Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind

by STEEN aka Christine

A Fan Fic based on J. Evanovich's Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter extraordinaire. Contains: Stephanie and a Merry Man Pairing. (BTW that can include Ranger..see how DEVIOUS I am...insert evil laugh here) Story Intro Summary: Life hasn't been exactly ea

10. CEotCK Chapter 33 thru 36

Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind

By FlyingKit aka Christine

Note; STD disclaimers apply. I am a NON PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts, or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.

I was dejected by Marcie running away to the smutcave with my man Stone, which I could barely find the emotional strength to post… It's so sad when a girl is all alone with her FMPs. As always thanks you to my editor and beta reader. You know who you are.C.)

Chapter 33

Interior of Tank's office

Rangeman Trenton complex

The phone receiver casing buckled and finally cracked under white knuckled fury.

"What do you mean he isn't there?" The owner of said destructive grip menacingly inquired of the party on the other end of the phone.

"Uh, just that, Boss. Brown isn't at any of the local medical facilities. No one with his name or description has been admitted to any of the hospitals or clinics in the Trenton vicinity."

"Did you think to check with Old Man Chavez?" Tank hissed through gritted teeth.

"Uh…"

"God damn it, Tio! Do I have to think of everything? Call Cal and ask him to escort you over to Chavez's place on Stark Street. Brown isn't stupid. He knows enough to get that head injury checked out by a medical professional. I want answers. Find him."

"What the fuck do you think I have been doing the last hour and a half? Sitting on my ass and twiddling my thumbs? And I don't need a fucking babysitter! Do you think I…"

"If you're smarter than I give you credit for, Tio, you will shut your mouth now; my way of doing it for you will be more of permanent solution."

"You can't touch me, Tank, and you know it. Ricardo would never allow it," Tio Manoso nearly chortled in glee at that thought; Tank could hear it in his voice.

"What Ricardo doesn't know won't kill him…"

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a promise. Once things are settled with Rangeman, you and I will discuss this further. Your familial relationship with Ricardo won't save you. Don't mistake that that asshole gives a shit about what happened to his weasel of cousin. It's not in him to care."

"I am calling Ric and he will…"

"Save it. Just do your fucking job. I don't have time to fuck around with you, Tiny." And with that Tank hung up on a still squealing Tio.

Tank curled his lip at the phone for a moment before dropping a suddenly heavy head into his hands, which were propped up on the desktop.

"Little prick," Tank mumbled under his breath. Then he let out a deep breath, trying to work out his frustration by massaging the knot of muscles in his neck.

"I hope that wasn't directed at me," a voice called out from the doorway. Tank looked up to see Lester striding into the room with a kiss-ass grin on his face.

"Tio," Tank mumbled by way of explanation.

"Ah, gotcha. One hundred percent understanding where you are coming from and I agree with that wise assessment. Why Ranger ever hired that fool is beyond me." Lester leaned a hip against the desk and crossed his brawny arms over his chest with an upturned brow.

"I guess guilt can go a long way, huh? That is why I am glad I only have one living relative; fewer factions to put the squeeze on my conscience," Lester waxed philosophically.

"Lester…"

"Yeah, boss?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"What crawled up your nose…beside the obvious? It's not your fault, Tank; you couldn't have known it was Stephanie behind all of this. Stone I can understand, but Stephanie? She had us all snowed," Lester stated with a hard edge to his voice. Lester was pissed with himself for being deceived by someone so close to them all. Innocent little burg girl, his brown ass. What he wouldn't give to wring her neck.

Tank, who wished he couldn't read Lester face so well, changed the subject.

"It's Brown. He's MIA. He never showed at St. Francis."

Lester jerked his head up to stare at Tank, his shoulders full of tension.

"Bobby? No way. He…" He shut his mouth with a snap. He refused to accept at face value the ramifications of Bobby' missing status.

"Tank, Bobby can't be the one responsible for their escape. I don't care that he was the one on the last watch. He's too much of good soldier to countermand a direct order. For Christ's sake, he was knocked out when those two broke out! You were the one that ordered him to go to the hospital to get checked out."

Lester was right. Tank would almost stake his life on the surety of Bobby's loyalty to himself and some of the others at Rangeman. Bobby had never proven himself to be suspect of any wrong doing in the past. The man was straighter than an arrow and more stable than a five legged table. If one discounted the exception of the whole Ranger/Junie ordeal, Bobby had never failed his friends. Tank had to admit that Ranger did seem to be the instigator in that; he didn't lay all the blame at Bobby's doorstep for the outcome of that situation.

Tank sighed.

