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

Chapter 6

RPOV

My head is throbbing, and my shoulders ache. It takes me a minute to realize that my eyes are open and it's just dark where I am. Waiting and listening, I can identify the sound of road noise and feel movement under me. A trunk. I'm in a god damn trunk. When I try to reach out, I get another surprise. My hands are fucking zip tied behind my back. And fuck me, where are my pants? I can feel carpet under my hip and a million questions form, none of them having good answers.

Doing some deep breathing to stay focused, I go over what I know. Kissing Steph in the alley, that little shit Quentin Ford showing up and trying to pressure us into signing new contracts, missed calls from Steph. And shit. Morelli saying Steph was in trouble, and me rushing off to save her again. Vito's goons getting the drop on me and expecting it to be the end until Steph stepped in and took one out before dropping the bomb that Morelli set me up. The memory of realizing it was her and seeing the blood dripping off her hand before she lurched sideways to lose her lunch causes bile to rise in my own throat. She was supposed to be protected from that kind of shit, not committing felonies in a misguided effort to save me. The knowledge that the cop was to blame for that has a different feeling rising in my gut. Rage. Using Steph to get to me would put her on Vito's radar even before she did what she did.

I remember her stunning me, calling me Batman, and then handing over the keys to her piece of shit Corolla. I was going to drive it back to where I left the Cayenne and then track down Morelli. What else happened? Where's Steph? The trunk isn't big enough for us to both be in here.

Carefully moving my legs, my feet encounter some bits of paper here and there. My toes get tangled up in the handles of a plastic grocery sack and it's annoying at not having much room to shake it loose. All the jostling kills my shoulder. The ribs aren't too happy right now, either. In all my limited exploring, I don't find anything that would work as a weapon. Not having access to my pants and their contents leaves me naked in more ways than one.

The hairs on my neck raise, causing me to pause any motion. In the distance I hear Steph's voice but can't make out the words. Does someone have her? Were there more of Vito's guys at the cabin? It takes me a minute to realize that with the exception of a raised word here and there, she's talking at a normal level and cadence. I hate that I'm blind to what's going on outside the trunk.

It feels like forever, but eventually we slow down. The noise changes slightly, indicating we've left pavement. The ruts we're driving over have me bouncing around and silently cussing every time I get thrown against the mouth of the trunk. I strain to hear anything when we come to a stop. A single car door opens, and someone walks away from the car. I don't hear anything else for a bit, until someone returns to the vehicle. There's more door slamming, and maybe even the hood. Have we broken down? If we're in Steph's Corolla, it's entirely possible. I hear someone walk away from the car again. What the hell is going on?

Footsteps finally come closer and stop at the trunk. The jangle of keys lets me know that I'm about to get my chance. Ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I roll over on my back and tuck my knees to my chest, ready to use my feet to force the trunk lid open fast. The key entering the lock is loud and as soon as I hear the latch release, I kick my legs up while swinging my legs over the apron of the trunk. I'm already in hunter mode, turning and stalking toward my prey in a crouch when I realize that it's Steph on the ground, scrambling backwards in a crab walk away from me as fast as she can.

Shock has me immediately stopping, and she only moves two more arm lengths back before she stops, too. Our stare down is interrupted by me visually sweeping the area, looking for tangos. Seeing no one but us, I have to ask, "What the fuck is going on?"

"You were being unreasonable, and I had to stun you again."

My eyes narrow at that, an answer that I wasn't expecting. Steph's behind this? "You did this? How'd you get me in the trunk?"

She winces. "Drug you by the armpits. You're right. I need to exercise more, because it wasn't easy. I had to use gravity and fall in with you and then climb out from underneath you."

If she'd have done it to someone else, I might have been impressed. Instead, I'm just pissed. "Are you trying to fry my brain today? Is yours so far gone that you're ok with stunning me, twice, and shoving me in the fucking trunk? No, wait. Let me guess. It's not your fault."

She flinches and closes her eyes for a second. "No, it's totally my fault. All of it. And I wasn't ok with it, but it was necessary."

My look must have been incredulous. I don't miss another flinch when I stand up straight. "I can't wait to hear this explanation."

"You didn't go back for your stuff."

"What?"

She looks me in the eye for a second before dropping her gaze. "You were so pissed and out of it; you were heading to my car without going back for your utility belt or vest. You didn't question where your gun was. That's something I would do, not you. You weren't acting like yourself, and I couldn't let you go do something stupid."

In the silence that follows, I get a good look at her. Her hair is crazy and she's still wearing the shirt and skirt from the distraction a few weeks ago, now drenched in blood. She hasn't bothered to wash the blood off her hands and arms, and I even see a few small specks on her temple. I hate that there's any blood on her at all. The CAT boots, paired with the once-sexy office outfit, make her look like a kid playing dress-up. Steph's spent the last few years pretending to be a part of my world and it needs to stop before she ends up dead. I take a step toward her and hate the flicker of fear in her eyes, even if I intend to use it against her. "Get these cuffs off me. Now."

