A/N: This chapter includes one of the voting options for the November Writing Challenge for the Janet Evanovich Fan Fiction Facebook page. It wasn't the winner but I decided to include it anyway.

Dialogue Prompt: "Are you scared?" "No, I have this terrified look on my face because I'm having so much fun."

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Chapter Fourteen

Stephanie fought her way back towards consciousness, inching towards the surface. A far away voice drifted around her and she clawed her way towards it. The feeling of warmth and safety surrounded her, but try as she might, she didn't have the energy to open her eyes. The pain in her head drowned out her thoughts. She stopped struggling towards the surface and let herself go back under, away from the blinding pain into the silent abyss.

Someone was shaking her and Stephanie desperately wanted to tell them to stop before her brain rattled out of her ears, but her tongue felt like a wad of cotton in her dry mouth. Every time they shook her, her brain knocked against her skull and pain lanced through her eyeball. She would scream if she had the energy.

The shaking was persistent. "Babe, come on, wake up."

Stephanie recognized that deep, rich voice. It was a good voice, a kind one. She forced herself to move towards it.

"Babe, I need you to wake up." Warm, powerful arms were holding her. Citrus and bergamot tingled her nose.

Stephanie slowly came awake, inching into the present. Her head throbbed in time with her pulse, but the pain was more tolerable. She popped one eye open and then the other. She blinked to clear her blurred vision, and Ranger's face swam into focus.

"Am I dead?" Stephanie croaked. If Ranger was there maybe she wouldn't mind so much.

Stephanie was pretty sure she wasn't, but the blinding pain in her head made her wish she was. Or at least passed out, but it was pretty clear Ranger would not allow that, and if he shook her one more time she might just have to punch him.

Ranger smiled at her like he knew her thoughts. He was cradling her against his chest as he gently stroked her head. He was doing that thing where he measured her heartrate and tunneled into her mind. This time she welcomed him inside. It felt calming like a gentle caress, taking away the throbbing pain and replacing it with some weird Zen energy. She should probably be afraid he'd discover the truth, but in this moment, she just didn't care if he knew she had fallen for him.

"You're fine." It was clear, she and Ranger had very different concepts of fine, and she wanted to tell him that, but she couldn't seem to form the words. Her vision might have cleared, but her mind was still a little fuzzy. She was in the church. Someone had bashed her in the head. It was coming back to her in vivid flashes. They needed to find Ashley.

Stephanie tried to sit up and her stomach roiled.

Ranger pushed her back down. "Easy. Roll to your side and sit up slowly, otherwise you'll be sick. You got bashed in the head pretty good. You probably have a mild concussion."

Stephanie's stomach felt like an angry sea, roiling and crashing. She focused on her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She was pretty sure she was going to be sick no matter how this went down, but she rolled onto her side anyway. A couple of minutes passed and Ranger helped her sit up. The world rocked and spun and she pressed her eyes closed as a fresh wave of nausea hit, causing her stomach to roll and pitch, as the world spun out around her. It took a minute, but the dizziness subsided. Stephanie cautiously opened her eyes and swallowed hard against the bile creeping up her throat.

She gingerly reached up and touched the back of her head, and winced. It was tender, and she palpated a goose-egg-sized lump. Her brain was going to be permanently scrambled if she took too many more blows to the head. She pulled her fingers away and looked at the blood.

"Minor cut." Ranger told her. His voice was very matter-of-fact.

She appreciated he didn't freak out that they hurt her. The tension in his shoulders and jaw told her he didn't like it, but he wasn't going all caveman. This was just a hazard of the job. Getting hurt happened with regularity and ranged from minor scrapes to more major mishaps. Most men she'd met over the years couldn't handle that aspect of her job. They thought she should be rolled in bubble wrap and put on the shelf like a trophy. One of the many reasons she'd given up dating.

Stephanie's eyes slowly scanned the room. Vivek, Viselli, and the other guard had all been double-tapped. One to the heart and one to the head. Not enough gunshots, she thought, her sluggish mind dredging up memories.

"Three. I heard three." Stephanie gave her head a shake and immediately regretted it. The ringing in her ears amplified again. Ranger gave her a questioning look.