But…Bobby did seem to be disturbingly close to Stephanie. He was almost (okay, the only word that accurately described it best) obsessed with her, really. How could one predict a fanatic's actions with any accuracy? Tank was worried, but he didn't want Lester to know how much. Tank had enough problems trying to keep up the charade of hunting Stephanie down along with Stone. The last thing he needed was a well-meaning Rangeman employee going vigilante on Stephanie or Bobby.

Damn Ric, anyhow! Tank might not think much of Ricardo Manoso as a man, but as Ranger, the ex-army special ops/businessman he had every confidence in him. Tank suspected Ranger knew more than he was letting on about the tapes they had received; that secretive fucker. If Ric would just trust him…

Tank brusquely shook his head and turned a hard look on Lester.

"Lester, we don't know what it means. We need to find him and then we can figure why he went missing. Since there is no definitive word on the current whereabouts of Stephanie and Stone," Tank ignored Lester's dark look at the mention of those names, "I think you would be a better resource to me in the field by assisting in the search for Brown. You know his haunts best, check them. Take Hector with you. Report back to me in thirty minute increments. Dismissed."

"Whatever you say, Boss," Lester responded dutifully as he strode toward the door. He paused with his hand on the knob and looked back at Tank.

"What did Ranger have to say about the escape?"

Tank had been dreading this question.

"I don't know; I can't locate Ranger to tell him."

Lester and Tank exchanged a meaningful glance in true Rangeman, ESP form. They both knew Ranger was always accessible on his encoded SAT line. The only exception had been when Junie had died and whenever he was 'away' on a mission for the Colonel. The fact that Tank couldn't reach Ranger raised both men's hackles.

Lester broke eye contact first and left the room without a word. Not that Tank blamed him. He had no idea what to say about the situation either.

Tank groaned. No matter, he was on his own now. He knew it was his ass twisting in the wind. If Ric wouldn't give him the answers he needed then he would investigate this on his own. He's be damned if he lost Stephanie because of a misunderstanding. Tank knew he had to find her before she did dome thing foolhardy, like trying to solve this mystery on her own and getting killed in the process. And those were the positive outcomes.

Fuck Ric, he didn't need him. Wherever he was.

Tank found the phone in his hand and was dialing the Miami number before his brain registered what had happened. He listened to it ring endlessly. After thirty-two shrill electronic screeches he hung up and tried the SAT line again.

Okay, maybe he did need him. Ranger had all the fucking government connections. Tank needed his assistance if he was gonna catch the actual son of a bitch responsible for fucking with Rangeman, Inc and the US government mission information.

As the tone of the unanswered phone droned on like a harbinger of doom in his ear, Tank couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding overwhelm him. Something was not going to go well because of this situation. He just knew it. As Grammy would say, 'you feel the devil walk your grave before he collects your soul.'

Tank shivered and hoped he and his grandmother were both wrong this time.

Meanwhile back at the warehouse loft…

My world narrowed down to tunnel-like simplicity. Although much had been explained to me (uh, was it just a few hours ago?) not a whole lot of it made sense. (I mean come on! The most deviant behavior I have ever been accused, and been guilty, of until now has been running down Morelli with the fender of a classic automobile. Or take for instance the fact that Stone and Bobby were in league with each other. Yes, indeed, I maintain that the apocalypse has started without my knowledge.) Just because this mess didn't make sense, it wouldn't be enough to hold me back from trying to worry every little detail to death like a dog with a bone. In fact, that is just what I did until I passed out in exhaustion on Bobby's bed. I awoke with a monster headache, dry tear tracks on my face and a bad taste in my mouth. Don't think the irony of that last bit wasn't lost on me.

I ambled into the attached bath to try to clean myself up a bit. Just because I felt dirty didn't mean I had to look it.

As I gave myself a quick spit and shine with the help of the bathroom sink, I came to a complete standstill. My reflection stared back at me in the cracked mirror. The woman there looked tired. She looked sad. She looked…

I sighed.

She looked lost.

All the emotions that were simmering inside me the last twenty four hours were there on display on that pathetic being's visage in the looking glass. I reached out a hand and wiped the steam from the honed glass several times so I could keep dissecting her while the sink filled with hot water. I just couldn't look away. It was like a train wreck. I wanted to decipher her. If I could just dismiss her fears and worries, maybe then I could find some courage to keep moving forward; to compel myself to let go of the pain of friends turning their backs on you.

A heavy knock at the door startled me out of my introspection.

"Angel, you ready? You two have to leave soon if you are going to slip under Tank's radar."

I cleared my throat.

"Uh, y-yeah. Just a minute," I called out in falsetto sing-song.

