Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.
Warning: Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.
Chapter 9
Ranger's POV
I retired for bed at 2200, as I do every night, but two hours later, I'm still staring at the ceiling. I can't shake the feeling that something bad is about to happen. When I returned to Rangeman at 1800, I looked for Tank, but he was already gone for the day. I'm not looking forward to permanently severing my relationship with a now former best friend, but I have never been a man to shy away from doing the right thing even if it isn't the easy thing. What Tank has done cannot be repaired easily, and I'm not sure he will ever understand the damage he has wrought this past year.
I returned to the office after my conversation with Stephanie to continuing planning Tank's buy-out. Rangeman has a relatively decentralized structure, and we work similar to a franchise model. The heads of each of the branches autonomously run the business in that region under the governing corporate guidance from headquarters. We are a privately held company with myself as the CEO, and the Core Team forms the Board. Quarterly I lead a meeting with the Core Team and the heads of each of the branches. Right now, it works that I visit a different region each quarter for an onsite inspection, and that is augmented with less formal visits as needed. When I'm gone on a mission, Tank takes over my Rangeman responsibilities, and Lester takes over my Core Team responsibilities. Tank and Lester split the number two duties, and team members from other branches will temporarily transfer to Trenton if the workload becomes too great.
Miami was the first branch, and Trenton opened a year later. Lester and I have family and professional connections in both areas. The Trenton office was more difficult to start-up than I anticipated, and the Core Team ended up relocating to the New Jersey branch to ensure its success. The original plan was for the Miami branch, which is larger, to be Rangeman headquarters, and I would be the head of that office, and Tank would take the helm of the head of the Trenton office.
Lester had the option of being the head of the Atlanta or Boston branches, but he stated he would rather work alongside me and focus on his Core Team responsibilities and that he preferred living near family, whether that was Trenton or Miami. Lester has always been willing and able to step into a leadership role when called upon, but he privately told me he finds the burden of leadership stressful and isolating, preferring to take on a lower position in the hierarchy happily. He said it was one of the reasons he was willing to leave the military; he was slated to take command in his next assignment and didn't want to assume that burden.
When the Atlanta office opened about a year and a half after the Trenton branch was established, I offered the number one slot to Tank, but he declined, saying he was already settled in Trenton. Rangeman Trenton, in no small part to Hector's work negotiating cooperation between the gangs and Rangeman, had begun to thrive. The Boston office opened six months after that. I started to notice disparities between the different branches, and I made the decision to halt our expansion until we became better established in our markets.
Rangeman has always sought to serve higher-end clientele with a reputation for being the best preceding us. I found that due to a lack of standardization that impacted quality control, that reputation was waning. I spent the next two years going through our lessons learned and establishing the governing guidance the branches use to form the basis of their operations and procedures. I also continued to execute various missions for the government, and while that income helped keep Rangeman afloat in the early years and fund the startup of the Atlanta and Boston branches, it was also a reason for me to slow Rangeman's expansion.
It was two months after the Atlanta office opened that I met Stephanie, and the Boston office opened up four months after that. In hindsight, I think Tank was still banking on me returning to Miami to be near Julie when he declined the position at Atlanta. Opening a new branch is a lot of work, and life was easier for Tank in Trenton. In fairness, I offered the Boston office to Lester and Bobby, both of whom declined. Lester and Bobby stated they felt the company ran better if the Core Team remained headquartered at a single location, and that, if we continued to expand, future heads of branches should be non-Core Team members. We took a majority vote, and it became part of company bylaws. Tank dissented, but unless I stepped aside as the number one of Trenton, he no longer had the option of leading a Rangeman branch.
I can only speculate that somewhere along the way, Tank began to blame Stephanie for me never moving to Miami, ignoring the fact that Rangeman bylaws officially made Trenton company headquarters after the Boston vote. That bitterness festered deep inside him. With Tank having an extended reign over the Trenton branch during my eleven-month deployment, he knew that at some point he would have to step aside again. His love of power grew alongside his hatred of giving it up, and once again Steph unjustly became the object of blame.
