A/N: There are a few events in this chapter which reference some facts that resulted from plots in "If I Put My Mind to It." Again, you won't be lost if you haven't read it first, but if you find yourself reading a fact and wondering how something came to be, it's probably explained in the prior story.

Italics are (supposedly) internal thoughts.

Ruining – Chapter 8

Stephanie

I sat in the passenger seat reading over the file as Lester drove us out of town. Since Ranger's acquisition of Les Sebring's bonds office several months ago, we definitely had more interesting FTAs to chase. All of the bonding was currently being handled by the Core Team, since that was the part of the process that determined the amount of risk we wanted to assume, and what we wanted to demand as collateral. We worked a rotating schedule, so no one had to be on call all the time the way Vinnie had to be at his office. Damn, now that I think about it, it's been more than a year since I've been in the Vincent Plum Bail Bonds office. I can't say that I missed the constant drama, but I did miss the chasing and capturing. So, when we had intriguing FTAs, I was always first to volunteer.

In today's case the intrigue was in the form of Zachary Ray, an eclectic, 73-year-old man who lived in a secluded mansion south of Hamilton Township. He was a well-known collector around the area, and his house could easily double as a museum filled various artwork, paintings, pottery, ancient tribal masks, and all types of weapons dating back to the middle ages. He'd been arrested on his way home from a tradeshow in New York, when asshole Officer Gaspick pulled him over for speeding and noticed a bunch of weapons in the back. Apparently, one of them needed a special permit to transport across state lines, so he'd been hauled in. Rangeman had outfitted his home with a top-of-the-line security system several years ago, but Mr. Ray was a privacy freak and didn't want any active monitoring. All of his security tapes were fed into his home control room. He had only allowed Ranger and Lester into his home, and they did the entire install themselves, even signing a non-disclosure agreement about the layout and contents of his home. Which is why it was entirely unexpected when Les pulled up to the gates at the bottom of his driveway only to find them standing wide open.

"That's not a good sign," Lester said, echoing my own thoughts.

He eased through the gates and took the nearly 2-mile long "driveway" up the hill to the house. It was treelined, so there wasn't much visibility as we drove. When we reached the house, there were no cars in the parking area, and the 4-bay garage doors were all down. We made our way to the front door and rang the bell. A chime rang out, and we waited. After a few minutes, I pressed the bell again, stepped back and unholstered my gun. Lester tried the door, and to our surprise it was unlocked and swung open. Les held out his hand, gesturing me to get behind him. I turned so we were back-to-back, so we couldn't be ambushed from behind, and we walked forward into the house. I locked the door behind us, so if someone had been watching the house, at least the lock would slow them a little if they tried to come bursting in behind us. I'd half expected that we'd hear an alarm wailing away, but the house was eerily silent. We silently made our way room to room, clearing them one at a time. All other exterior doors and windows were closed and locked tight. Things were absolutely ordinary, until we entered an honest to God library. The ceiling was high and vaulted, and the shelves went from floor to ceiling, all filled with books. There was even one of those little ladders that attaches to a rail along the top shelf that can roll along so one can easily access the books on the higher shelves. It reminded me of the library scene in the Beauty and the Beast movie that came out a few years ago with that actress from Harry Potter. I wonder if Ranger has ever seen Harry Potter…

"Steph." Les gestured to a broken glass on the hardwood floor, surrounded by an amber colored liquid. A book lay askew nearby, half open, pages crinkled. And a cover speckled with blood.

"Shit," I said.

"Yeah. I don't like this," Lester said. "But I know the layout of the house. We should at least check the rest of it before we go, although it's probably a lost cause at this point."

On alert, we made our way through the top three floors, and I tried really hard to not act like I was on a tour. But it seriously seemed like the Louvre, the Smithsonian, the American Museum of History, the Sistine Chapel, and the Forbidden City had all had a baby and it was the collection in this house. There was so much cool stuff to see, I could have stayed for days.

"Just the basement left. He doesn't keep any of his artifacts there though," Les said, leading me down a winding staircase.

"What's down here?" I asked.

"His security control room, a wine cellar, and a humidor."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I think the wine collection alone would have been enough for Ranger to bond him out, regardless of the crime or his likelihood to flee. In fact, he probably hoped he would go FTA," Les said with a mischievous smile. "He's got some amazing finds, and honestly just really good taste."

