figueroa's testimony available for use in the Boston court system.

He'd also seen Honda's wry, evaluating glance toward the van while Figueroa had spun his story of Krc, the supposed master planner who had a beef with Ranger. No doubt Honda was making mental note that Ranger hadn't divulged his own legal entanglements yesterday at Fennelly's garage, while describing his hunt for Figueroa.

As he watched, the group of agents around Honda began to disperse. Honda's eyes scanned the scene, alighting briefly on Ranger and then continuing to scan as he headed toward a different SUV, cellphone in hand. Ranger tensed. He'd understood why he'd been omitted from the car accompanying Figueroa for further questioning and detention. After all, the role of a bounty hunter usually ended by returning his target to law enforcement custody.

But he needed to talk with Honda before the man left; needed to wrap this up and determine his status. For one, because he still had some questions for Figueroa. More importantly, though, Figueroa's contact from the balcony had managed to evade capture. Ranger was sure that interrogation of the armed security would point them to John Whelan, the man who seemed to be pulling the strings of this dirty operation from all evidence Ranger had seen.

And, with that, Ranger leaned forward and started to stand.

"Hold on," the paramedic snapped, pushed firmly down on Ranger's far shoulder with respectable force. "Let me finish bandaging this. Then you can go back to saving the world."

Ranger scowled at the man. "Will that be any time today, do you think?" he answered with a chilly mildness. And then he heard Tank's unmistakable laugh.

"Good to know that you're still a joy to medical personnel everywhere," Tank's deep voice commented as he approached. "You can slow your roll, though. Your friend Honda is coming over here after he gets done doing whatever agency crap he's got going on."

Ranger grunted his acknowledgement as he felt the paramedic raise his arm for bandaging. About goddamned time, he thought, knowing that he was being uncharitable and that the man was being both professional and efficient at his job. Ranger simply wasn't suited to sitting still while others planned and acted. Never had been.

Meanwhile, Tank tilted his head speculatively. "Honda told me you got his name from Morelli, of all people," his former second rumbled, crossing his arms. "And only after that, only after you find yourself half in an ambush… that's when you finally figure out you could call me." He paused, then pursed his lips. "Oh wait, no. That was Marc Pardo. You, however, still haven't called."

Ranger pursed his lips. "Yeah, well, it's been awhile since I've needed to call someone to tell me what an asshole I am." He resisted the urge to shrug. "Don't worry, you're still on speed dial for that." Seeing Tank's nostrils flare, Ranger acknowledged that he did owe the man more explanation. After all, Tank had a point: Ranger had apparently trusted a former adversary to help on his mission before he'd strapped on a pair and called Tank, his former brother in arms.

"I called and spoke to your cats, remember?" Ranger raised his eyebrows in a mock question, referencing the long conversation they'd had yesterday after he'd called Tank's secure phone. "The bottom line is: we've all changed. Since Trenton, I've been on jobs that intersected Morelli's turf. And, on his own, he's a good cop. Intuitive. Knows how to work in the gray areas of the law to help people."

This time, Ranger did shrug, ignoring the paramedic's huffed annoyance. "I guess he's smarter than I used to admit. After all, he's Chief of Detectives these days, in one of the largest cities in New Jersey. So yeah, I'm comfortable trying out a recommendation from him after I know he understands the danger."

Keeping his eyes locked on Tank's, he explained further, "But, you know me: I don't read anyone into my business unless there's a need-to-know. In this case, Stephanie got ahead of me. I'd forgotten how she always did that," he admitted, a bit chagrined. "Anyhow, she's the one who reached out to Morelli. I wouldn't have, on my own."

He didn't elaborate on whether he'd have reached out to Tank, regardless. He wanted to think that he would have, but somehow a week of Stephanie had made it seem like a more obvious thing to do.

In the resulting silence, the paramedic finished taping Ranger's shoulder with a brief flourish. "Okay, you're all set, Captain America. Stitches and a set of butterfly bandages. I put a layer of plastic over the dressing since you'll be out in the elements, but get someone to re-wrap your shoulder tonight and take that layer out so the wound can breath." He reached behind him. "You want to cut off the rest of that T-shirt?" He held out a pair of utility scissors.