I phoned the heads of the Boston, Atlanta, and Miami Rangeman offices. One by one, I was told a similar story. They were each glad I was home and wondered if I had taken back control of the company. It appears Tank tried to push his illegal labor practices to the other branches, but since it didn't come in the form of official Rangeman policy thanks to Lester's interference, they ignored the orders. However, since Rangeman's reputation both as an employer and in client care has declined so much at headquarters, it is having an impact on their branches. While no location has seen as big of a loss as Trenton, the company as a whole is suffering. I informed them of my plan to buy-out Tank, pre-emptively pay the inevitable fines from the Department of Labor, and present a settlement to everyone affected by Tank's policies. I reiterated that I had resigned from my government contract work and that my sole professional focus was Rangeman. Their relief was palatable.
I then began catching up on e-mails and reviewing past operational reports. I started with the oldest, and I stopped about halfway through. It's obvious, even in the impersonal text, that clients, vendors, and employees are disgruntled. Tanks "All-Hands" e-mail blasts are a critical record of his unlawful policies, but they are difficult to read.
I glance at the clock and see it's 2000 when Lester pokes his head into my door. "Did you eat?" he asks. I shake my head no. "It'll still be there tomorrow, Ranger. Your place or mine?" he says suggestively, waggling his eyebrows. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.
Lester is right. Keeping things in balance is important. "Seven," I say, and he follows me up the stairs.
I open the door, and a meal for two is waiting on the kitchen table. "I know you so well," Lester teases, and I shake my head. Ella prepared one of my favorite comfort food meals. It's cliched, but I love Ropa Vieja with black beans, yellow rice, and fried plantains. I'm sure Steph would be shocked to see the limited number of vegetables on my plate. I know without looking there is flan set aside in the fridge.
"Ella loves you," Lester says before taking a big bite. "God, this is delicious."
I laugh, relax, and enjoy the meal. Lester and I clean up before grabbing a beer and settling onto the couch to mindlessly watch TV. "I called my financial advisor," Lester says suddenly. "I'm going to help you buy out Tank. I have a little more than $2 million in my reserves. It's only around 3%, but it has to help."
I look at Lester in surprise. "Thank you," I say, humbled, and clasp a hand on his shoulder.
By all accounts, things haven't great in Trenton since I returned from my mission, but I do see things improving already. Stephanie is listening and responding. I have a way forward with Rangeman. So why can't I sleep?
My phone rings, and I know it isn't going to be good news. "Yo," I bark, heading into the closet to pull on my combat gear.
"Estefania triggered her panic button," Hector says rapidly in Spanish. "I'll be waiting in the garage in two minutes," and he hangs up. Out of habit, I always have a ready set of tactical gear laid out, and I'm dressed and fully loaded in one minute. I run out of the apartment and meet Lester in the stairwell.
Hector is in the driver's seat of the Cayenne, and the garage door is open. He speeds out the moment I enter the passenger seat and Lester slams the rear door closed.
"Her tracker places her in the 609 Club, off of State Street," Hector says as Lester, and I finish setting up our comms equipment. "I called Estefania's phone; there's no answer. Did Connie tell you anything?" Hector finishes reporting, looking at the rearview mirror at Lester.
"No," Lester says tersely, shaking his head. He's about the say more when my phone rings.
"Babe," I answer immediately, but deliberately channel a calm voice honed from years of practice in crisis situations.
"I'm sorry," Steph replies, and her voice sounds so forlorn that my stomach twists. Why does she feel the need to apologize? There's a part of me that's afraid she's going to do something rash, and I won't be there in time.
"It's okay," I say, injecting as much comfort as I can. It won't help anyone if Steph panics. "I'm coming. Tell me where you are," I continue, hoping she can provide us some specifics about her situation.
"609 Club. Oscar Sanchez is FTA. I," Steph says, her voice laced with regret and self-loathing. "I couldn't do it. When I tried to leave, I was intercepted. I'm locked in a room on the second level, third door down on the right." Couldn't do what? It sounds like an apprehension gone wrong, but my gut says there is something more at play here.
"We're five minutes out, Babe. Keep talking to me," I respond, and Lester grabs my phone, placing it on mute and speaker.