She must have passed out before the shooter got to Vivek. Two of the shots to the guard with the mousy brown hair were hers. The one to the head wasn't. The bald guy was all the work of the unknown shooter. That was three. The blood pooling around Vivek was minimal, which suggested he'd been dead when he was shot. Whoever had shot him wasn't taking any chances. This was a professional hit.

"Is this your handiwork?" She asked Ranger.

Her voice sounded like a gong reverberating in her head and she squeezed her eyes shut as another round of dizziness swept through her, sweat beaded on her upper lip. She would not pass out again, and she would not puke in front of Ranger. She figured the odds were not in her favor.

"No, I thought it was you." Ranger replied. Concern etched in his voice.

Stephanie wasn't sure if it was because someone had taken them out permanently or if he suspected she might have a brain bleed that was affecting her memory.

"I shot that one in the chest." Stephanie pointed to the guard with the mousy brown hair. "And I kicked Vivek in the face. I don't know if he was dead."

They sat for a moment, both absorbing her words.

"Maybe it was Nikko." The method screamed pro.

"No, Nikko would have never left you unconscious on the floor." Ranger's voice was adamant, and the minute he said it, Stephanie knew he was right. Nikko would have never just left her.

A chill swept through Stephanie and she shivered. There was another player in the mix.

Les entered the room, eyes taking in the scene.

"You OK?" He asked Stephanie.

Stephanie nodded, and regretted that decision when a sharp pain stabbed through her head and her eyeball throbbed, but hey at least the ringing in her ears was gone.

"Yes," she whispered.

Les helped Ranger get her to her feet. Their firm hands steadied her as the room tilted around her.

"I'm gonna…"

Les grabbed her hair and Ranger held her tight. Stephanie bent over at the waist and threw-up. Some of it splashed on Ranger's boot and she was instantly mortified. Wasn't that just the damn cherry on the sundae. Nothing screamed romance like puke on your boots. Stephanie stayed bent over, her breathing ragged. This kind of weakness was a death knell for a woman in her business.

A minute passed and so did the nausea. She wiped her mouth on the back of her arm and stood up.

"Shit, I'm sorry guys." Stephanie started.

Les cracked the top and handed her a bottle of water he'd procured from somewhere. Stephanie swished to rinse her mouth and spit it out, making sure she missed Ranger's boot this time. His arms were still wrapped snugly around her.

"You lasted longer than I did." Les told her. "Last time I got bashed in the head. I puked on Ranger three times in the space of like ten minutes, and it wasn't any of that dainty puking like you just did. Nope, it was like Mount Vesuvius." Les shrugged and gave her a look that said shit like that happened all the time.

"Yeah, I had dried puke on my shirt for two days in the middle of the jungle thanks to Santos. It was a real picnic, but on the plus side even the bugs stayed away." Ranger deadpanned, giving Les a look like he still hadn't quite forgiven him for that little incident.

Stephanie couldn't help but smile. She was grateful to them both for taking it all in stride. Les was right. Shit like this happened all the time. The problem, women didn't have the luxury of showing weakness.

"Ashley." Stephanie whispered.

Les gave a negative shake of his head. "Nothing yet."

"She's here, I know it. I think she's upstairs." Stephanie told them. "Let's go. We need to find her."

Les' gaze swept her from head-to-toe assessing her. "I'll go. You need a minute. Ranger, stay with her." The command in his voice was clear.

Stephanie watched as Les, the take charge soldier, came to the surface. All traces of easy going, goofy Les were gone. He was in full-on predator mode, and any thought that he was any less skilled or deadly than Ranger went right out the door with him.

"Can you walk?" Ranger asked.

"Yeah, I'm good." At least, she hoped she was. She figured the odds were pretty high she would end up doing a face-plant. Ranger eyed her with a fair amount of skepticism for a minute.

"Come on."

He kept one arm around Stephanie and in the other hand, he held his gun. Stephanie heard the faint sound of gunshots and then silence as Ranger pulled her into the hall and down the stairs.

Les made his way up the tiny, winding staircase that led to the upper level towards the attic and the belfry. Scanning and listening as he went. The guards on the lower level had been neutralized, but without a count, he had no idea what awaited him at the top of the staircase. He was entirely exposed. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. A guard appeared at the top of the staircase, and Les didn't hesitate. He went down with a loud thump and rolled down the stairs, damn near taking Les out with him.

