Earlier this year I read an interview with JE, where she seemed pretty happy to get rid of the number centered book naming thing. It made me wonder about coming up with 27 number themed titles, and then pairing up story ideas with them. In the end, I came up with 31 story ideas (more, if you count the multiple ideas for several of the numbers), and The Number Series was born. Some stories are longer one-shots, some are short, and some developed into multi-chapter offerings. All have the title somewhere in the story. I have no set posting schedule for them.

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All recognizable characters belong to Janet Evanovich, I'm just playing.

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Earlier this year, Robot Zombie Pineapples started posting amazing Stephanie Plum fan art over on Archive Of Our Own (just do a search of their username). The Stare Down, with an extremely angry looking Tank, Les, and Bobby, has always stayed with me. What are they so mad about? When I was lining up idea for this series, I decided to do a play on the movie title, Twelve Angry Men, and it became Twelve Angry Rangemen, inspired by The Stare Down. That doesn't come into play until chapter 2, but I hope I did their art proud with my story.

Twelve Angry Rangemen

Chapter 1

SPOV

My lungs are heaving as I try and pull out one more burst of speed. Joey Fingers, and the $30,000 for bringing him in, is within my reach but I'm fading fast. With his mob ties, he's technically a skip that Vinnie would give to Rangeman, but I need the money. No one is skipping on the lower end of the bond spectrum, and I'd really like to eat this month. Ranger offered me another pity gig, but I want to stand on my own two feet and not rely on his handouts. The stitch in my side tells me I should have taken Ranger more seriously when he offered to go running with me. At the very least, it's making me wish I wasn't lugging my purse with me. The cross-body strap left my hands free, but the bulk of it is slapping against my side with every step.

Joey Fingers is really Joey Fratelli, but he got the Fingers nickname for allegedly cutting off the digits of those who don't pay their protection money or are late when gambling debts come due. My own fingers clench as he turns the corner to head down the alley between buildings here in downtown. Trash strewn throughout the alley slows him down, and with a final burst of speed and a Hail Mary prayer, I launch myself to tackle him. We go down hard, with my knee smacking the ground while Joey takes the brunt of the fall. My moment of victory is tempered by him fighting me, but the thought of my bare cabinets and Rex's almost empty bag of hamster crunchies shores up my determination. Margaret Prescott taught me in ninth grade how debilitating the pain of a good hair yank can be, and I use that move on Joey. The styling cream in his hair makes my handhold-and-yank move less effective than it should be, but the yelp he lets out tells me it wasn't completely useless.

I'm struggling to get him in the cuffs when shuffling noises to my right filter through his bitching. I get the bracelets on one wrist when first a whimper and then a scream that will haunt me shuts Joey up. I look over and my stomach goes into a free-fall. A disheveled and sweaty man, maybe mid-40s with stringy grey hair, has his hand covering the mouth of a struggling girl. She's kicking for all she's worth, her dirty sneaker-clad feet bouncing off his thighs. A knife is clenched in the hand he has around her waist and my breath hitches at the prospect of him slicing her even by accident. He's slowly moving backward toward a car at the other end of the alley, cautiously watching me. Snapping the other cuff on Joey, I stand and slowly make my way toward the duo, inching along so as to not spook him.

I have no real plan other than to keep him from leaving the alley with her; statistics say that once she's gone, she's gone forever. For every two steps I take, he takes one back, never taking his eyes off me. Once I'm close enough to get a better look at the frightened girl, I'm almost sorry I did. She's little, around 5 or 6 years old. Her dark eyes and hair remind me so much of Julie that it's a punch to the gut and for a moment my breathing stops as an image of Ranger, bleeding on the floor of my apartment, assaults me. Shaking it away, I try and lock my emotions down and concentrate on the present and the completely terrified little girl. Speaking in a low, soothing voice, I turn my attention to the man holding the knife. "Hey. I'm Stephanie. How about you let her go and we all just go home?"

"How about you turn around and mind your own business?" The sneer that accompanies his words sends a shiver down my spine. He turns his face just enough to nuzzle her hair, making her whimper. My left hand is slowly inching up the backside of my purse. When I was packing it this morning, I rolled my eyes as I tossed one of Ranger's trackers and panic buttons in the outside pocket. I didn't plan to use them but carrying them with me was easier than arguing with him. I'm counting on them now as I finally find the panic button and press it. I don't know the last time I used it, so hopefully the monitor desk sees it. My left hand slowly dips in the main compartment, searching.