She swallows but gamely responds. "Sorry. No. I know my badass skills are kind of lacking but even I know that getting within ten feet of you with anything that you can turn into a weapon would be a really bad idea."

Another time, I might give her props for recognizing that. And getting within twenty feet of me is still too close, although I don't intend to share that with her. I take a moment to regain control and look around. The trees look different here, and I see some elevation in the distance. "Where are we?"

She seems hesitant to answer, but finally says, "Pennsylvania."

That earns her the eyebrow, and she relaxes a fraction, and that pisses me of. This isn't a game we're playing here. "You just happened to stumble on a vacant cabin?"

It's amazing how much attitude she can put into an eye roll and snort. "It belongs to a friend of the family." She gives me a once over and my body reacts, another point against her. "Are you sure you don't want to go inside? You're kind of, you know…"

She gestures to my dick popping a tent under the edge of my shirt. My voice would send even the hardest gangbanger packing when I grind out, "You stole my goddamn pants, so deal with it."

Her hand returns to her lap, but she still makes no move to get up off the ground. She watches me roll my neck, trying to loosen some of the tenseness in my shoulders after my enforced road trip. I only have so much movement with my hands cuffed and my aching shoulder. She remains silent, watching me. It's her quietness that's getting to me. Every last nerve is shot, leaving me feeling raw. I need to get out of here before I do something that can't be undone. "Cut the cuffs and give me my phone so I can call Tank to come and get me."

"Tank's busy."

Her words are quiet, but not meek. I don't know where this new attitude came from, but I don't like it. I've worked hard to make sure she doesn't see the Ranger that makes people nervous, but it's time to cut the shit and make sure she knows I'm not playing around. "Are you willing to throw away our friendship? Because if you don't uncuff me and give me my phone, then our association is done. Think very hard on this, Stephanie. I'm not someone you want to make an enemy out of."

She looks to the side and clenches her jaw. I see her chest rise and fall as she takes a few deep breaths and I know I've got her, I just had to apply the right pressure. When she looks back at me, there's hurt and pain in her eyes, but no tears. "If trying to keep you safe and fighting to keep you from adding to that karma tally you're hauling around means the end of whatever this is between us, then I'll have to take that chance. I know I've done some shitty things today, and I know there'll be consequences. But if our friendship, association, or whatever you want to call it this week, is that fragile, and fighting for it, for you, makes me the enemy, then it's not much of a friendship. Or whatever it is."

Fuck me and this day. She's picked a fine time to finally start standing up for herself. She remains sitting and watching me. Just when I think she's said her peace, she shrugs her shoulders and admits, "Besides, I killed a mob guy today. Pretty sure Les was right when he said I was fucked."

That hits me hard. We're both probably fucked, and I hate her easy acceptance of it. Disgusted with the situation and annoyed by her lack of submission to my demands, I turn and walk toward the cabin in my goddamn socks. I can feel her eyes on my ass the entire way. The door is open, and I stride through it. I hear rustling and know that Steph has finally gotten up off the ground where she fell and followed me inside.

It's a basic small, 3 room structure. The kitchen is open to the living room, with open doors for both a small bathroom and bedroom. Nothing fancy. The furniture is well worn, but serviceable, all 80's oak and plaid. There's been some upgrades to the place with new door handles, fixtures, and plain white appliances. It's a curious mishmash. "Why here?"

She's biting her lip when I turn to her. "It's not somewhere that Joe would associate with me. It's just until the guys figure out what we're going to do."

I turn away from her, surveying it again, wondering how she thinks she's going to keep me here. Her and my men trying to handle me has anger churning in my gut again. I take a few steps further into the room and in the reflection of the small bathroom mirror, I see her pull her phone out from her back waistband and read something before discreetly tucking it away. Once I get the phone off of her, I can call Tank and order him to send someone to get me. This shit's gone on long enough. First, I need these flexicuffs off me.

Turning to Steph, I blank my face. "I need to piss."

Her face turns red, then she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders again. "I guess I can help you aim."

My blank face drops for a minute, making my shock easy for her to see. "Are you really going to leave me cuffed?"

"Not forever, but you still seem mad. If you were me, would you cut the cuffs?"

Fair point, not that I'll concede it out loud. Ok, Steph. If that's the way you want to play it. "Great. Come aim my dick for me, Babe."

Her nose scrunches up, but she steps forward, only to stop and look at the dried blood on her hands. She moves to the kitchen sink, scrubbing them and her forearms before drying them with a paper towel. She looks at me. "Ready?"

I am a sick, sick man for being turned on by her standing up to me.

When I don't move, she tries to raise an eyebrow as she motions me toward the bathroom. Losing this game of cat and mouse is not doing anything for my mood. I'm counting backwards from one hundred in Pashto to calm both my dick and my temper while she waits, patiently. Where's my Stephanie that backs down and bends to my will?