"Fuck!" Lester exclaims. "We should have been notified Sanchez was FTA again." Lester looks enraged, but Hector looks murderous.
"Focus," I order. "What do I need to know?" There is a history here.
"Beautiful stole Sanchez's file from Vinnie about three months ago. Hector found out, and I intercepted Sanchez earlier that day. We made a deal. He agreed to go with me easily if I arranged security for his bar for two months. I didn't have the capture paperwork or a team with me, and a forcible takedown of Sanchez is risky. He's well-protected in that bar. I knew he was asking for security to cover the receipt and dispersal of a large cocaine and meth shipment, but it was either that or to endanger Stephanie. I agreed. When I arrived that night to take him in, Beautiful was already there in the middle of her set-up. I believe she was running a distraction job on her own, no tactics off limits," Lester reports.
I clench my jaw at the intense level of emotions that arise. I never run a distraction with less than six people and a complete planning process. For Steph to proceed solo shows a profound disregard for her safety.
"Steph was livid I stole her skip, and that was the night I confronted her in the alley, and she fought back. Capturing Sanchez is personal for her," Lester says.
"I saw Estefania a few hours ago, and she was agitated. She wasn't in a good place to be going out on an apprehension," Hector says tersely, and my chest tightens further. Tonight is partially my fault. I thought that walking away to give her space was best, but it seems I misread the situation.
"I'm not going to mince words, Ranger," Hector states. "Angelita uses sex as punishment and as a means to an end. Know that, and be careful how you respond when you see her tonight. She's rattled. I'm guessing she was going to use the same approach as last time, but something happened, and she wanted to walk away. These aren't guys who take no for an answer," Hector finishes tersely, clutching the wheel tightly. I hear what Hector and Lester are telling me, and I don't allow myself the indulgence of an emotional reaction. My focus is on the task at hand.
"Patrol is en route and will arrive on the scene as we do," Lester reports, looking up from his phone. "Once we rendezvous with them, I'll take point and apprehend Sanchez. His number 2, Caesar Flores, will also be subdued. I've noted he has a special interest in Beautiful and is likely involved. Rodriguez is running a search on him now, and we'll take him down to the station if anything pops. Otherwise, I'll send a message. Ranger, Hector, you secure Stephanie. The preference is to take her car and return to her apartment. Tonight is the first time she's asked for help, and it will be important to her to maintain some level of privacy," Lester finishes hurriedly. "Hopefully, she'll finally tell someone what's been going on," he says more to himself than anyone else, and I set my lips in a thin line.
"Agreed," I state firmly. I hear rustling on the phone as Hector parks the car on a side street a block away from the bar. I see patrol approaching from the opposite direction.
"Don't get shot," Steph says quietly, and it seems her connection with me is as strong as ever. I take the phone off mute and speaker before opening the car door.
"Don't go crazy," I reply, launching myself into the night and hanging up.
"There's a back exit to the bar we can access via this pedestrian alleyway," Hal reports, flanked by Woody and Zip, and we quickly spread out and secure the space before abruptly entering the bar. I peel off with Hector covering my rear, using the disruption Lester and his team is providing to find Steph.
I take the stairs three at a time and approach the door Steph indicated. I test the knob, and when I see it requires a key to open, I throw my body at the faux wood door. It gives way immediately. I scan the room for Stephanie, unconsciously holding my breath as I search the space looking for her. Our eyes connect as she lowers her weapon, and I'm overcome with relief to see her standing and cognitive enough to defend herself.
Without thinking, I pull her against me and kiss the top of her hair. It's true that Steph's wardrobe has changed, and that her appearance gives her a hardened edge, but all I see are the blue eyes that, for just a second, flash brightly with hope. I could care less about what she's wearing or what she was doing. My Babe is with me now.
I verbally verify she is ambulatory, and we quickly exit through the front. Steph parked her car at the curb, and I provide cover while Hector secures Stephanie in the backseat, and we both sprint to the passenger side and speed away before we attract any additional unwanted attention. It isn't until we are a mile away that I begin to relax.
I look Stephanie over more carefully. Her posture is rigid, and she has her arms wrapped around her frame, still grasping her S&W. I have the impression she's holding herself together.