"Get your hand out of your purse! Now!"

Think fast, Plum. "Relax. I was just reaching for my wallet. I have some money, how about we trade? You give me the girl, I give you the cash and we part ways, no harm done. Sound good?"

I take his silence as a good sign and bring my right hand over to help dig. His eyes narrow just as my hand finds the handle of my revolver. I hate carrying it, but if I'm going after a higher bond, then I need to be prepared. It was still full of bullets form the last time that Ranger loaded it for me, so all I had to do was fish it out of my cookie jar, check it, and gingerly drop it in my purse this morning.

My phone rings, the sound loud in the otherwise empty alley. The noise startles the man and he all but throws the little girl at me just as I get the gun clear of my purse. Pushing her aside and telling her to run, I tamp down the fear of him coming straight at me with the knife poised to strike at a level to gut me. Memories of Jimmy Alpha coming at me assault me as I pull the trigger. The man flinches as my off-kilter stance alters my aim and my bullet hits his shoulder. He doesn't slow down, though. As he plows into me, pain blooms low on the right side of my stomach at the same time my head hits the dumpster.

I'm barely able to push him away from me before he swipes the knife at me, and my hand immediately stings high up on the palm where he's sliced me just below the fingers. Blood runs down my hand as I put it back up in front of me to keep him from having an open shot at my chest. I started the day thinking it would be Joey going after my fingers, not some creep trying to steal a kid. My heart is pounding in my chest as I struggle to bring the gun up before he's on me again; I'm too slow and now the gun and knife are wedged between our bodies. Where the hell is everybody? Rangeman? The police? Where are all the looky-loos that had to have heard the gunshot?

We're locked in a mortal dance together, grappling for purchase and the upper hand. With the gun between us, I can't get my finger back in the trigger guard. With nothing to lose, I use my go-to move and bring my knee up into his balls. The air rushes out of him and his hold on me slackens. It's enough room to let me slide my finger in as we continue to fight over the gun. I can't fail; failure means death, probably for both me and the little girl. I hope to hell she made it back out to the street.

I grunt back a howl of pain as he slices down my left arm with his knife and I pull the trigger. He stumbles back a bit, the bloody knife still held tightly in his grasp. We look at each other as he staggers back a few more steps. Blood is spreading across his lower chest and my heart squeezes. My arms feel heavy as I try and keep the gun steady and level, but he turns his back on me and moves with an unsteady gait toward his waiting car. My finger is on the trigger, but I can't do it. I can't shoot him in the back; he's walking away, and the threat is gone.

Leaning back against the dumpster, I do a quick survey of the alley while I take stock of my injuries. Left palm and bicep are bleeding and stinging, and my lower right side is bleeding. My black t-shirt makes it hard to tell, but there's not much blood. Just a scratch. Taking a few deep breaths, I push myself off the dumpster and put my gun back in my bag before the police get here searching for a shooter. The whole thing took no more than a couple minutes. Looking around for the little girl, calling out for her, I notice that Joey Fingers is gone. Fuck. Guess I'll be asking Ranger for that pity job after all.

I've only taken a few steps forward when Big Dog and Carl rush into the alley, guns drawn.

"Jesus Christ, Steph! What the hell happened?"

Carl holsters his Glock and puts an arm around my waist to support my weight as he walks me to the mouth of the alley. Big Dog is toggling the radio on his shoulder, calling for an ambulance. He gets a small smile from me when I realize he left my name out of it.

"Steph!"

"Stop yelling, Carl. I was after Joey Fingers—"

"Shit! Your turd cousin gave you that file?"

"Not exactly. Look, I had him and then—"

Big Dog busts in. "Bus is almost here! Let's get you ready to be loaded up."

"Seriously guys, it's not that bad. You need to—"

"Babe!"

Ranger is approaching fast, his stride clipped and his features pinched. He gives me a once over, taking in the blood on my arm and side. He gives me a hard hug and it takes everything I have to not wince at how tight he holds me. He steps back, assessing the situation. Cops are spreading out and I see quite a few Rangeman uniforms mixed in. The cavalry has arrived, five minutes later than I would have liked.

"Connie said you went after Joey Fratelli." Ranger leaves it at that, waiting for me to fill in the information; he doesn't need any more words to let me know that he's disappointed that I didn't ask for help. My lip quivers as anger forms and then dissipates just as quickly. There are more important things to worry about here. "I did, but-."