Great, so much for stealth. Les waited for a beat. No shouts, no boots scraping on the floor, no sound at all. Les wondered if maybe Stephanie had been wrong and Ashley wasn't up here. What if she was already dead? Hell, maybe she had never been here. Anger twisted through Les' gut and he forced himself to push it aside. Anger wouldn't find Ashley.

While losing her might be a mission failure, the other women they saved were just as important, even if their uncles weren't senators. Les focused on that as he topped the stairs. The narrow hall was deserted and a faint glow emanated from under the door at the far end of the hall.

As he crept closer, he could see the lock on the outside of the door and his pulse kicked up. Whatever was on the other side, someone was trying to keep it locked in. Les made quick work of the lock and took a deep breath before swinging the door open.

Whatever he had been expecting, this wasn't it.

The first thing that assailed him was the stench. It was a heady combination of sweat and human filth mixed with terror and desperation. His nostrils flared at the assault, and he swallowed down a gag.

His eyes landed on the sole occupant of the tiny room, and Les was pretty sure his mouth had popped open like the rank idiot he was. A chain around her neck anchored a dark-haired woman to the wall. She had maybe ten feet of chain to move around. He recognized her as Ashley Ryan, and his gut gave a little flip. She'd broken a chair, the sole piece of furniture in the room, and was holding a leg like a baseball bat. Her eyes were wild and her chest was heaving with each breath. She was nude except for a tattered bra. She was fierce and magnificent.

"Stay away from me you fucker." She barked menacing him with her makeshift bat.

Les gave his head a little shake to clear it. He'd been expecting a cowering, catatonic woman, not this fiery creature. Not after he'd seen the video. He felt bile rise at the thought and swallowed hard. What they had done to her had been horrific and barbaric. The image permanently seared into his brain.

Les shut the door behind him. He wasn't in the mood for any unannounced visitors to this little party. He quickly holstered his gun and held up his hands.

"Take it easy. I'm Les Santos, and I'm here to take you home." Les was using the same voice one might use with a charging bull. He moved towards her slowly, arms out, palms up.

He could tell she was weighing the information. Her nostrils flared, and she eyed him with open suspicion.

Les kept his eyes locked on her face.

"You're safe. I'm here to take you home." Les repeated as he took another tentative step forward.

He could see the slight tremor in her arms. He had no idea how she was holding her makeshift bat, let alone on her feet. He could see blood, bruises, and burns on her body. Her hair was a matted mess, yet somehow, she still managed to look breathtaking. Her blue eyes clear. He could see the fear and the determination in them. The thought that someone had hurt her caused unexpected anger to surge through him. He would make sure every last one of them pay for touching her, hurting her. The rage that boiled in his blood surprised him. Les had seen plenty of trafficked and abused women over the years and always had empathy for them, but this was different. He shook the feeling off and focused back on Ashley.

"Come on, Ashley, put the bat down. Let me help you." He kept repeating her name and his mantra hoping to get through to her. He was here to help her, not hurt her.

Her arms suddenly gave out and she dropped the bat like it weighed a ton, and in the next second her eyes rolled back and she collapsed. Les caught her before she hit the floor and pulled her tight against him, easing her to the ground.

"You're going to be OK." He murmured as he stroked her hair. "I've got you."

Her eyes fluttered open and her body stiffened; her gaze momentarily unfocused. "Just relax. You're safe." He kept repeating.

The tension in her eased with each stroke of his hand over her hair. She wasn't quite safe just yet, but he would make sure she was or die trying. A wave of protectiveness swept over him with such ferocity he figured it was a good thing he was already on his knees, because his legs felt like jelly.

Les worked on the collar around her neck, fiddling with and picking the lock. The seconds ticked by, frustration making his fingers clumsy. After what seemed like an eternity, he freed her from the collar. The heavy chain hit the floor with a thud reverberating in the small room. He felt her flinch at the sound and a little sigh escaped her lips. His thumb brushed absently over the red, chafed skin underneath. Another surge of pure rage poured through his veins. He wanted to make the bastards that did this suffer.

