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

Chapter 5

SPOV

As I lower Ranger to the warped boards of the porch, I can't help but whimper a little. I just freaking stunned him. There's no way I could physically prevent him from leaving and tracking down Joe, so I went with the one option I had. He's going to be pissed. Looking at my hands, at all the damn blood, my breathing gets shallow. Once I heard the gunshot, I knew I had very few options. I also knew that I had to do something. I couldn't just sit by and watch Ranger die. It didn't even occur to me to use the stun gun on Fratelli.

My hands are shaking as I make sure he's all the way down on the ground before letting go. Taking my concentration off him means I get a glimpse of the dead men in the cabin. Shit. I know it will hit me later. It always does. But right now, I don't feel bad. They were going to kill Ranger. I did what I had to do. I'd do it again.

Knowing he won't be out for long; I go back in the cabin just long enough to grab Ranger's Glock in case Dead and Deader aren't alone out here. I would have expected someone to bust in by now, after hearing the gun shot, but maybe bad guys have more patience. We need to get out of here, but I can't let Ranger go back to Trenton. He's dead set on confronting Morelli. They were sort of evenly matched in Hawaii. God, that fiasco. But this time, Ranger's got some righteous anger on his side; Joe deserves just about every bruise Ranger would dish out, but I'm too afraid that Ranger wouldn't stop at bruises. Or even broken bones. I mean, Joe did set him up to be killed. And tortured, too, by the looks of the torch on the table next to Ranger's utility belt. Bile rises in my throat at the thought of it. Yeah, Joe totally deserves it, but then Ranger would carry that burden around, too.

My legs are like jelly as I stumble down the stairs and head back toward my car while tucking the stun gun into the waistband at the small of my back again. A loose plan is forming in my head, someplace I can take Ranger until we can figure everything out. It's unlikely that he'll go willingly, so things are about to get dicey. Jogging as quickly as I can, I run past the Mercedes and finally skid to a stop between his Cayenne and my POS. The Cayenne is more comfortable, more reliable, but it's also more noticeable. And newer. I'm not sure I want newer. My navy Corolla is going to have to work. I feel ridiculous fishing the keys out of my bra, but there's no one here to see it.

It takes me three tries to steady my hand and get the key into the ignition. When I pull up in front of the cabin, Ranger is trying to push himself into a standing position. Shit. I was hoping to have more time before I faced him. I rush up the stairs and grab him as he starts to lose his balance. He shakes me loose. "You stunned me!"

"I'm sorry!"

He's still not steady on his feet, and that's the only reason I can push him backwards, away from the steps. "Get out of my way, Stephanie!"

"No."

On any other day, the look he's giving me would have me wetting my pants and spilling my guts. But today? Today's kind of a special shit filled day where he's going to have to try a hell of a lot harder than that to intimidate me. He's still glaring, even as he tries to hide how much the beating, shooting, and stunning are affecting him. "Babe, you need to move. I'm driving back to Trenton and having a talk with that asshole."

"No, you're not. In this mood, you wouldn't talk, you'd hit. And hitting would turn to beating, and then beating turns into more. You can't kill Joe!"

Maybe it's a good thing I don't have to pee, because the look he's giving me right now? I never, ever want to see it again. Just as quickly as the anger and rage flash across his face, they're replaced by a blankness that is no less terrifying. His voice is cold, even as a bit of snark creeps in. "I'm so sorry that your boyfriend being a shitty person that set me up to be tortured and killed by the mob will cause problems for your relationship, Stephanie."

The force of his words feels like a blow, like a physical hit. Is that what he thinks I'm worried about? Rhino mode hovers just below the surface, waiting to come out like it does when I'm fighting with the rat bastard that doesn't know I might be holding his life in my bloody hands. "I don't give a shit about Joe! I don't want you to get in trouble or feel like you have another black mark against you. Going after Joe would be vengeance, not justice!"

His arm sweeps out to move me out of his path off the porch. He's pissed, but he's still going out of his way to not hurt me. When I reach for him, he steps back. We both look at my hands and forearms, still covered in Fratelli's blood. A small, niggling thought forms in the back of my mind that I killed one of Vito's right hand men and I'm probably a dead woman walking. Well, shit. This day keeps getting better and better.