He starts to say something, but Lester and Hal call him over. He shoots me a look I can't decipher before walking away. Looking at the milling Merry Men, they're all giving me the same look, one of disappointment. Later, when I'm not dripping blood on the pavement or worried about a little girl that no one's looking for, I'll wonder why their opinion matters so much to me.

Turning to Carl, I grab his arm. "You need to go back. I had Joey cuffed, but there was a man with a knife trying to drag a little girl away. I left Joey there and tried to get the guy to let her go. We got into it. I fired my gun twice and I hit him both times, shoulder and chest. He stumbled to a grey sedan. I told the girl to run, but I don't know where she went or if she even left the alley. You have to find her!"

"We had reports of shots fired. You sure you hit him?"

The look I gave him must have convinced him, and he grabs at the radio on his shoulder, calling it in. Big Dog steers me to the ambulance; the medic takes one look at me and blanches. Bobby is suddenly beside me and takes over, getting me settled on a gurney. Ripping my already torn sleeve, he assesses the jagged cut. His jaw is clenched, but he says nothing as he tries to look the wound low on my stomach without pulling my pants down in front of everyone. There's still not much pain or blood, which I take as a good sign.

Bobby's gaze moves to my bleeding hand, and I do the same. Blood has dribbled from the cut on the palm through my fingers, making it look worse than it is. "Going after Joey Fingers without back-up wasn't a smart move, Bomber."

"I know, but—"

"You're going to need stitches. Antibiotics, too. Let's get you loaded into the ambulance."

"Just need a Band-aid," I joke, even though it's a total lie. I'm feeling more and more like crap the longer I sit here. The medic presses some gauze to the stab wound on my side, making me wince. Bobby notices it and gives my forearm a quick squeeze before he tapes gauze over the cut on my arm and wrapping my hand. From here I can see Ranger, see the look he's giving me. Bobby sees him, too, but says nothing, just continues to work. Ranger shakes his head before turning away from me. It hurts worse than any of the cuts.

"Just about done here, Bomber."

Adrenaline is fading and fatigue is settling in, so I nod at him. He and the medic work together, and they help me lay down on the gurney and strap me in before loading me into the ambulance. Once I'm secured, Bobby hops down out of the rig and steps to the side to speak to one of the cops that beckons him. The doors are closed, and I realize that neither Ranger nor Bobby are coming with me. Hands do a double tap to alert the driver that the doors are secured, and I can feel us moving.

Exhaustion crashes down on me as I let myself come out of fight mode. I kept the girl from being dragged away and probably lost forever; I kept her safe. I have to believe that Carl and Big Dog will find her and she's ok. Ranger might be disappointed in me, but I'm not. I did something good today. It's a fight to keep my eyes open and it's draining my energy. My adrenaline crashes aren't usually this bad. On the plus side? Arm doesn't hurt anymore. Nothing does. I wonder what they gave me.

The paramedic is a new one, not someone I recognize. "How are you doing, Miss Plum?"

"Tired." I think about it some more. "Cold." That doesn't make sense. If I'm cold, why does it feel like I'm sweating? His face is wavering in and out, but I still catch the concerned look he gives me. The blood pressure cuff around my arm starts to squeeze and my head suddenly throbs where it hit the dumpster. Maybe just a little nap will help. I'm trying to drift off, but there's so much noise and I think I hear yelling. Why is someone yelling? It sounds like I'm underwater and I only catch bits and pieces of what he's saying. "Pressure's dropping…go faster…internal bleeding…coding…" In a rush, the noise and the pain stop and there's blessed silence.

RPOV

My jaw is clenched tight enough to break rocks as I listen to the ambulance drive away from the scene. All she had to do was say she had a line on Joey Fingers and ask for a back-up team. I would have sent them in a heartbeat and let her keep the entire fee. She knows this, and yet we're here for round 82 with her being sent off in an ambulance while we track down the skip that should have been on the way to the station. My heart dropped to my stomach when Connie let it slip that she let Steph snag the file to make up for no low-end files crossing Vinnie's desk this week. I know Steph needs the money; it's why I offered her work running searches at the office.

The PD has sealed off the alley with us on the wrong side of it. Something's going on, but we're out of the loop. A couple of the guys are grouped together over by the vehicles, so I walk over to join them. I need to get my shit together before I head to the hospital to check on Steph and gathering intel will help with that.