Les pulled a bottle of water from his pack and dribbled some of it into her mouth. He watched her swallow. He could tell it was painful. Her throat swollen and abraded from the collar. Her voice hoarse, probably from screaming. The sound of her screams echoed through his head, and he squeezed his eyes closed for a moment to make them stop. That would be the soundtrack of his nightmares for the foreseeable future. Of that, he was sure.

His gaze drifted down her body. While there was a good amount of dried blood crusted on her thighs, she didn't seem to be actively bleeding, which Les hoped was a good sign. Relief swept through him. Gunshots, stab wounds, Les was your guy. Something like this he was at a total loss.

"So, Les Santos," she rasped. "You got any pants in that pack."

"No, ma'am, but we'll get you a pair real soon. I promise."

A small ghost of a smile drifted across her face, and Les was pretty sure his heart broke. She was so brave and resilient, it tore at something deep inside of him. Something he thought was dead and buried. Les worked to keep his expression neutral, but he was afraid she could feel his heart galloping in his chest.

She struggled to sit up, and Les helped her into a sitting position. He stood up and moved back from her, giving her space. He immediately missed the contact. The feel of her nestled up against his chest like she had been made just for him. She'd fit so perfectly. Les pretty much wanted to smack himself on the back of the head. What the hell was wrong with him? Triage the situation and work the problem. That's what he needed to do, not think about how soft her skin was or how right it felt to hold her, or how much he wanted to protect her from anything that might harm her. God, this was rapidly veering into creepy guy territory.

Les stripped off his windbreaker and helped her into it, taking care not to jostle her too much, look at anything below the neck, or accidentally touch any off-limits body part. It took a minute but he managed it. Zipping it up was the hardest part. He had the damn thing pulled away from her body as far as it would go. His hands were shaking so hard it took him three tries to thread the zipper. Her soft hands reached out and wrapped around his stilling him. Their eyes locked and Les felt sweat pool at the base of his spine as he looked into those gorgeous baby blue eyes so full of trust and gratitude.

"Sorry," Les mumbled and broke eye contact. "I think I've got it now."

He gave the zipper a good yank and zipped it up to her chin.

"Are you trying to strangle me?" She groused and pulled the zipper back down a couple of inches.

The jacket didn't cover near enough, but it was the best he could do. The sleeves were far too long, and he helped her roll them up to her elbows.

"Better?" He asked.

"Yeah, that's good."

She gave him a small tentative smile. Les handed her the water, and she gulped it down, some of it dribbling down her chin. It took everything he had not to reach up and use his thumb to wipe away the little rivulet that made its way down her throat.

Christ, what the fuck was wrong with him? Les yanked his eyes away from her, stood up, and looked at the ceiling. She had been beat, starved, and assaulted. Now was not the time to be fixated on the elegant curve of her neck or those lush full lips that looked pillowy soft. Les took a couple of calming breaths and looked back down at her with the intention of clinical assessment. Nothing more.

With each second, her color seemed to improve, her strength and resolve coming to the surface. Les wanted to give her more time, but time was the one thing they didn't have.

He crouched down and held out his arms. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

Ashley leaned away from him and gave him a look like he was just shy of stupid. "What are you doing?"

Les was confused. "I'm going to get you out of here." He repeated. Filing through his memory wondering if maybe her injuries could cause short-term memory loss.

"Yes, you said that, and I'm going to walk, now help me up."

"Angel." Les winced and wanted to bite his own tongue. Shit, where had that come from? Les didn't do pet names, and certainly not with a hostage. Maybe Les was the one with the damn head injury. He barely managed not to roll his eyes at his own stupidity.

"Let me help you. You're injured. You don't have on any shoes." Or clothes, but he left that part out. They both seemed to be fully aware of that fact. He used the same voice he did with his nieces and nephews when he told them to wash their hands or stop fighting. It worked about as well on Ashley.

Her chin tilted up defiantly. "Yeah, no. I'm going to walk out of here."

