Warning: still angsty. No smut or major gore. I figure i'd let you hang for long enough! Thanks for your comments, keep the coming!– Heather

Chapter 39

Ranger's POV

Danny was still unconscious, and until he comes round we got nothing. The attackers used gloves; the only prints in the living room are Fairhouse's, Fairhouse's family, Fairhouse's girlfriend, Steph's, and Danny's.

Aldwin Fairhouse's body was dumped in the river, and it floated up with the tide. We have no one to track, no one to trace.

We got nothing.

I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. There was a knock on my door, and then Tank walked in. He was carrying a brown envelope in gloved hands. Soundlessly he held it out to me.

I snapped on a pair of surgical gloves and examined the envelope. A standard office envelope, bulk produced; we'd get nothing from it. The address was written on in clear printed handwriting, no label. There was a Trenton post office stamp; it had been sorted in Trenton – not that that meant anything, whoever has Steph clearly has links in Trenton, they could easily arrange for the letter to be posted here rather than in their actual location.

I carefully opened the envelope. A glossy 8" by 12" photograph slid out, I picked up the photo and stared at it. It was all I could do not to scream or cry or something. Instead I kept my blank face firmly in place as I stared at the picture of a blood covered Steph. Under the blood I could see bruises, black and blue bruises, everywhere. There was barely an inch of her that was the colour of her beautiful pale skin.

She was unconscious, handcuffed to a bed, and her legs were spread. A noise like half a growl and half a whimper escaped my throat.

'Steady.' Tank said, squeezing my shoulder.

I nodded, I was trying to keep it together, really I was, but it had been three days of nothing, no word. Now I knew she was alive, that someone had her.

That someone was hurting her.

I put the photo down, and looked inside the envelope. There was a note.

Please God let it be a ransom note, I have money – but if it isn't a ransom note, then money wouldn't be enough.

I pulled out the note and opened it with shaking hands.

She is stunning Ricardo, truly, I see why you desire her. But taking someone you desire wasn't enough, so I watched, and I waited. I heard her defend you to the cop; I knew then of her love for you.

But did you love her? Or was it simply desire? So I watched and I waited. I saw you in Venice together, at the opera; you spent the night doing nothing but staring avidly at her face. I can understand why, she is beautiful; I too watched her emotions play across her face as she listened to the swell of the operatic voices. But I also watched you. I watched you gaze into her eyes like she was your world, and I knew then of your love for her.

Taking someone you desire wasn't enough, but taking someone you love? Oh yes Ricardo, taking someone you love will do nicely. Through her I will cause you more pain than torturing you ever could.

Maybe in the end I will return her broken body to you,

There was no signature, but I didn't need one; I recognised Pedral's flowing writing. I concentrated on that, anything but the words written before me.

Babe, my Babe, what is he doing to you?

Steph's POV

See, the problem with all that black is that it gets kinda boring, you know? Monotonous. Now Ric and the Merry Men wear khaki and desert camouflage, you see? Variation. But these guys? I'm not even sure they change underwear.

I think I've been captive for a week, but it's hard to tell. Mostly I'm judging time by the state of my ribs. The more prominent they are, the longer I've been here. Ok, maybe not the best way of measuring time, but I'm running out of options. I've been allowed one bath since I've been here. Not So sat on the toilet seat pointing a gun at me. When I dried off he gave me clean, barely there, panties and matching bra. Surprisingly, they fit.

They feed me half a bowl of cold soup a day, maybe a bit of fruit – nothing else, hence the protruding ribs. At first I'd been so hungry, but as the days passed I just…wasn't. I guess you reach a point when you're so hungry that you're not hungry anymore.

Everyday (I think) a weirdo man comes and stares at me. He sits there for an hour or so and then he starts to ask questions. Where does Ricardo live? Does Ricardo live alone? Is it true that Ricardo has a daughter? Where does Ricardo's family live?

Or sometimes he'd ask other questions like; What's Ricardo's favourite colour? When is Ricardo's birthday? How old is Ricardo?

Easier questions, innocent questions. 'What is the harm in answering them?' He'd say.

But I said nothing.

I would never betray Ric. Never.

Ranger's POV

Danny came to ten minutes ago. He's been asking for me. I pushed my foot to the accelerator and sped to Danny's side.

If he hadn't been so obviously and completely beaten up, I might have blamed him. But I knew he'd done everything he could to keep her safe; she was his Angel, his Sis.