"No current stalkers or problems on the board. Connie said the only file she had was Joey "Fingers" Fratelli. Are we sure that's who she was chasing?" Cal has summed up what little information we have and the men who've joined us tense at Fratelli's name. He's a known entity, and what we know isn't great. He's a little too happy wielding his knife and I hate that Steph was anywhere near him without back-up.

Tank adds his two cents. "Has to be. Connie said things have been slow, so it would be just like Bomber to swipe the Fratelli file and give it a go. Why the hell didn't she ask one of us for help? She knows we'd do it."

Lester slides a glance over to me. "If Fratelli's smart, he's hitting the road. He has to know that trying to slice up Steph wasn't going to go over well."

I have a reputation on the streets for a reason, and that reason is why I made it known that she was mine, and under my protection. It was supposed to keep shit like this from happening.

"Joey didn't do anything to her."

As a group we turn and face Steph's cop friend Eddie, who is coming up behind us. His steps falter a little as the weight of our stares hit him.

Woody asks the question on all our minds. "What do you mean? She had the file for Joey Fingers."

"According to the little girl—"

"What girl?"

"We found a little girl hiding in the alley under some trash." His words are punctuated with a thumb over his shoulder, pointing toward one of the female cops carrying a little dark-haired girl wrapped in one of the emergency blankets Rangeman SUV's carry. "Girl said she got separated from her mom at the food pantry and got scared when a man in a big grey car started following her. She ran down the alley here and was hiding but the guy found her and had a knife. He was getting ready to drag her back to his car when 'the curly haired woman' chased a man down the alley from the other end. We're guessing she means Steph, who tackled him and was getting her handcuffs on him when Steph saw the bad man dragging her away. Steph got who we'll presume is Joey cuffed and tried to talk the 'stinky' bad guy down. The guy in handcuffs took off. Kid said Steph offered the bad guy money, but when her phone rang, it scared him. He threw her at Steph and then ran toward them with his knife. She said Steph pushed her away while telling her to run and Steph got her gun out of her purse and was able to shoot the bad man in the shoulder before he shoved her against the dumpster. They fought, and the gun went off again. Both of them had blood on their stomachs. His knife was bloody, and he took off in his car. Steph started calling out for her while holding onto her side, but the girl said she was scared and stayed hidden. Then the police showed up. That corroborates what Steph told Carl before she headed to the ER."

Silence reigns as we process that. Shit. We all rushed here thinking Steph was in over her head again, but in reality, she was doing what any one of us would have done: put ourselves in harms way to save an innocent. Beyond that, she hit her panic button for back-up and was armed. She did what she was supposed to do. My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose as I remember how short I was with her, even going so far as to turn my back on her so I could regain my equilibrium before I said something I couldn't take back.

Movement catches my attention and I watch, confused, as Bobby comes out of the alley carrying his medic bag. What the hell? He's supposed to be at the hospital with Steph. His eyes are huge when he sees me. Eddie wanders away and I make a hand motion to get Brown over here, ASAP. He doubletimes it over to me, tossing his bag into the back of an open SUV on his way by.

"Brown, what the hell are you still doing here? I thought you went to the hospital with Steph."

"I thought you went!"

"I saw you in the back with her, so I assumed you went."

He looks chagrined. "And you always go with her when there's nothing that needs managed here, so I thought you were going to hop in with her. I'll go now. Someone's got to make sure she stays long enough to actually get stitches in her side and hand."

I put out a hand to stop him. "I'll go. I need to talk to her anyway. The cops have you take a look at the little girl?"

He blows out a sigh. "Yeah. She was pretty scared but told me how brave Steph was while I was giving her a quick exam. She seems physically unhurt, just some bruises on her arms." He runs a hand over his cornrows. "Man, I gave Bomber shit for not asking for back-up for Fratelli."

I slap him on the back on my way to the Cayenne, giving Tank a look that I know he'll interpret as "track down Joey Fingers and return him to jail."

Peeling out from the curb, I slam my hand down on the steering wheel now that no one else is around to see it. Dammit! Why didn't I wait and give Steph a chance to tell me what happened? You know why, dumbass. You were scared of what you'd find when you got here because it had to be bad if she used her panic button. I barely made time to check on her before walking away and leaving her alone to manage the adrenaline let-down. Fuck.

It's not far to St. Francis and I get a parking spot not too far from the emergency room doors. I don't recognize the nurse on duty at the desk when I walk up. "I'm here for Stephanie Plum. She was brought in a bit ago."