Ashley wobbled to her feet with stubborn determination and Les put out a hand to steady her. She clutched his arm for balance and gave herself a minute before she let go. The warmth of her touch burned through his sleeve. She gave the windbreaker a little tug to pull it down as far as it would go. Not that either of them figured it would make much difference. The windbreaker hit at the top of her thighs barely covering her lady parts and Les kept his eyes averted from anything below her neck. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable. The windbreaker might not be much but at least it gave her a little coverage thank fuck.

A beat went by and she stared at him. He saw her stand up a little straighter and the windbreaker climbed precariously higher. He knew that had to hurt. If he'd taken that many blows to the gut, he would be hunched over for a week.

OK, so they were really going to do this, wasn't that just ducky. The set of her shoulders and the look of determination on her face told him arguing would only be a waste of breath. Ashley was as stubborn as a mule and clearly used to getting her own way.

"Stay behind me at all times. Hang on to me, and if I tell you to do something, do it. No questions asked." Les instructed.

"Got it." Ashley replied. "Give me a gun."

Les was pretty sure his eyebrows had climbed into his hairline. "Do you know how to use a gun?" Les asked, supremely impressed something seriously stupid hadn't just popped out of his mouth like are you fucking nuts.

"Of course, I know how to use a gun." Ashley snapped.

Les debated the wisdom of giving her a gun for a few seconds and then handed her his back-up, sending up a brief prayer that he didn't get shot in the ass in addition to getting it kicked. Ranger was for sure going to beat his ass for this one, but Ashley needed to take back some level of control, and Les wasn't about to tell her no. He watched closely. She seemed at ease with the gun and he relaxed a little.

He realized he knew precious little about Ashley other than someone had abducted her and she was Senator Ryan's niece. Usually, they had extensive background on the target, but in this case, there had been no time. He had a feeling he was going to regret that oversight. This woman had managed to surprise him three times in the space of five minutes, and nothing much ever surprised Les. He'd carried grown men out of the jungle because their minds had broken in captivity. He'd been stabbed by hostages because they were afraid to leave their captors, and he'd been shot by an eleven-year-old boy. What he'd never done was given a hostage a gun, but then there seemed to be a lot of firsts for Les on this one, including the almost overwhelming desire to take her in his arms, followed closely by his inability to get his brain and mouth engaged at the same time.

Ashley curled her hand into the back of his cargo pants just above his utility belt. Les felt his dick twitch at the contact and thought he had to be the biggest pervert in the world. She was beautiful and fierce, but she had been traumatized. He had no business thinking anything about her other than getting her to safety. Period.

They started towards the door just as a burst of gunfire erupted. He felt her flinch and heard her startled gasp.

Les looked back at her. "Are you scared?"

Ashley gave Les a look that said she clearly thought he was dumb as a rock. The minute it was out of his mouth, Les knew how asinine his question was. Les thought Ashley might be doing rocks an injustice.

"No, I have this terrified look on my face because I'm having so much fun." Ashley hissed. "Of course, I'm scared, I'd be an idiot not to be."

"That's good angel. Fear is good, it keeps you alive." Les gave her a smile. "You ready?"

"What about the man?" Ashley's voice trembled, and she started again. "The man that took me. Is he still out there?"

"He's dead." Les said without inflection.

Ashley searched his face. "I want to see his body. I have to."

Les wasn't sure what to do. He understood her need, but he wasn't sure it would help. He didn't want to traumatize her further by taking her to see a dead body riddled with bullets.

"Please Les. I need to see it for myself. I need to know he's dead. I'm afraid if I don't, I'll always be looking over my shoulder wondering."

Her plea cut straight through him like a dull knife. Les nodded. "OK, but it's not pretty."

"Death never is." She said dully.

Les figured there was a lot more to that story, but right now he didn't have time to dwell on it.

"Good to go?" He asked.

Her lip twitched up. "As good as I'll ever be, I imagine. Now, get me out of here Les Santos."

"Yes ma'am."

They made their way down the hall. Shouting and gunfire greeted them from below.

Two tangoes materialized out of the shadows. One got off a shot, the other one didn't. They both went down. The familiar smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air. Somehow, it was a comforting scent. Les wondered just how fucked up that made him.

The sound of another gunshot echoed behind Les and in that split second, he realized Ashley wasn't holding on to him anymore. Terror ripped through him, stealing his breath.