"Sanchez?" she asks, her voice wavering, and I slowly move closer to her.
"Lester is bringing him in," I reply evenly. Steph's gaze is unfocused, and her breathing is becoming shallower and wheezy. She's trembling slightly, and I subtly indicate to Hector to turn up the heat.
I wish I knew what Stephanie is thinking right now, and I'm beginning to understand Hector and Lester's frustrations. Then, as though she can read my mind, she mutters, "You guys do care." Hector's breath catches, and before I can formulate a response, Stephanie's emotions explode. The cry that erupts originates in her soul, and my primal instinct to protect and care for her rises within me.
I'm afraid of scaring her if I move too quickly, and I'm mindful that she's still armed. I gently place my hand over the one grasping the revolver, and thankfully, Steph allows me to take custody of it without resistance. I exhale a small sigh of relief while passing the weapon to Hector, who places it in the center console armrest storage, out of Steph's reach.
With that, I repress every urge in my body to hold my Babe as tightly as possible, and slowly place my arms on her shoulder blades, applying slight pressure to lean her towards me. She immediately sags against my chest, and I encircle my arms around her and tuck my nose in her hair. Steph reaches a hand out to Hector, resting it on his right shoulder. I see him rest his left palm on top of her fingers from my periphery vision, and Stephanie's walls crash down.
Her fingers clutch my thigh, and I sense that she's trying to desperately hold onto the present as she loses herself in her memories. She begins to cry "I'm sorry," over and over again as though she were begging for forgiveness that is seemingly out of reach.
"It's okay, Babe. You're safe," I attempt to soothe. "You can let it out." I can feel her approach the tipping point of beginning to calm when Steph stiffens. She squeezes her eyes tightly closed, and she pulls back, sitting upright. She begins to plead sorrowfully, "No, stop," while clamping her hands over her ears and giving small shakes of her head.
My chest constricts so tightly that it sends pins and needles through my hands and feet. My Babe is in real distress, and I'm desperately praying Hector and I find a way to keep her from closing us out again. I know she is retreating into herself, and I feel helpless to prevent it. "Babe, Stephanie," I say slightly louder, trying to get her to open her eyes.
Hector pulls into Stephanie's garage and shuts off the vehicle before unbuckling and turning in his seat to face me. Hector and Stephanie have forged a friendship in her year of need while I've been on the other side of the world, and he understands the woman before me better than I do right now. He looks between us and rapidly moves around the Honda to open Steph's side. "Babe," I try again, placing my hands over hers. Her eyes fly open, but her gaze is wild and unfocused. She begins pushing away, and I move my hands but keep them open in front of me to appear as unthreatening as possible.
I look beyond the door and observe Hector crouched on the other side. Steph begins scrambling to get out of the backseat, but she's unsteady, and Hector moves to support her as she looks around, trying to get her bearings. "Estefania," I hear Hector say loudly. She stops swiveling her head and locks on him with a confused expression. I rapidly move so that I'm behind her, but I keep a small distance. Steph rubs her ears again, and I know where I've seen people do that before.
If someone fires a weapon without hearing protection in close quarters or is repeatedly exposed to loud sounds, they can develop tinnitus, a ringing tone in the ears. With guys who struggle with the aftermath of a combat situation, the ringing becomes associated with the experience and stress. I'm guessing Stephanie can't hear us, and it's adding to her confusion and distress.
"Estefania," Hector tries again, and Steph rubs her ears once and stills, her eyes locked on Hector. She nods her understanding, and I can tell she's gaining a better grasp of her surroundings, and it's grounding her.
Hector unlocks the door, and I enter first, clearing the space with my weapon drawn. It takes me about two seconds to clear her apartment because it is so small. I place myself against the far wall to give Stephanie as much freedom of movement as possible, but she stands in the space between the bathroom and closet looking lost. Hector is between her and the exit, and he glances at me for leadership.
"Babe," I try again, and her eyes shift between Hector and myself. I look at Hector. "She can't hear us. I'm guessing tinnitus amplified by stress. What does she normally do when she comes home? What's her routine?" I direct my questions at Hector.