Rolling his shoulder to verify his range of motion, Ranger took the scissors and sliced up the front of his T-shirt and across the remaining, intact sleeve. In one part of his brain he registered that he'd done this often enough that he hadn't even needed to think about the steps. He passed the scissors back to the medic with a nod of thanks. Standing, he shed the tatters of his former shirt and turned to find his sweater.

"Huh," Tank exhaled as he uncrossed his arms. "Good thing you got that 'tat' done on your chest instead of your shoulder. Would've needed Betsy Ross to work the stitches over that bullet graze so they'd look all fine in that fancy design of yours."

"Yeah, that's exactly what I was thinking when I got it done," Ranger said as he wrestled his sweater over his head with help from the paramedic. "Besides, it's always better to have a target right over my heart than on my shoulder," Ranger resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he paraphrased Hector's jibe.

"Your words bro'. Not mine."

Ranger picked up his coat, shrugged it on, and fished out his watch cap and gloves from the pockets. Looking up, he noticed that the snow had stopped falling. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Honda emerge from his SUV.

"Mañoso, Dupont, let's finish this up," Honda waved them over with a quick hand gesture. Tank looked at Ranger, shrugged, and they both started walked almost in unison.

Leaning against his vehicle, Honda's gaze encompassed them both. "Good work today. You reeled in Figueroa faster than I expected."

Tank huffed in amusement. "Ranger could irritate an angel enough to prefer arrest over having to listen any longer," Tank deadpanned. "Let alone a fugitive."

Amusement flickered briefly in Honda's eyes. "I may have noticed an element of, shall we say persuasiveness in your colleague."

Then Honda sniffed, his face returning to its former seriousness. "At the same time, my team still has work to do to track down the other player from today's operation. And, at this point, with the evidence amassed, I do consider pursuit to be a matter for my team in Homeland rather than for you two." Looking directly at Ranger, he emphasized, "After all, I'm quite sure that you don't have bail-bond paperwork to pursue a man whose name is still speculation at this point."

Ranger exhaled, weighing his options. Finally he conceded, "You're right, I don't have a legal reason to remain in pursuit. However, I do have enough expertise in this type of operation to be able to see connections that might not be obvious. I don't feel comfortable stepping away at this point."

Honda nodded, as though Ranger's words weren't a surprise. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cough drops. As he unwrapped one, he resumed speaking. "I think we unofficially confirmed one of the things you told us. A couple of my agents were at some inter-agency pow-wow a few years ago and remember the man you floated as being Figueroa's handler, John Whelan."

He popped the cough drop in his mouth. "They both saw the guy from the balcony at different points of pursuit, today, and each one says that the guy looks like he could be Whelan. It's not evidence, but it means that even if none of the gunmen we have in lockup or in the hospital say anything useful, we have a direction to pursue." His gaze returned to Ranger's in a studiously casual motion.

"That's a dangerous direction to pursue," Ranger echoed Honda's phrasing. "Whelan has a lot of black ops experience. At a minimum, let me give you a full download of what I've found out and who I've talked with over the past couple of months." He lowered his voice. "And, be very careful who you brief on this. I've had more than one intelligence contact go radio-silent since I started pursuing this case. I don't imagine that's a coincidence."

Tank shifted, and Ranger imagined he was thinking of the man who'd hired Ranger for this job, Tino Clark. Like Ranger, Tank knew that Clark was an experienced field agent and a decent man who had plenty of contacts. Not someone who would voluntarily go silent in the middle of an operation.

"I hear you," Honda replied. He straightened, no longer leaning against the SUV's frame. "I would like that debrief, and frankly I'd like to do it indoors where the temperature is civilized." He pulled back his coat sleeve and checked his wristwatch. "All right, one of my safe houses is just north of Baltimore. On Sunday afternoon, it's a little over an hour away. But I have a few stops I have to make on the way. So, would you be able to meet around five p.m.? You can stay at the house overnight if you need."

Ranger glanced quickly at Tank, reluctant to put himself in a building he didn't know, controlled by an intelligence agency. At least, not until he had more experience with Honda. Trust was something you built based on experiences, and frankly he hadn't gone through enough of them with Honda yet.