He whipped around and found Ashley standing over a dead guard with one perfect bullet hole between his eyes. Her breath was coming in quick pants, but her stance was perfect and her hands were steady.

Les ran his hand down her arm and gently pried the gun out of her hands. Ashley had just saved his ass and hers.

"You OK?" He was surprised his voice didn't come out sounding like Mickey Mouse. Fear of losing her had gripped his throat, cutting off all the oxygen to his brain. Little stars danced in his vision. Les pulled in a deep breath.

"I've never killed anyone before. I thought it would be harder." She sounded bewildered and confused.

"It was self-defense." Les stated mechanically.

Les decided now wasn't the time to get into the fact you never got over killing someone, whether it was your first time or the forty-third. You always wished you didn't have to, and you always regretted it even when you knew that person would have ended your life without a second thought. Killing was a deeply personal experience. Some people went numb, some became emboldened, but most people just lived in denial and did whatever it took to keep the nightmares at bay. Les figured Ashley was going to have plenty of those.

"That was a nice shot." Les said instead.

"I won the regional sharp shooter championship two years ago." Ashley replied absently, still staring at the dead guard.

That revelation barely even registered on Les' surprise meter, which was a sure indicator how out-of-control this whole situation between them really was. He gently took her arm and pulled her towards him and away from the dead man staring sightlessly at the ceiling. She didn't need to waste one more minute looking at that piece of trash. Ashley wrapped her arms around Les' middle and hugged him. He stood there for a moment stunned, arms out, his brain not sure what to do. His body, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what to do as he wrapped his arms around her. He immediately thought pulling her flush against his body might be a bad idea, and he moved to let go. She made a muffled sound of protest and burrowed deeper into his arms. Les just held her, his hand gently stroking down her back, as the vise around his heart squeezed tighter cutting off his rational brain.

"You're OK." Les was beginning to think he was a broken record with an extremely limited vocabulary.

He could hear Jack, Luca, and Nikko reporting out. The church was clear, and the women were being freed.

Les led Ashley down the tiny narrow stairs, doing his best not to notice the cheeks of her perfect heart shaped ass as they made their way down the rickety spiral staircase. Les was pretty sure he officially hated himself for having thoughts about her ass and suppressed a little sigh.

Les, the king of bad timing, yep that was him.

He made good on his promise and led her into the room where Vivek's body lay sprawled on the floor. When they entered, she put her arm up over her nose, physically recoiling from the pervasive stench. Between the gunpowder, death, and vomit, it was pretty rank.

Ashley peered over at Vivek, studying his lifeless form for a minute. Les watched her intently. He wondered what she was thinking. He thought she might faint or at least puke, but she seemed more intent on making sure he was really dead. Her face was completely blank and a flutter of unease beat through him. He really wanted to rush her out the door, but instinctively he knew she needed to process the surrounding scene.

A minute went by and she turned to Les with the same blank look still firmly on her face. "I'm ready."

Les just nodded. Ashley reached out and took his hand. A little tingle went up his arm at her touch and Les ruthlessly stamped it out. Not the time Santos, he reminded himself. This was just about comfort. Nothing else.

He intertwined his fingers with hers and they made their way down the stairs and outside into the cool night air. Someone handed him a blanket and he reluctantly let go of her hand. He shook it out and wrapped it around her thinking it should be softer. She deserved nothing less than the gentlest, softest, most luxurious touch. Les immediately thought he'd gone soft in the head. The wrong one apparently as a bolt of electricity rocketed up his arm as his fingers brushed over her skin.

She gave him a smile. "Thanks, but you still owe me some pants."

Les smiled back. "Yes ma'am. I always keep my promises."

He tried to step away from her but she stayed glued to his side watching the chaos around them unfold. Les counted twenty-two women huddled outside. Some looked shell shocked, others were crying, all of them filthy and bruised.

Les kind of wanted to resurrect Vivek just so he could kill him again. That bastard had died far too easy.

Things were wrapping up and soon Ashley would be on her way home. Les felt a little tug in his gut that felt an awful lot like loss. He didn't know what to make of it so he did what he usually did and just ignored the nagging little voice in his head telling him something about this woman was different.