Hector looks back to Stephanie. "Estefania, I'm going to help you take off your jacket," he says, moving slowly with his hands in front of him. She watches him warily but accepts his aid as he slides the leather off of her shoulders and hangs it onto a hook near the door. Hector pulls her keys out of his pocket and makes a show of hanging it on a nail protruding from the narrow wall between the kitchen and front door. I see Steph relax, and I let out a small breath.
Stephanie bends to begin unzipping her boots, but the movement is stiff. Hector crouches and resumes the task for her. I'm surprised when Steph pulls a switchblade out of a pocket inside each boot. Hector takes them silently and reaches behind to pass them to me when Steph looks away while stepping out of the shoes. I set them next to Rex and place my weapon beside it. If disarming is how Steph feels safe and relaxes, I am going to join her. She looks at me directly for the first time since I entered her apartment. I slowly unzip my flak jacket while reassessing her. Steph looks small, vulnerable, and sad, and I'm not sure my heart will survive this night.
Hector places his Kevlar jacket on the ground next to mine. "Estefania needs to change her clothes," Hector says, opening a kitchen cupboard. I would laugh right now if the situation weren't so serious; only Stephanie would use the kitchen to store clothes. "Do you trust her alone?"
"Is there anything she can use in the bathroom to hurt herself?" I reply quietly. "I don't want to invade her privacy further and potentially spook her."
Hector sets the clothes down on the toilet and does a quick sweep of the bathroom. He stealthily removes her razor from the shower before standing in front of Steph again. "Angelita, any other weapons?" he asks. I raise an eyebrow. That dress is so small and tight, and my Babe was always so opposed to weapons, it's hard for me to imagine her being any more armed than she was. On top of that, I realize, I don't even know what else she had hidden in her jacket.
I watch in sobering astonishment as Steph removes three razor blades from a fold of fabric. Hector leads Steph into the bathroom, and she responds quickly to his direction. Hector immediately moves to the jacket and pulls out a second gun, third knife, and a set of handcuffs. He rapidly takes everything and shoves it into a half-empty kitchen drawer before returning to knock on the bathroom door. I'm grateful he is here and has been here for my Babe, and that they have this level of rapport and understanding between each other. It can only help her moving forward.
I use the minute to take a closer look at Stephanie's home. She barricaded the lone window, and it's a poorly lit space with a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. The only furniture of hers that I recognize is the TV and Rex's cage, and I wonder if she abandoned her property at her old apartment. It would help explain how she managed to move in a day while injured. My original assessment of shithole was generous. Everything is shabby and worn, but I can tell Steph has tried to keep it clean. The air is musty, stale, damp, and cool. I only see a single baseboard heater along the wall below the window. I hate that this is where she lives. I've freed hostages from better situations.
Steph opens the door and leaves it open while she finishes washing up. Make-up free in a baggy sweatshirt and loose cotton pants, she looks the more like the Stephanie I remember. She exits the bathroom with more confident movements, and I think she's becoming more stable. Steph pulls open the accordion style closet door and tosses her dress in before pulling down a first aid kit. Is she injured?
I glance at Hector, and he's busily soaking several paper towels. I move deliberately towards Steph as she sits on the edge of the futon, taking the kit from her hands and unzipping it.
"Babe?" I ask, and she gives another small shake of her head while turning to look at me. "Babe? Can you hear me?" I repeat. She acknowledges me wordlessly, but it's a big relief to see her calming down.
"What's hurt?" I ask, and she pushes herself back to support herself against the wall before pulling up her right pants leg. I see her calf covered in dry streaks of blood, and Hector immediately begins wiping it clean. It takes about a minute for us to see the cut, and it's an abrasion from a fall. The laceration is straight, and I'm guessing it's from the stairs. I immediately push aside my fury. Lester will take care of Sanchez and Flores.
Steph has her eyes closed, but her expression is neutral. She appears to be making some decisions and based on how things have gone so far; I'm apprehensive about how this conversation is going to proceed. The worst thing would be for Steph to lock herself down again and shut us out. She can't keep going on the way things are. I don't think Steph has spoken about her experiences with anyone since Farro. Hector some, sure, but I suspect that even there it's a more of a silent partnership.