"You shouldn't have put yourself in harm's way for me." Ranger's words cut through the silence but do nothing to ease the anger that's welling up in me.

"Too late for a do as I say, not as I do lecture, Batman."

His reaction is explosive. "For fucks sake, Stephanie. I'm not Batman, not a fucking superhero. Stop looking at me like one."

"Then stop letting me see only that side of you! I only get to know what you show me, and you only show me Mr. Mysterious. What the hell else am I supposed to think?" I might have hit rhino mode, but I'm managed to refrain from waving my arms around, and instead have them crossed over my chest.

His hands are clenched into fists and he's working hard to control himself. If I had half a brain, I'd be scared. I guess it's a good thing no one's ever accused me of having an abundance of smarts. His coordination is starting to recover, meaning I've spent too much time arguing and not enough time getting him in my car. He won't look at me, but I hear him muttering, "If you really saw me, the real me, you'd do the smart thing and run the hell away in the opposite direction."

His words resonate, because most days I feel the same way. Why does he hang around when I'm obviously in over my head in just about every area of my life? Do I really provide him with that much entertainment? I'd like to think we're more than that. That's the second time today that he's lowered his guard just a smidge and let me have a glimpse of the man behind the badass Batman persona he usually shows me.

I'm pulled from my musing by him pushing past me and heading down the stairs. Shit. I need to get it together. Going back to Trenton would be a disaster right now. Not only is Ranger still alive, but we're leaving two dead mobsters behind in a mob hidey hole. I'm learning that Joe isn't the person I thought he was, and now I wouldn't put it past him to arrest Ranger as a back-up plan to get him out of the way. Him getting arrested would sink Rangeman's reputation even more than Ranger's body landing on Stark would. The very idea of that last part has me fighting dry heaves.

If you don't spend the amount time that I do watching and observing Ranger, you wouldn't think anything of him running his hand up the hood of my car, but I know he's using the move to hide his unsteadiness. The blood from the shot to his shoulder has started to dry, leaving his shirt even more plastered to his skin than usual. He stops at the driver's door, sticks a hand out, and demands, "Keys!"

Anger and rage are keeping him from thinking straight, and I know that's a wicked combination. I've felt it before, right before I hit the gas and jumped the curb to tap Joe with my dad's Buick. There'll be no talking him down, no convincing him to wait until we can come up with a plan. Mr. Calm and Cool is running on emotion and adrenaline, and it's kind of freaking me out. If I'm the level and steady one, then we're totally screwed.

I know what I need to do, but I'm loathe to do it. This isn't going to end well, but if it keeps him safe… Sighing, like I'm conceding defeat, I walk forward and drop my keys in his outstretched hand. He doesn't spare me a glance as he turns to open the door. The fact that he'd turn his back on me so soon after I stunned him shows the level of trust he's awarded me. It's a trust I break as I quickly pull the stun gun out from the waistband of my skirt and pray like hell that it has enough juice to take him down a second time. He doesn't make a sound as the keys fall from his hand but the sound his head makes as it smacks against the window on his way to the ground will haunt me.

A quick check with my fingers on his neck reassures me that his pulse is strong. Moving quickly, I shove an arm under each of his armpits, lock my hands together in front of his chest, and start slowly dragging him to the trunk. It's not going to win me any points, but I sure as hell don't want him regaining consciousness while I'm driving. Or when I'm anywhere close enough for him to grab me. I'm breathless with exhaustion and thankful as hell that he was already by the car, and I don't have to drag him all the way from the porch. All that muscle is nice to look at, but it's also heavy as hell.

When we're at the back of the car, I get the trunk open and realize this won't be an easy task and there's no way to get him in there that won't result in bruises for the both of us. Wrangling him into a seated position, I squat down and get my arms around him in a bear hug at his waist. Lift with the legs, Plum, lift with the legs. With a lot of grunting and swearing, I finally get us level with the trunk and use my body weight to tip us in, knocking the wind out of me when he lands half on top of me. From there, I crawl out from underneath him, shoving and pushing to get him rolled over and then cramming his legs in. Once he's in there I realize that he probably has all manner of tools on him to free himself in minutes and he might regain consciousness at any time. Shit. Wiping my brow and recoiling at rubbing my face with a hand covered in dead mob guy blood, I unlace his boots and pull them off, dropping them on the ground next to me. With a stuttered apology to the unconscious man, I grab his belt and undo the buckle before unzipping his pants and quickly pulling them down his legs. I refuse to look at any part of him, knowing this is fifty shades of wrong. He's probably going commando, but I don't have time to go through all his pockets. Thinking back to the Samuel Singh case and setting him up with the Apusenjas as a joke…if Ranger decides to get even for this, I'm toast. I'm probably toast, anyway.