We checked the Control Room first, and everything was as expected. I'd been slightly concerned we'd find things smashed or removed. Lester tried to access the camera footage, but couldn't get past the password.

"Isn't there an override?" I asked.

"Yes, and no," Lester replied helpfully. "There are ways in, but they aren't easy, and I can't do it without some tools – or preferably – Hector. We take security seriously, even on the accounts that aren't monitored in real time."

"Could we call him?" I asked, looking down at my iPhone to see there was no service. I guess we were pretty low underground, or the house was more reinforced then I realized.

I nodded and followed him out. We looked into the glass walls of the humidor, and I laughed at the look on Les' face.

"I'm guessing he has some Cubans and other good cigars?" I asked rhetorically.

"You'd guess right. Come on, we still gotta check the wine cellar before we head back. Maybe we'll find a clue."

Lester led me through a narrow glass hallway. On both sides I could see incredible wooden wine racks filled with bottles. I wasn't a super knowledgeable wine commissure, but I knew I liked it, and that Ranger usually selected the most amazing wine. We got to the door, which was closed. Les flipped open a keypad.

"Let's see if he changed this passcode." He pressed the buttons in quick succession and the door clicked open. "There are lots of small places, behind and between the racks. Maybe Mr. Ray got down here and was able to barricade himself inside."

We walked inside and carefully left the door standing open. We started at the right side of the room and methodically made our way through, checking the spaces. Lester was right; there were lots of places to hide down here. We were about halfway through the cellar, nearly back to the entrance when I delightfully discovered a cozy seating area with a couch, two plush recliners, a coffee table with a selection of novels, and a gorgeous crystal stemware set on a silver tray. I was slowly walking backwards, looking at the space and daydreaming about having a date with Ranger some place like this when Lester shouted.

Alarmed, I turned quickly to see what the problem was and caught my foot on the corner of a wine rack. Off balance, I stumbled and thrust out my hands so I wouldn't smash my face into the concrete floor. The second my hands made contact with the door, I realized my mistake. The door swung closed and shut firmly with a definitive click.

"Beautiful! Check this out! This bottle is a vintage…" Lester trailed off, taking in the look on my face. He reached for his weapon. "What's wrong, Bomber?"

I pointed to the door. "You startled me when you shouted, and I tripped and fell into the door and it closed, and I heard the bolt reengage so I'm assuming we're locked in here, but I was too afraid to check." I took a breath. "Then you came over."

"I'm sure we can get out," Les said. He tried the door, and sure enough, it was locked. He looked around the frame, and smiled. "See? Here's the keypad on this side. We'll just enter the code and we can get right out." I relaxed. "Let's finish up searching the other side. I'm dying to see some of the reds he has, if his collection of whites is this good!"

Lester set the bottle he was carrying in the lounge area and we quickly searched the rest of the cellar together, stopping frequently as Les drooled over various bottles of wine. There was a scotch and whiskey section in the far back corner, and he couldn't stop talking about some 60-year-old bottle of Macallan. We made our way back to the door. Lester flipped the cover off the keypad and entered the code. There was a short beep, and nothing else happened. I tried the door. Locked. Lester entered the code again. Short beep. No locks disengaging.

"What's going on?" I asked, trying to be casual.

"Well, my best guess is that Mr. Ray did change the code, but on the code on this side of the door. That way, if someone got in by some chance, they couldn't necessarily get out. They'd have to know 2 codes to fully break in and get out. It's a smart move, we should suggest it to more of our clients."

"We're stuck down here!" I wailed. "How can you be thinking about future sales?! Try the code again!"

"We're only stuck for a minute. We'll just call for backup and in an hour they'll be able to let us out. I'm not trying the code again, because at some point the entire keypad will shut down as a protection measure if the incorrect code is entered too many times. And we want it to be functional when the guys arrive." He pulled out his phone and swore. "Do you have service?"

He looked at me. I hurriedly checked my phone again, sending up a quick prayer.

"Nope."

"Fuck. I forgot he reinforced all the walls and floors, the signal probably can't get past the concrete."

"How are we going to get out?!" I was losing the battle on not freaking the fuck out. I didn't love basements anyway, and I was starting to feel like the glass walls were closing in. "Oh! The walls! They're glass! We can just shoot one and get out of here!" I started to draw my weapon and Lester shouted.