Hector cleans up the waste and places the first aid kit back in the closet before returning with a glass of water and pushing it into Stephanie's hands. His actions are so assured and Steph's reaction so automatic, I wonder how many times he's tended to her after an injury. Hector's first words to me take on even greater meaning.
You will have one chance with her. Estefania has changed. She will not trust you, and you will need to be forgiving. I have worked very hard to keep her alive, beginning with her soul. If you push her away or break her heart, it will destroy her, and I don't think there is anything I will be able to do to stop it. Think carefully. You need to be all in.
He said more than I understood at the time, and I know I will never be able to repay the man on Stephanie's right.
Stephanie passes the glass back to Hector and stares at the wall. Steph appears lucid and resolute, but when she begins to talk, dread settles like a rock in the pit of my stomach. She's pushing us away.
"Babe, we're not going anywhere," I immediately reply with equal measures firmness and kindness.
Steph stands, despite the fact I can see it's causing her pain and digs in her proverbial heels. She's pushing us away because she believes that she is a danger to us?
I ask a question, relieved she is continuing to talk. Perhaps we can unravel some of her logic this way. I consciously separate my emotions from the present situation. I need to stay focused so I can understand best how to help Steph. While it seems ridiculous to me that she thinks she is going to hell, Stephanie is an intelligent person who has a good reason for reaching that conclusion.
Steph begins to look frustrated. "Estefania, what do you mean?" Hector says, and I keep my attention riveted on my Babe.
A look of complete confidence crosses her face. "I'm a murderer! I get involved, and people die," Steph says. I listen to the rest of her justification, and it clicks. I replay Bobby's explanation mentally as she explains her point of view; Stephanie is Vietnam, but it's worse than I ever suspected.
I lean forward slightly before calmly asking, "What did Farro say to you?"
Stephanie's entire demeanor changes. "What?" she gasps, paling and leaning against the wall.
"As Farro was dying, what did he say to you?" I repeat, my internal radar pinging loudly. Whatever Farro said to her as he lied there dying is the heart of Stephanie's issues.
Steph's expression grows distant, and she begins to recant her story with the aura of someone divided between the past and the present. My Babe entered a living hell, and when she was most vulnerable, her support network fell apart. Her community placed her in the center of blame. My men inadvertently alienated her. Everything in her life reinforced Farro's last words, and she believes him. That belief changed her perception of her place in the world.
I listen to Steph pour out her soul, and it takes every ounce of focus I have to push down my feelings and work my way through her words. Stephanie sees herself as morally broken, and it appears she's been living the past several months seeking redemption. I know better than most how futile that path is. It took me a while to learn that living focused on the past robbed me of the present. As a result of believing her actions cause harm, Steph continues to assume blame for everything else that might go wrong and takes that as reinforcement of her perceptions.
Then I get it, and my heart breaks. Stephanie believes that she is a bad person. She believes her soul is damaged to the point that it affects her relationships with others and has skewed her perceptions. Further, she sees herself as unworthy of love due to the sin she believes she has committed and will inevitably commit.
Hector and I stand, and Steph seems to fold in on herself in resignation. I know I can no longer close my heart. I have to be willing to endure rejection in order to allow both Steph and I to be free.
"Babe, I love you," I say, my tone leaving no space for misunderstanding. I'm all in.
Stephanie wraps her arms around herself, and I take a slow step forward.
"I love you," I say again, my heart pounding with the desperation I feel that these words penetrate Stephanie's walls.
"You can't," she whispers.
"Te amo, Angelita," Hector repeats, and she lifts her gaze slightly. Her blue eyes rimmed with tears.
"I do, Babe. I. Love. You," I say slowly, punctuating each word with sincerity.
"How?" Stephanie breathes, and my breath catches at the blinding flash of hope I see looking back at me.
"I know you, Babe," I respond passionately. "Further, I know what happened. Farro was not your fault. The weapon discharged accidentally, and even if it hadn't, you always have the right to defend yourself. I know he tried to kill you, and when he failed to do so, he tried to kill your spirit. I understand why you feel the way you do. Hector and I have experienced what it is like to take a life, and we have felt many of the things you are feeling. Your heart is so big and so good, that his death, especially when you identified with him as a husband and father became personal to you. That is a difficult thing to deal with if you have a support network. You found yourself alone, except for Hector, and I can see why you have the perspectives you do," I gently but emphatically explain. "But Babe, please be open to the possibility that your assumptions are incorrect."