Tank inhaled and looked heavenward in a gesture that Ranger recognized well. Then, squaring his shoulders, Tank spoke. "This really isn't my operation, and I am not involved... but I have a satellite office in Rosedale, on the way to Baltimore. Nobody will be there tonight, other than the building's security guard. You can consider it neutral turf. I can give you both a code that will work tonight-only."

"Works for me," Ranger says after a moment.

Honda cast his evaluating gaze on Tank. "I take it this is a Centurion Security office, since that's your firm?"

"Yes it is," Tank affirmed. He then glanced quickly at Ranger with a dash of defiance. "It's one of my corporate security division's meeting spaces. It has the usual Beltway security setup, which means it's non-descript on the outside with underground parking, windows you can't see into, signal scrambling, sound isolation, and a mil-grade firewall."

He crossed his arms, and Ranger was amused to see his arms flex a bit under his jacket. "Since I'm the V.P. of that division, I can personally guarantee all cameras and recording devices will be off until five in the morning. I'll tell my security guard, Oscar, that you're coming, and he'll stay out of your way."

"All right," Honda agreed mildly. "I guess that works for me, as well. Given the way this operation is shaping up, meeting in a non-obvious secure location seems wise." He tilted his head. "Mr. Dupont, I'm gathering that you wish to, as they say, 'disavow all knowledge' of this operation going forward unless there is something that affects you or your company. Would that be correct?"

"You got that right," Tank affirmed.

"Fine," Honda nodded and then turned his attention to Ranger. "Mr. Mañoso, I gather you still have an interest." He paused long enough for Ranger to nod his agreement, then resumed speaking. "I checked into your legal situation in Boston, given what we heard today from Figueroa."

As Ranger prepared to answer, Honda put up his hand. "I'm not done. First, it sounds like Figueroa's statement might be enough for the judge at your hearing, later this month, to drop charges against you. We'll file that statement so your lawyer has it, and will attempt to make Figueroa or any further applicable testimony available. It'll be needed, anyway, since he's obviously an accessory by his own admission."

He inhaled, his eyes narrowing. "Second, I'm concerned that you withheld that situation from me. In the field, it makes me second guess your motives and what you'll do." He paused briefly. "For now, though, I can make sure that today's situation report accounts for your additional interest in Figueroa's case. It's the type of detail that can be raised during discovery and be difficult to explain on the fly. Which is another reason I don't like the people I work with to withhold relevant information."

"I understand," Ranger nodded, pursing his lips. It was yet another reminder that he'd spent too long working in dark corners. He'd become accustomed to secrets; comfortable with working angles instead of working the system. He'd run this whole operation that way, perhaps by necessity, but it was finally kicking him in the ass. Well, the asskicking had started in Allston when Figueroa had spotted and dropped him. Maybe even earlier.

He exhaled forcefully; this was why he was planning to get out of this type of fieldwork. Because, bottom line, Honda was giving him a rookie field correction and he was being generous about it. It wasn't time to be superior; it was a time to be honest. "You're right, I should have told you," Ranger admitted, officer to officer, attempting to convey his earnestness in his expression. Their eyes remained locked for perhaps a full minute.

"All right," Honda finally said, leaning back against his vehicle. "So, you and I will meet this evening and you can tell me what you know about this operation. All of it," his brow rose in emphasis.

"Separately," Honda continued, "I have an expertise gap. My team has logged a lot of operations; we've traced and halted a variety of threats. But, as you noted, this stinks of domestic black ops." He put his hands in his coat pockets. "So, to get some pointers, I called a contact who used to work at what they called Blackwater, back in the day. And don't fuss; I didn't give away details of this operation."

Then Honda named his contact. Or rather, he named the man's operational alias. At which point Ranger glanced at Tank, who nodded. That was a name they both knew from way back. Knew and trusted. Ranger's lip lifted in appreciation as he turned back to Honda.

"Yeah, we know him too," Ranger commented. "Good choice."

Honda tipped his head. "The thing is, he's not available to help. But he suggested an alternative." With a barely detectable glimmer of amusement in his eyes, he continued. "Long story short, he suggested that I look you up, Mr. Mañoso, and see if you were open to taking a consulting gig."