"Steph! No!" I paused.

"Why? I've got to get out of here Les."

"Beautiful. I do remember this glass is bullet proof and shatter resistant. Shooting it won't do anything, except possibly ricochet the bullet back at us. It won't break us out."

I was starting to hyperventilate now. I finally have my life figured out: a man I love, a job I enjoy, friends who don't judge me, incredible sex, and pants that I can always button. And now I was going to die with my best friend Lester inside of a cellar like the fucking jester in Edgar Allan Poe's Cask of Amontillado. My heart was racing, and I could feel my blood pressure edging up to stroke level.

Lester wrapped his arms around me and held me tight against him. He gently stoked my hair and muttered Spanish into my ear in a voice much huskier than his usual tone.

"Está bien, hermosa. Te protegeré. Nada te pasará. Estás seguro. Le agregas luz a mi vida. Eres mi mejor amigo. Respira, mi chica Bombarde." (It's ok, Beautiful. I will protect you. Nothing will happen to you. You are safe. You add light to my life. You are my best friend. Breathe, my Bomber girl.)

I leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Gracias, Lester."

"Shit," he said, switching to English. "I forgot you spoke Spanish now."

"You calmed me down. I was kind of freaking out."

"Kind of? What does a full-on freak out look like then?" he led me over to the lounge where we sat side-by-side on the couch.

"How did you know how to calm me down?" I asked, relaxing into the soft, rich leather.

"Beautiful, I've watched Ranger calm you down for years. I know all the tricks."

"Well, thanks." I looked around for a minute, and then remembered why I was freaking out in the first place. "So how are we actually going to get out of here? You seem remarkably calm."

"Emotion is unproductive," he said, quoting something Ranger had told me a long time ago. "Focus on the goal and push your emotions to the side."

"Great, so we want to get out. But unless there's a hidden door somewhere, I'm thinking it's probably productive to have feelings during my last hours on earth."

"Dramatic much?" he asked, leaning forward to open the little cabinet beside the couch. He pulled out a jar of almonds and a pouch of dried fruit. "Look, we won't starve anytime soon."

"Poetic justice that after all the meatball subs and Tastykakes that my last meal will be twigs and berries."

"Stephanie. Seriously. Think it through. You always have such a clear head when you've been kidnapped or taken hostage. What's the difference here?"

I sulked for a minute then took a breath. He was right. I closed my eyes and let myself approach the problem logically. I ran my hand through my hair to tame it and paused when my hand reached the back of my neck. "Can a tracker send a signal through a concrete barrier?" I looked up to see Lester nodding. "And we're not so far that we're beyond the range limit." I didn't have to make it a question this time. I knew the answer.

Lester leaned back, slipped off his boots, and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "I won't lie, Beautiful. I'm assuming it will be a while. It wouldn't be uncommon for us to be out of touch for a day while we're chasing a skip. So probably we're looking at around 8pm tonight, by the time Ranger realizes you and I have been out of touch all day. He'll check the normal trackers on the car, and won't find them. Then it will take a little time to access the tracking system – it's separate from our regular trackers, which are much shorter range. Then drive time to get here."

I checked my watch. It was 12:15. "What are we going to do for 8 hours?"

"We get to know each other, Beautiful. You have everything we need for a great time!"

"How's that?" I asked.

"Come on, what kind of wine do you like?"

"We can't drink his wine!" I said, though the thought sounded extremely appealing.

"He's got multiples of several bottles, and I know which ones are the rare and expensive ones. We'll steer clear of those. I'm having at two fingers of the Macallan though," he declared.

"Really? Isn't that the epitome of the rare and expensive?"

"Well, the bottle is already open. And it's a once in a lifetime chance. So yes, really."

Lester was right. After we put the rare bottle that started the whole chain reaction causing us to get locked in, we found a section of what Les referred to as "house wines". I couldn't decide between a bottle of chardonnay and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Lester grabbed both, filled up a lowball glass of the Macallan whiskey and we settled in on opposite sides of the couch. I opened the chardonnay first and poured a generous glass. We spent the next few hours talking about anything and everything. Les had some great stories about growing up with Ranger and laughed when I told him about the Dennis Quaid prank I pulled when I was in Atlanta. When his whiskey was gone, Les helped himself to a glass of wine. By the time we were finishing up the second bottle, it was close to dinner time, so we dug into the nuts and fruit. When we cracked open a third bottle, a bubbly white, we were swapping stories about how we lost our virginity. I guess Les had never actually heard the whole Morelli saga before.