Steph's eyes bore into me, and I take another small step forward. "You are a good person. Yes, you, like everyone, make mistakes, but you have the intention of doing the right thing. You are filled with light, and I have seen the good your light leaves wherever it shines. You are worthy of love," I say, internally pleading with her to listen to me.
"How do you know what happened?" Stephanie asks, her brows furrowed together.
"I read the file, and, with the help of the Core Team, I was able to piece together the series of events. Babe, you did the best you could, and I'm grateful you were the one who walked out of that room. His death was not your fault," I say firmly, wanting to convey my confidence.
"But I stood by and did nothing. I stood there and let Farro die," Steph says in a trembling voice.
"That doesn't mean it's your fault, Angelita," Hector says, reinforcing me.
"Babe, he assaulted you and tried to execute you," I say. "You had every reason to not to trust him and to keep a safe distance. You have an inherent right to self-defense."
Stephanie looks between Hector and me. "But the next morning, what the guys said. Tank said that I'm impossible, stubborn and that I refuse to change. I have trained and changed, but things still happen. It's me," she says heavily, looking down again.
"Tank is an idiot," Hector retorts, and Steph glances at him in surprise. "You can't control what other people do, and you have a difficult job. When people go FTA, they aren't usually happy you show up to take them back to jail. How many skips have you captured this year?"
"Around four hundred and twenty," Steph responds. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. That's a considerable number.
"What's your success rate?" Hector presses.
"Ninety-nine percent," Steph responds.
"Babe, those are incredible statistics. How does it compare to Rangeman?" I ask, glancing at Hector.
"Rangeman has brought in three hundred and eighty-three skips with a success rate of ninety-one percent, and our casualty rates are higher," Hector says. "You have trained, you are intelligent, and you are capable, Estefania. You also don't have to be alone or take the risks you do."
Hector places a hand on the side of Steph's arm. "Mi Angelita, after mi Hermana died, I thought my heart died with her. I exacted my revenge, but inside, I remained dark. I existed and survived, and then I met Ranger. I found him trustworthy, honorable, and I will always have his back. He was the best person I knew until I met you. Everyone and I mean everyone, was afraid of me, and for a good reason. You, however, looked beyond what I showed everyone, and you loved me anyway. Do you remember that day at the cemetery?" he says with more emotion than I've ever heard from Hector. Steph nods yes, her chin quivering.
"I felt much as you do now. I did kill a man, and I did it on purpose. I carried the guilt and weight of that day with me, and I never mourned mi Hermana's death. I planned to kill myself the day you brought me to her grave, and your unwavering love and support showed me that my life's future is more than my past. That's why I call you my angel. You saved me by being you. Te amo, Angelita," he says, a single tear falling past the ones inked on his face.
"I did the right thing?" Steph whispers, desperately looking between us.
"Yes, Babe," I respond, placing a hand on her opposite arm as Hector nods his head in affirmation.
"But I've not been very good to myself this year. If you only knew," Steph trails off, and I feel the shame radiating from her.
"Babe, I meant what I said at the park. It doesn't matter to me what you've done, who you've slept with, who you've killed or hurt, or anything else. It matters to me who you are, and you are the best person I know. You don't even need forgiveness," I say, pouring my emotions into every word, desperately wanting her to accept what I'm saying.
"You would love me anyway?" she questions with such fragility that any unbroken pieces of my heart left are instantly decimated.
"Unconditionally," I fervently reply.
"Always," Hectors says thickly.
Stephanie takes a step forward and places her head on my chest while wrapping her left arm around Hector's waist. I feel the wetness of her tears, but her sadness is quiet. She breathes heavily as she sobs, and I begin to feel her lean more of her weight against me.