Taking a chance that he'll stay out for another sixty seconds, I run back into the cabin and grab his utility belt, phone, and one of the flexicuffs sitting next to the torch. The utility belt and phone get dropped by the driver's door and I cautiously approach the trunk. Whatever happens, happens. Peering around the lid, he still looks out of it, but he might not be. Too late to back out now. I grab an arm, waiting for him to attack. He doesn't move, and I quickly grab the other arm, wincing as his hurt shoulder flexes. His wrists get zip tied together as fast as I can manage. Giving him one last glance, I cup his face with my hand and run my finger across his cheek. In his position, I'd be mad as hell. He probably won't forgive me for this, and I'll have to accept that, accept that I'm going to lose him when this is all over. As long as he's alive and whole, not carrying any heavier of a burden on his soul, I can learn to accept just about anything. Leaning in, I kiss his temple and whisper, "Someday, you'll thank me for kidnapping you. Maybe. Hopefully."

Before I can second guess myself, I slam the trunk lid down while holding back a sob. Scooping up his stuff from the ground by the trunk and the driver's door, I lean in and dump it into the passenger seat before one last trip into the cabin. Doing my best not to look at the dead men on the floor, I slam the door shut and practically run to my car.

The drive is lonely and terrifying, with me constantly wondering if I'm being followed. A couple times I swear I hear movement in the trunk, and I wait with bated breath for Ranger to suddenly pop out of the trunk like the boogieman. My car is old enough that there's either no emergency escape latch in the trunk or it was disabled at some point. He should be secure for now. Once I'm a far away from the cabin, I pull my phone out, thankful for a signal and call into Rangeman. As soon as Zip at the front desk realizes it's me, I'm immediately put through to Tank. At least that's something.

"What the fuck is going on, Steph? Ranger is AWOL, you asked for back-up from someone with clearance, and Woody gets to a fucking cabin in the woods and finds Ranger's Cayenne, blood, vomit, and two dead guys. Start talking!" His booming voice in the quietness of the car startles me. I'm on edge, running on fumes, fear, and adrenaline at this point.

"Ranger is with me."

I'm pretty sure Tank is running one of his humongous hands over his bald head. "And? Keep going."

I start at the beginning, sort of. I leave out being at Joe's house when I explain about overhearing a conversation about setting Ranger up. From there, I go through my thought process of calling, not knowing who at Rangeman I could trust if Ranger was working on something with operational security (so shoot me, I looked up some black ops stuff one night when I was bored) and dropping the tracker on Fratelli. I hear Les murmuring in the background about that being smart. Normally I'd soak up the compliment, but right now, I'm too freaked out by what I've done. I've had nothing but time to think on this drive.

"I didn't think it could wait to figure out who could help, so I headed this way. Ranger got word that I was in danger and actually got here before me because he's an overachiever. Just as I was approaching the cabin, I heard a gunshot. I went in, kept the main guy from shooting Ranger again and here we are."

That was a serious oversimplification that I finish in a rush, and Tank doesn't buy it. I didn't expect him to.

"Back up. Ranger was shot. How bad?"

"Top of the shoulder, a little bloody but didn't seem to be bothering him a lot."

There's a pause, and I hear Tank conversing with Bobby about putting together a first aid kit before his attention returns to me. "Woody said one guy had a broken neck. Ranger?"

"I assume so."

"And the other guy's arm was nearly detached. Bled out from a severed brachial artery."

He doesn't add anything, but I hear an intake of breath when I quietly admit, "That one was me."

"And the vomit?"

"Also me."

"Jesus, Bomber."