"Well, shit, Beautiful. That just makes it so much worse that your mom keeps pushing him at you. I, for one, am incredibly glad you're marrying my cousin." He leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the lips.

"What the hell?!" I said, sloshing some wine onto my shirt. I was glad it was a white. We were both a little – or a lot – drunk.

"Hey, I can't kiss you after you guys get married – kissing cousins and all that. So, figured I should go for it now." He shot me his wolf grin.

"Valid logic. But I don't think Ranger is going to be thrilled with it."

"Yeah, he'll kick my ass for sure. It was worth it. I love you, Beautiful. I'm so glad you're a part of Rangeman and my life," he said seriously.

"I love you, too, Lester. You and all the guys are really like the family I always wanted."

Les opened a fourth bottle and filled our glasses again. He raised his in toast. "To love and marriage," he said, serious now. "Congratulations on finding both. Salud!" We clinked glasses and drank. I gave him a kiss on the cheek, and we settled back onto the couch. We were both lounged on the couch, my feet in Les' lap, his on the coffee table, sharing stories about the worst dates we'd ever had when we heard a click and the unmistakable sound of a walkie talkie.

"Boss, I got them," Cal said, making his way into the room. "Yes, basement. Wine cellar."

"Calvin!" I said, as I finished the last of the wine in my glass. "What's up?"

"There's a lot of people looking for you two," Cal said.

I launched myself at him and gave him a peck on the lips. Whoops, I might be feeling a little too friendly. "Our hero!"

He looked over my shoulder at Les. "You ok, man?"

"Yep." Lester looked at his watch. "Hmm, 8:32. You guys were 17 minutes slower than I predicted." He pulled his shoes on. "Looks like you Beautiful had lower expectations."

"Are you drunk?" Cal asked, suspiciously eyeing the line of empty wine bottles on the coffee table. He set me on my feet, and put an arm around my waist to steady me.

"Marginally," Les said.

"Totally," I said at the same time Ranger walked into the cellar, concern evident on his face.

"It's about time you got here, Batman." I did what I hoped was a saunter over to his side and kissed his neck. He looked me up and down, and when he was convinced I was fine, he pulled me into his arms. Cal helped Lester off the couch, and Les grabbed my shoes. Cal gathered up the glasses and empty snack jars in his arms. Ranger shifted, bent his knees and scooped me up. He carried me through the short hall and started up the stairs, hardly looking like he was exerting any effort at all.

"One of these days you're going to get tired of rescuing me, aren't you?" I slurred as we entered the kitchen.

"Never." Ranger set me carefully on my feet, and I realized the room was full of men. Tank, Hal, Hector, Bobby, Bones, Junior, and Binkie were all standing around with concerned looks on their faces. They all broke out in exclamations when they saw me, and I quickly covered my ears.

"Too loud, guys," I said.

"She and Lester were locked in wine cellar for a little over 8 hours," Ranger said by way of explanation. "You do the math."

There were a few chuckles around the room, and Lester and Cal joined us. We cleaned the glasses and threw away the trash, secured the house and made our way to the front door where three additional SUVs sat beside the one Les and I had brought. Ranger surprised me by climbing into the backseat with me and closing the door. Tank walked around to the driver's seat and started the car. Ranger drew me into his arms and kissed my temple.

"Babe," he said. "Estaba tan aterrorizado. Para mi significas el mundo. Estaría perdido sin ti." (I was so terrified. You mean the world to me. I would be lost without you.)

"Sé, Carlos. Pero no fue mi culpa." (I know, Carlos. But it wasn't my fault.)

He chuckled and held me tighter, snaking his hand around and massaging my neck.

"You're never going to take this thing out of my neck now, are you?" I asked.

"Oh, I'm going to take it out," Ranger said. I sat up and looked at him.

"Seriously?" I was worried I was so drunk I wasn't understanding what he was saying.

"Seriously. Bobby has one with twice the range of this one," Ranger said. "And we're inserting two of them tomorrow morning."