"I'm going to lift you," I say quietly, and she nods her consent against my chest. I crouch slightly and sweep an arm under her legs. The hand that was gripping Hector now grips my shirt, and I sit and push back so that my back rests against the wall, attempting to keep Steph as steady as possible. Hector finds some tissues and refills her water before sitting down again, rubbing slow circles on her back. This response is the exact opposite of the one in the car. It feels as though Steph is deciding to stop fighting and is letting go, and I hope, allowing herself to trust us. I feel the slight quiver of her body still, and she relaxes completely against me.
Steph turns her head slightly to the side but remains pressed against me. "I want to believe you, even though it is difficult. Please stay," she says quietly, before turning her face back into my chest as she coughs, and I kiss the top of her head in response, too choked up to say anything. A side glance at Hector shows me he feels the same way.
Not five minutes later, Stephanie is sound asleep, her body rising and falling in a slow rhythm. I rest my head against the wall. "Gracias a Dios, ella está regresando a nosotros," I mumble. (Thank God, she's coming back to us.)
"Si," Hector agrees before smoothly standing. (Yes.)
He adjusts the pillows and blanket as best as he can. "Lay her down and take care of yourself," he instructs. "I'll keep watch."
Hector helps me do so, and I'm relieved Steph doesn't even flinch. I walk to the bathroom and take a few steadying breaths as the emotional overload of the last several hours bubbles to the surface. I acknowledge and let go of the fear, anxiety, sadness, and worry, and replace it with optimism and hope. No, tonight didn't fix everything, and Steph has a long road ahead to full recovery, but for the first time since my return, I truly believe she will survive this and be stronger.
I step out of the bathroom and leave the door open a crack to provide a ray of light in the now darkened apartment. I stealthily pad to the kitchen and remove my belt, setting it on top of my flak jacket. Any additional gear tucked into my cargo pockets soon joins it. Stephanie made a big leap tonight, and I don't know when I'll be prepared to let her out of my or Hector's sight, but she isn't ready for me to be unduly familiar with her. I will otherwise sleep fully clothed. I pull my phone out of my pocket and check my messages.
"Sanchez is in lock-up. The cops wanted Flores on several felony charges, and Lester brought him in on a citizen's arrest," I quietly inform Hector before texting Lester back my acknowledgment.
He immediately texts: How's Beautiful?
She's doing better. Did you find out why we didn't know about Sanchez? I respond.
Tank. Lester types out with an angry face emoji, and I put the phone away.
I motion for Hector to join me near the apartment exit. "Tank knew Stephanie had the Sanchez file and withheld the information from the Core Team," I whisper, and Hector's expression hardens. "I'm going to force Tank out of Rangeman before close of business tomorrow," I continue. "The by-laws state a Core Team member can be removed, but the terms include buying him or her out of their shares. My accountant is valuing every asset I have, and I should be able to execute the force out tomorrow evening. I know one of the reasons I not only have Stephanie to come back to but also a company is you. I'm telling you my plan because I believe you've more than earned the right to have a seat at the table. The buyout is around fifteen and a half million dollars. Lester is contributing a little more than two million, which is three percent of Rangeman shares. I would be honored to have you as a Core Team member of Rangeman, Hector. The decision is yours, but I need to know by mid-day tomorrow. Thank you isn't enough for everything you have done," I say seriously.
"Gracias, jefe," Hector replies, pressing his lips together. (Thank you, boss.)
"Are you staying here or at Rangeman tonight?" I ask.
"Here," Hector replies. "I'll make a bed on the floor."
"Okay. We'll figure out the rest in the morning," I state before moving back to the futon and sliding in next to my Babe. She rolls into me immediately, clutching my shirt, but her breathing never changes tempo.
"I love you, Babe," I whisper into her hair before closing my eyes and letting exhaustion consume me.
A/N: Happy St. Patrick's Day! In the spirit of the holiday, here's an early chapter for my lucky readers – and blarney, an extra-long one as well! I haven't had a moment this week to reply to everyone's comments, but I feel like the luckiest writer in FanFiction to have received so many wonderful messages. You guys are thoughtful, amazing, and your feedback makes a big difference in my writing. THANK YOU!
Misty23y – so many thanks. Your contributions are the pot of gold at the end of my creative writing rainbow. Too goofy an analogy? Nah.