Her voice interrupts when I get to thirty-nine. "Do you still have to use the bathroom? Because you'd need to go in first."

I don't, but I'm curious as to how far she'll take this. Turning away, I march to the bathroom and stand in front of the toilet. I'm so lost in this little game that I'm slow on the uptake. I barely hear her, "I'm sorry!" before the door is pulled shut. I hear scraping noises and then nothing. Fuck me.

Turning around, I use my bound hands to grab the handle, briefly thankful it's not a harder to grasp knob. The lock pops open but the door barely moves when I give it a yank. I give it a couple more tugs and hear some scraping on the other side. Her hits with the stun gun must have really fried my brain, because I've been one step behind her the entire time.

The door opens inward, so I can't even kick it in. Glancing around the bathroom, there's not much to work with. I need something to cut through the flexicuffs. There's nothing but towels on the shelves above the toilet. It's slow going getting the doors of the small vanity open, but it only holds basic first aid supplies, toiletries and extra toilet paper. A glance upward reveals that the shower curtain rod is a tension mount and will pull down easily. If one of these had been in Steph's bathroom all those years ago, things might have proceeded differently for us.

Grasping the shower curtain, I give it a good yank. I just barely catch the rod and hold it in my hands. The angle is awkward as fuck, but I'm able to ram it into the mirror. It takes a few strikes, but the glass breaks and falls down on the vanity. Without shoes, it's probably a stupid move, but I want out of these cuffs, now. Grabbing the largest shard, I carefully turn it around in my hand until I can use it to nick some holes and frays at the edges of the flexicuffs and then use the squared off counter of the ancient counter to saw through enough to snap it.

Once I'm free, I rub circulation back into my wrists and assess the door. Something is holding it from the outside, but Steph didn't have that much time to work between the time she slammed the door and when the scraping on the floor stopped. Leaning down and carefully gathering the edges of the ugly pea green fluffy rug in front of the sink, I fold it all up and trash it. Hopefully any of the glass that hit the floor landed on it or between the sink and the toilet. Grabbing the handle and yanking gets me a little wiggle room and the sound of wood scraping the floor will surely give away my escape. I repeat the move until I'm greeted with the sounds of whatever is holding the door splintering. I'm unprepared for the door to give, and nearly hit myself in the face with it. Once the door is open, I'm met with a demolished dining room chair. It looks like she slid the door handle between the back spindles and turned the chair sideways to create a quick and dirty wedge and then slid a dresser in front of it to keep the chair in place. She gets points for creativity, and I need to stop underestimating her.

She's nowhere that I can see in the cabin, and a quick look around doesn't reveal my pants or utility belt. The front door is not latched and a glance out the window shows a vehicle at the entrance to the area that serves as a driveway for the place. I quietly pull the door partially open. Once I'm in the shadow of the door, I can see Steph talking to some of my men in one of the fleet vehicles. I'm too far away and they're too well trained for me to rush the vehicle and not react. Beyond that, they might mistake me as a threat to Steph and I'll end up shot again. It goes against everything in me to hold back and wait, but I do it, anyway. When she opens the back passenger door and pulls out my weekender bag, a first aid pack, and a large, insulated cooler, I see red. No way am I staying here, like I'm in protective custody and Steph is my bodyguard. Not happening. I'm taking care of this, tonight.

I step forward on to the porch, giving me a better view. Lester is in the driver's seat, and Bobby is his passenger. Steph hasn't noticed me yet, but I know they have. Lester takes one look at me, wearing only socks and my Rangeman t-shirt, dick swinging in the wind, and his eyes go comically wide. Steph tenses, and must have said something, because he and Bobby nod their head in tandem while still watching me. Lester says something to Steph and then throws his head back to laugh at whatever she tells him. Fucker. Bobby's eyeing me like a wild animal, and with my current state of half dress and blood spray covering my upper body, it's not too far from the truth. Steph's barely got the rear door closed when I step off the porch and start walking. Lester, probably guessing that I'm coming to commandeer the vehicle with the intention of leaving them here to watch over Steph, waits just long enough for her to clear the SUV before he punches the gas. They take off, fishtailing and leaving a plume of dust. That's right, cuz. Be afraid. All Rangeman branches need an in-depth inventory of assets and supplies. Looks like that job has your name all over it, unless you want to meet me on the mats. Fucker.

Steph launches into a coughing fit from the dust, but still hasn't turned around to face me. When she gets herself under control, she flexes her hands a few times, takes a couple deep breaths, and squares her shoulders. It's only after she finishes her internal pep talk that she reaches down for the bags and cooler. By the way she staggers sideways a step, the load is heavy. She turns and walks toward me and the cabin. When she passes by me, we glare at each other and say nothing. Once she's made it safely inside, I let out a long breath. Hell of a day.