Tank snorted. Ranger ignored him.

"Depends on the gig," Ranger answered. "But if it gives me a chance to see this through to the end, I'm interested."

Honda nodded slowly. "It would be for this operation, through arrest, discovery, and possibly trial. What I need is an analyst, a consultant. Someone who can help unravel the invisible aspects of a black operation of this type. Because I already can tell that your fellow Figueroa, along with his arms conduit Fennelly, is working in a classic stand-alone cell. Which means there are probably others. My team can follow trails with minimal evidence, but in this one we need help to know where to look in the first place."

Ranger shifted; his injured shoulder was beginning to truly ache in the cold. "I'd prefer to be in the field," he began.

"Not an option," Honda didn't let him complete that thought. "I have plenty of field agents who I know can get the job done. What I need is your expertise and input in planning. After all, you managed to trace through this whole operation thus far, based on understanding the clues you were seeing. That's what I need, and what I'm willing to support."

Ranger noticed that Honda didn't mention that he probably didn't fully trust Ranger in the field. But yet, even without that, he'd made a good argument. Knowledge of shadow agency operations was something Ranger could bring; something most field agents didn't learn unless they'd worked off books, themselves. Like Ranger; like Tank.

He glanced sideways at Tank, who lifted his shoulder in a shrug and commented, "Takes the mind of a thief to catch a thief," he quoted one of their former Special Forces commanders. "Makes sense to me, Rangeman."

When Ranger didn't reply immediately, Tank huffed impatiently, misconstruing the direction of Ranger's thoughts. "Come on," he snapped. "This isn't a hard decision. Do you want to catch that S.O.B. who got away, and stop his operation? Or do you want to fart around in the field getting shot at 'cause you're 'all that'? Big strategic brain or little 'get your rocks off' brain; figure it out."

Ranger glared at his former second, who was glaring right back. Last night he'd been thinking that perhaps he owed Figueroa thanks for having dropped him in Allston a week ago, since that was how Stephanie managed to find him. Perhaps though, he frowned, he also owed Figueroa for being in the line of Tank's fire. Ranger wasn't quite as sure that this merited the same level of thanks.

"Understood," Ranger finally replied with asperity. "And, I think the idea has merit." He looked at Honda. "Bring a draft agreement this evening and I'm likely to agree. Just, for now, keep it out of the system so it doesn't raise any red flags."

"I can do that," Honda straightened, and then opened the door of his SUV. "I'll need that address," he looked at Tank, who unfolded his arms to pull out a business card, followed by a pen. Turning over the card, he wrote something, then handed the card to Honda. "Security code is on the back. If you run into any problems, call my number on the front."

Honda nodded and got in his car. "Until later."

Ranger nodded as Honda's car started, and then realized Tank was handing him a card also.

"Same code, same phone number," Tank commented. After a beat, he emphasized, "Same 'I'm not involved and my ass was never there,' as well."

"Yeah," Ranger replied. "I hear you." Then, more earnestly, he turned full-on to Tank. "Thanks for coming, for having my back."

"Don't mention it." Tank frowned. "Seriously, don't." After a pause he added, "And do me a favor, don't shoot anyone in my building. I'm between cleaners and it's hard to fix that shit without anyone noticing. And Oscar in security is goddamned pissy about that type of thing."

Ranger chuckled, and then Tank's face relaxed into a low rumbling laugh.

"I'll do my best," Ranger replied, "but you know me."

"Yeah, better than I wanna do," Tank answered ruefully. "Alright, enough of this chit-chat. I'm outta here." As he turned away, he added, "And now that you've rediscovered how to use the phone, you can try calling sometime when you're not about to screw the pooch."

Ranger snorted. "Yeah, I've got some catching up to do."

"And I heard that," Tank agreed over his shoulder as he strode to his car.

As Ranger turned toward his own truck, he inhaled briskly, the cold air in his nose like the lance of fiery half-numbness he felt along his shoulder. And he realized that his first thought as he moved to end this afternoon's action was that he looked forward to being in his truck, his heat running, while he described today's events to Stephanie.

Maybe he'd spent too much time out in the cold, but he now realized that cold only meant something when you could contrast it with warmth.

To be continued…