"Get a move on, Angel. See you downstairs in five," the muffled reply sounded through the wood of the door. I waited until the sound of his footfalls faded before I relaxed with a slump against the counter.

"Get a grip, Plum," I rasped as I returned my gaze to the mirror and gazed at the frazzled woman reflected there.

"You have to pull yourself together."

Was it my imagination or did the girl in the mirror look as dubious about the success of that outcome as I was. I wiped away all the signs of tears from my face with the back of my hand.

"Never let them see you cry," I whispered to looking glass.

I watched as a tiny smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as that particular phrase echoed off the porcelain-tiled walls. It brought back bittersweet memories of when my father gave me that exact advice about my klutzy performance in the girls' summer softball league when I was ten.

One sizzling summer day I was picked to play right field. Everything went well until the last play of the game. I ran to make the winning catch, was inches away from success, when I managed to trip over my own feet. I had been heartbroken. Even my teammates had jeered as they ran infield. I remember sitting in the dirt, tears streaming down my face, which was burrowed against my knees, when Dad found me. He had pulled me into a rare hug, smoothed a loose hair back from my face, and tipped my chin up to face him.

"Pumpkin, don't worry about what they think. It doesn't matter. What you think is all that matters. Just remember this, baby: never let them see you cry."

Good advice no matter what your age.

I splashed some cold water on my face and exited into the bedroom. Clutching my towel around my chest, I peeked outside the door and scurried toward the bedroom. It was then I realized that I didn't have any fresh clothes here. All my stuff was still at the Rangeman complex. Shit.

That was when my eyes landed on the half-made bed. There atop the rumbled comforter was a light blue demi-bra with matching panties, jean skirt, navy blue fitted tee shirt, and low-heeled straw colored wedge Candies. After a thorough examination I realized everything was in my size. Either Bobby was a very petite cross dresser or this stuff was put out for me to wear. I was betting on it being meant for me. Bobby didn't strike me as a baby blue panties man; not very complimentary to his ebony coloring.

As I dressed, I couldn't help but wonder who had bought the clothes, not to mention how they knew my size. I passed on the wedges and slipped my feet back into my worn sneakers; the better to run away from the big bag wolf when he showed up on my straw hut doorstep. I knew it was just matter of time before Tank…

That single thought got me moving and I shoved everything, old clothes and new shoes alike, into the provided duffle bag. At I picked up the bag an envelope fell to the floor.

Curiosity got the better of me (big surprise) so I slung the duffle strap over my shoulder, ripped open the envelope, and read the enclosed note. It was from Bobby. My eyebrows raised in astonishment as I absorbed the words.

Angel,

Please accept these as a token of affection for you. I know you normally wouldn't allow me to buy you anything this personal, but under the circumstances I thought it wise to give them to you. If you look in the first three drawers of the dresser you will find some additional items I purchased with you in mind that I think you should take with you. Who knows how long you will be gone. I have no doubt that you will need them. Don't argue, just take them. I was planning on giving them to you when I gave you the enclosed items anyway. I just wish it were under different circumstances, more pleasant ones anyway.

I want you to know how much you mean to me. You have given me back something that thought I lost : the unconditional love of a sister. If you ever need me just call. Also enclosed is the number of an encrypted phone I own. No one else has the number. It is for your knowledge and use only, so please kept the information private.

I promise to be there for you… always.

Love,

Bobby

I folded the letter precisely and slid it into the back pocket of my jean skirt. I could deal with the ramifications of only so much emotion in one day…just not yet. As I started to crumble the envelope I felt a lump. I unfolded and shook it. A small object wrapped in a yellow post-it note tumbled into the palm of my hand. I unwrapped the paper and uncovered a key. It looked like your run of the mill house key nothing special until… I flipped it over. Engraved along the top of the key were the words 'Home is where the heart is.'

Okay…

I decided to ignore that and move my attention to the post-it. It didn't make much sense either. It had several numbers written on it in Bobby's handwriting. It had too many digits to be a phone number. Well, one I recognized anyway. I stuck the note in my back pocket and stared at the key again. What the hell was this to? A house? That would make sense with the phrase personalized on it. And then it hit me.

Oh, shit. It was to this apartment, Bobby's apartment.

Well, if I didn't believe him before, I sure as hell as did now.

I closed my fist around the key, causing metal to bite into flesh, and wondered where I should put it for safe-keeping. I felt the chain around my neck tug at a lock of my hair, bringing tears to my eyes. Okay, if that wasn't divine intervention, I don't know what is. After unclasping it, I threaded the key on the necklace. Obviously I couldn't put it back on my neck. The weight of it would cause me to go bald. I looped it around my ankle and tucked the end of the key between my shoe and sock. That would have to suffice for now.