"I didn't have a choice, ok! He had the drop on Ranger. I did what I had to do. I'd do it again." Christ, it was bad enough justifying it to myself, let alone saying it out loud. But I refuse to take it back. I mean every word of it.

Lester pipes in. "Put Ranger on the phone."

"Can't"

Tank sighs the sigh of someone who's used to dealing with idiots. Between the trouble me and Lester get into, he probably is. "Why can't we talk to Ranger. You said he was fine."

I bite my lip. Best to rip the bandage off as fast as possible. It's not like the truth is going to get better.

"HewaspissedandgoingtogoaftersomeoneandmaybekillthemsoIstunnedhimandthenziptiedhimandputhiminthetrunk."

There's a full sixty seconds of silence after that mouthful. It's finally Bobby that speaks. "You stunned Ranger and put him in the trunk?"

I'm so tired. I'm afraid to wonder what could still happen on this never-ending day. "Yes?" My admission comes out sounding more like a question.

Lester tries, and fails, to hold in a snort. "So you killed a mob guy and thought you'd up the stakes by, oh, I don't know, having a death wish? You know he's going to get out eventually and he's going to be pissed, right."

I'm back to biting my lip. "How fucked am I?"

"Very!"

I didn't need all three of them to answer together; I already knew it. I knew it as soon as I stunned him the first time.

"You just crossed into Pennsylvania. Why didn't you bring Ranger back here?"

This was the part I was hoping to avoid, but if they're going to help Ranger, they need to know. "I overheard the conversation where the hit on Ranger was handed off and gave him that information. He was on the warpath so it's not a good idea for him to be in Trenton right now."

"Who ordered it, and who were you were afraid Ranger would go after?"

"Vito Grizzoli."

I can tell Tank is losing patience when he asks, "And who does Ranger want to kill?"

"Joe Morelli."

"You're going to have to explain that shit, Bomber. "

Blowing out a breath as I change lanes, I go for broke and let the word vomit flow. Being done with Joe, the necklace, Joe declining to do the dirty work but being willing to set it up, Ranger being mad that I killed someone and wanting to head straight to Joe, everything. Except the recording. That intel, I sit on. I don't know why; well, that's not true. I do know why, and I hate it. When I'm done talking, the noise from a semi blowing past me is the only sound while they digest that.

Finally, Lester drops a conversational, "Mother fucker."

Bobby adds, "I can see why Ranger was pissed, and why you did what you did. How do you see this going?"

And that's when the damn breaks. "I don't know! I didn't exactly have a lot of time to react or plan. My dad has a friend that used to let us use his hunting cabin in the Poconos. I know where the key is, but it will take me almost another two hours to get there. I'm covered in blood and have someone in the trunk, so I don't dare speed and get pulled over. I was thinking we could stay there until he calmed down and maybe you guys figured out why Grizzolli wants him dead. Can someone maybe drive up and meet me there with some food? And clothes. I can't exactly go out like this. And fuck! What am I supposed to do with the dead guys? No wonder Ranger's always patting me on the head and sending me away! All I do is cause him trouble—"

"Steph!"

Bobby's voice is harsh, and I respond in kind. "What!"

"Breathe. Take a deep breath and then another one, and another one. Keep it together."

I do as I'm told, vaguely listening to them discuss amongst themselves. Finally, Tank starts talking. "We'll have a team take care of Grizolli's guys. Give me directions and Lester and Bobby will drive up to meet you while I assess the situation here and see if it can be contained. Keep Ranger there until we have a better grasp on things. I'll call you tomorrow at 1300 with a status update."

"I don't know when that is."

"One o'clock in the afternoon, Bomber. We need you to hold it together. Ranger needs you to be smart about this."

"Ok."

"He's going to be pissed, Steph." Not sure why Lester feels the need to state the obvious.

"I know."

"Don't take it personally. It's the situation, not you."

I snort. "I stunned him. Twice. And shoved him in the trunk. Pretty sure it's going to be personal."

They have nothing else to say to that. Lord only knows what they'd say if they knew he was half naked, too. Couldn't one of them at least lie to me and say everything was going to be ok? I rattle off directions to the Poconos cabin for Lester before signing off. I just want this shitty day to be over, not matter how it ends. I can't shake the feeling that after this, things will never be the same.