She looks me up and down, practically dismissing me. "Are you family?"

"Employer."

"I'm sorry, I can't give out information to non-family members. Is there someone you can call?"

I know she's just doing her job, but I'm not in the mood. Stepping away from the desk, I call Bones back at the office and tell him to start heading this way with our copy of Steph's Power of Attorney and Medical Directives she signed when she started doing odd jobs for me. Both her father and I are listed as being able to receive medical information and make decisions for her, should she be unable to do so. Settling into a corner, I fight the urge to pace. The ambulance with Steph left the scene nearly forty minutes ago, and it's only a ten-minute drive. Bobby didn't seem overly concerned about her injuries; neither did the paramedic. She's probably just now getting seen by a nurse or physician's assistant. Bones should get here with the paperwork about the time they're ready to stitch her up. Maybe she'll agree to come back to Haywood with me so Bobby can check up on her and I can make sure she rests. The cop's not an issue, so she might not fight me on it.

It's another twenty minutes before Bones comes flying through the door, paperwork in hand. Once I have it, I'm back in front of the desk clerk, working to not let my irritation show. She slowly peruses everything before asking me to wait a minute while she gets a supervisor. A small knot of something settles into my stomach at that.

People coming and going from the emergency room are giving me a wide berth. The doors that I want to storm through finally open and a woman in scrubs waves me through and I motion Bones to follow. He's Bobby's second in command on the medical floor and he can receive Steph's discharge information.

Instead of being led to a treatment room or bay, she leads us to an office and a prickle of unease starts to claw at me. Facing me, she starts to introduce herself, but I cut her off. "Where is Stephanie? I provided the legal paperwork the desk clerk asked for."

"Mr. Manoso, perhaps when can sit down and talk."

Bones sucks in air behind me, but I refuse to turn around and find out why. "No, thank you. Just tell me where Stephanie is, and I'll get out of your hair."

"Mr. Manoso—"

"Where is she?" The prickle is turning into a tsunami the longer she drags this out. Stitches. Bobby said she needed stitches.

The woman sighs. "Miss Plum's blood pressure dropped dramatically in the ambulance. She was in full arrest when she arrived—"

"No!" No. The word leaps out before I can control it, startling all of us. This woman is not going to stand here and tell me she's gone. I won't allow it. She lays her hand on my arm, but I shrug it off.

"The doctors were able to get her heart restarted here in the emergency department. Doctors noted that the stab wound to her abdomen was deep but had not produced as much blood on her clothing or body as one would expect. An ultrasound confirmed internal bleeding. She was typed and started on a transfusion, and as soon as her blood pressure was stable enough, she was taken upstairs to surgery."

She was up and moving around, talking to Costanza. She was fine. I missed it. How did I miss it? How did I not see it? I turned my back on her, sent her off on her own, when she needed me. I wasn't there when she needed me.

The woman continues to talk, and I vaguely hear Bones offer up that several of the men are blood type O-, Steph's blood type. Universal donor, specific recipient; unique, like Babe. So giving, but rarely accepting. Internal bleeding. My thoughts turn to all the possibilities, and none of them are good. I should be questioning the nurse and getting the details, not Bones. My voice refuses to work, and my body doesn't cooperate when I tell it to move its ass upstairs to the surgical waiting room. The sound of my heart beating has to be loud enough for them to hear, but they don't even look my way. Full arrest. Babe has the biggest heart, accepting us, accepting me, with all my failings. All the things I've said, and didn't say, flash through me. With a start, I realize the woman is gone and Bones is ending a phone call.

"Ranger?"

I slowly turn my head to him, trying in vain to get my body to work.

"Bobby's on his way here and will do what he can to get upstairs and get information. Tank is organizing the men to come in for blood donation and setting up a guard duty rotation. Manny and Binkie are already at the blood bank to give. Les and Woody have detoured to the Burg to pick up Bomber's family and get them here before the rumors start. They should be incoming in less than fifteen. Ram is in command at Haywood and has things covered. Cal and Hal were tasked with tracking down Joey Fratelli. Is there anything else you need me to set up?"

"I need the room."

"Yes, sir."

Bones doesn't hesitate to head for the door, and I know I can count on him to stand sentry on the other side until I come out. The sound of the door latching is like a gunshot, and it finally startles me out of inertia, but all I can manage is a few steps before I slide down the wall. There's a crushing weight in my chest, making it hard to breath. This is not how our story is supposed to end. I'm supposed to have more time.