After adding the additional clothing I found in the directed dresser (the sheer number and variety of outfits astounded me), I scooped up the duffel and made my way to the stair landing. I paused for a moment gathering some courage.

It was time to face the lions.

To be continued in chapter 34…

Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind

By FlyingKit aka Christine

Note; STD disclaimers apply. I am a NON PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts, or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.

Bah, I'm so sick of feelings and emotional angst and… BAH! BAH! A pox I say! A pox on their houses! I can't wait to move on already. sigh Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Be forewarned: I was told REPEATEDLY this was a very vexing chapter. And lastly, I want to thank those brave few who have tottered after this story through thick and thin (no matter how evil I seem). You ladies ROCK! I would never have had the courage to keep posting this "BEAST" if it wasn't for you. C.)

Chapter 34

I tried to focus my thoughts into nothingness as I loped down the bedroom staircase to the main floor of the loft to join the guys. I envisioned myself transforming into a stoic Neanderthal; focused to a Zen like state where nothing but my actions and goal mattered. The obstacle to achieving this feat was the very fact that thinking the word Neanderthal reminded me of my Rangeman co-workers. Crap, I mean ex-coworkers. Don't ask me why; but I somehow think that I am officially fired from Rangeman, Inc. It must've been the chains and manacles that sealed it.

That thought led me to the next disturbing one. I just couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that I was Rangeman prey. Not to mention being on the wrong side of the law because of the arson. I bet every cop in Trenton was already on the lookout for us. I related that last thought to Stone when I found him sitting at the Formica table in the main living area, his stature making him look grotesquely Gulliver in relationship to the furniture's Lilliputian proportions.

Stone never deigned to verbally respond to my worried babble. So then I asked him where Bobby had run off to since he wasn't in the room when I entered. He merely gave me a long, silent look before returning his attention to the map spread out before him on the table.

What? He doesn't worry about the small stuff like, say, being a fugitive from the law? I was seriously starting to question his sanity if not his abilities.

More than a little put out by his display, I picked up my duffle, recently repacked with a designer wardrobe provided by one Bobby Brown, and made my way to the lower staircase that would return me to the garage portion of the warehouse. I absolutely refused to dwell on the recently furnished clothes and the implications of them. My head was pounding enough already.

I reached the last landing and skipped over the last two stair treads, suddenly anxious to get the hell out of Dodge. I sprinted over to the mini-van and quickly stowed my bag in the rear compartment.

And yes, I said mini-van. You heard me right--Bobby Brown owned a minivan. Bobby said it was less conspicuous than the Nissan. He insisted Stone and I take it. Well, it was pure conjecture on my part that he owned the mini-van. It was in his garage so he had to own it, right?

I tried to ignore the bumper sticker on the van's rear hatch as I closed it. The one that proclaimed the vehicle was driven by the 'Proud Parent of an Honor Roll Student at Jefferson Middle School.'

Crap.

Oh well. One more felony can't do any harm at this point, can it?

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts.

By the time I stomped my way back up the rickety wooden staircase to the loft, Stone appeared to have completed his cartography training with the newly returned Bobby. As I reached the top landing a hush fell over the room. The kind of hush that descends when someone is either talking about you or doesn't want you to know something. How very curious and how incredibly irritating.

With crossed arms and an equally cross look, I walked over to stand beside Bobby's chair. When I wasn't acknowledged immediately by either man (both of whom were currently involved in some sort of manly stare-down) I obnoxiously cleared my throat and hip checked Bobby. Since he was seated I thought the action would only be a nuisance greeting and jar him slightly. I obviously miscalculated my strength.

Bobby now lay sprawled out on the wooden floor wearing a surprised expression on his face, one that quickly turned murderous. I subsequently reacted with my trademark eloquent grace and logical linguistics.

"Oops! Uh… sorry?" I gulped and took off across the room toward the staircase in a flat out run. I had the overwhelming sensation of being a wildebeest that had just unintentionally stepped on the lion's tail.

Bobby tackled me at the knees and I crumpled to the floor. He was going for a new World Wrestling Federation record for longest headlock when Stone finally interceded on my behalf. Or so I thought until I registered the meaning of his words.

"Whenever you are ready to finish things up here, Brown, let me know," Stone callously stated, without a hint of his trademark humor present.

I watched him stride from the room with a furrowed brow (as much as one can furrow one's face while it's schmooshed against a floorboard) and turned an inquiring fisheye on Bobby. He sighed loudly as he righted himself and pulled me up to my feet with him.