I ran down the hospital corridors. I skidded to a halt a few corridors away; Steph's family had spent a lot of time with Nick and Danny before all this – and they'd spent a lot of time by Danny's bedside. They might be there now, I'm not sure I can take it; I know they must blame me. Why shouldn't they? I blame me. But I'd genuinely come to like her family, I didn't want to look in their eyes and see anger, hate.

I steeled myself and walked the rest of the way. Her mother and her father where there, as well as Nick and Tank, but I focussed on Danny.

'I'm here.' I said to Danny.

He tried to sit up, 'stay lying down Danny, you'll only hurt your ribs.'

Danny slumped back down. 'I'm sorry.' He whispered.

'It's ok, not your fault. Can you tell me what happened?'

Danny nodded, 'Fairhouse was a repeat offender, so I took the back because it was highly likely that he'd make a run for it. But he didn't. Somehow he got Angel inside. She screamed my name and I broke down the backdoor, I ran in and Fairhouse grabbed me, we fought and he managed to knock my gun away, but I got him cuffed. Then Angel screamed my name again and I ran towards the sound, she was in the living room. There were at least ten of them; all dressed in black, so it was hard to note anything about them – I doubt I could pick out more than one or two in a line-up. Five of them were attacking her; god she was fighting like a wildcat. Five to one and she was landing more hits than they were. I told her to run, and then I leapt into the melee hoping to distract them from her. She had a clear run to the door, I told her to go, to run. But she ran to me, but her back against mine and told me that she doesn't…' Danny paused, clenching his jaw and swallowing hard, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes.

Two tears escaped their confines and ran down Danny's cheeks, 'she told me that she doesn't abandon family.' He finally managed to whisper.

I felt an uncomfortable lump in my throat; I nodded 'no, she doesn't.'

Danny swiped angrily at his tears and continued, 'we fought back to back; the two of us faced ten of them. They beat us through sheer numbers, nothing else. She got a couple of hits to the stomach and I got my ribs broken. Then one of them kicked her in the head while she was down, I turned to try and help her somehow but I got hit over the head. I collapsed to the ground and they started kicking me. I don't remember anything after that.'

'Thank you.' I said.

'Do you blame me?'

'No.' I replied. How could I?

I blame me.

Steph's Mom/Ellen/Helen's POV

Danny asked Ric if he blamed him, Ric shook his head fractionally and said no. It was clear from the look on Ric's face who he blamed – he blamed himself.

I remember all too clearly the look on my daughter's face as she spoke about the man who stood before me: the love, the devotion, and the happiness. None of which I'd seen on Stephanie's face in a long time, and certainly not all at once.

And I remember all to clearly the words she spoke to me, and the words I spoke back.

'If anything does happen to me, I want you to look after him, I want you to make sure he doesn't blame himself, I want you to make sure he sleeps like he should and eats like he should, I want you to make him go on. I want you to love him like the son you never had. And I don't want you to blame him.'

'He will be as the son I never had. If anything happens to you, I will help him, and never blame him. I promise.'

But it was so easy to say the words, so much harder to do them.

But seeing Ric's tortured eyes, perhaps it wasn't so hard after all. It wasn't Ric that was hurting my daughter; it was the son of the bitch that had her.

I took a step towards Ric and my shoes clacked on the hard hospital floor. He turned at the sound, and lifted his head slowly to meet my eyes. He was expecting me to lash out at him, to blame him. He will be as the son I never had. If one of my daughter's looked at me with eyes in such pain I would hold them, I would comfort them. So I stepped closer to him, he tensed; I think he expected me to slap him. I stepped closer still and wrapped my arms around him. I stood on tiptoes, and guided his head to my shoulder. I held him and slowly I felt his arms come around me.

'I'm sorry.' He choked out. 'I'm so sorry. I love her so much, I should have walked away, I should have left her, she would be ok, she would be safe. I love her so much. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to send her away.'

And he broke down and cried on my shoulder in huge racking sobs, I held him tightly to me and rocked him gently back and forth. 'Shh, mi hijo, shh.' I repeated.

He clung to me until the last of his sobs left his body.

I stroked his silken hair that had escaped from its leather constrictions. 'Stephanie told me that she would rather live one day with you, and be killed tomorrow, than live a lifetime without you. She knew that you had enemies that might hurt her, but she choose to stay with you, to love you. Do not be sorry, mi hijo. You did nothing wrong, you are not to blame.'

'I can't live without her.'

'Then don't. Stephanie is a survivor, Ric – a fighter – don't give up on her yet. We'll find her.'

Ric took a deep shuddering breath, and he stepped away from me, pulling himself together. 'We'll find her.' He said firmly.


Mi hijo is a Spanish phrase; it means 'my son'.