"What's eating him?" I snorted.

Bobby sat on the couch and pulled me into his lap so we were nearly eye-to-eye.

"What do you think, Angel?"

Now there was an evasive answer if I ever head one. Huge eye roll.

"Do you think I would be asking you if I knew?" I grumbled.

Bobby smirked, going from somber to amusement in the blink of an eye.

"No, I don't suppose you would, would you? You're simple like that," he finished softly.

I screwed up my face, battening down the hatches to go toe to toe on the defensive front, when Bobby managed to derail me.

"I meant that as a compliment. You are, with a few exceptions, uncomplicated in your motives. You mean what you say and, for the majority of the time, say what you mean." Bobby fixed me with an inscrutable look before continuing.

"It's that 'rest of the time,' when those exceptions rear their ugly heads, which gets you into trouble."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Bobby?" I scowled at him.

"Don't play dumb with me, Angel. You know what I meant. If you dropped the self-righteous indignation routine and really thought about it you'd figure it out."

I clamped my mouth shut on the nasty automatic retort that threatened to spill from my lips, and decided to give Bobby the benefit of the doubt.

Okay, Stone was upset with Bobby... and all right, even with me. But why? The only thing Bobby had done before Stone's exit was to mess with me. We were just goofing off to let off some steam; it wasn't like Stone hadn't done the same sort of thing with me in the past. Heck, even during the aftermath of the whole fire crisis at my parents, Stone took the time to tease me. Bobby and I had just been wrestling for Pete's sake; it had all been innocent. It wasn't like he was hurting me or anything…

"Shit," I blurted.

Bobby nodded slowly.

"Figured it out, Angel? Do you know why Stone was upset just now?"

"Um, maybe," I ventured with uncertainty.

"Okay," Bobby uttered.

Funny how that single word seemed to weigh down the air I breathed. Bobby turned the patented Rangeman stare on me. You know, the one that makes Mafioso and drug cartel members alike soil themselves like toddlers on the first day of daycare. There would be no evasive maneuver for this conversation.

"It's because I let you touch me."

Bobby must not have been expecting that particular response because both his eyebrows raised and his face darkened. And then it was my turn to thwart a potential tirade.

"What I meant just now was that, um, we were wrestling and I let you touch me. I didn't flinch."

Now Bobby added a touch of confusion to his angry expression.

"What?" It was Bobby's turn to furrow his brow. "Are you saying he touched you? And then you flinched?"

I watched helplessly as thoughts ran wild across his glowering face.

"No, it wasn't like that." I rolled my eyes. "I just wasn't expecting his action at the time. He was just leaning over to buckle me into the seat."

"So you flinched because he buckled you into a seat belt?" I nodded at him.

"You really expect me believe that?" he frowned. "Were you afraid of him, Angel? Why did you react that way to such a benevolent act? What did you think he was going to do?"

Ding, ding, ding! Survey says: question of the day? I think so.

"Kiss me, I guess?" I proposed.

He grew angry again. It was the jaw pulse that gave away the severity of it.

"Has he done that before?" Uh-oh, the Bobby Brown interrogation voice.

I was starting to become uncomfortable with this conversation. Shit, he really took this brother stuff seriously.

"Yes, he has," I admitted, wary of Bobby's sudden dark mood. I heard a popping sound. Hello TMJ! Bobby was going to need to seek some serious dental expertise if he kept this up.

"Why?"

"Huh?" I retorted wittily.

"Why did he kiss you?"

I crossed my arms and withdrew a bit from his embrace. I narrowed my eyes to convey what I thought of that particular question.

"Uh, for the usual reasons I suppose. He likes me?" I wasn't sure if I was telling him that's what I thought or if I was just now trying to figure out Stone's intentions myself.

"Jesus, Stephanie! This isn't junior high school. I meant why did you let him? Did you want him to kiss you?"

Ah, now there's the rub.

"I don't know exactly why, Bobby. What do you want me to say?" I grated in irritation. "That I find him irresistible? That I melt at his touch? That I wouldn't mind marrying a man who accepts me…"

Where did that thought come from? Shit.

I looked at Bobby and deduced that same thought had occurred to him too.

"Fuck. No one mentioned marriage before now, Stephanie. Why the hell would you…?" The anger erased from his face like chalk from a slate; here one minute, gone the next.

"Did he propose to you?" Bobby's voice was bereft of emotion, belying the intensity of his charged words.

I blinked twice at him, like a scared woodland creature who had just stumbled across an unseen predator.

Again.

Damn freaking lion!

Bobby reached out and hauled me so close that we were practically nose to nose. So close that I felt like I was training to become his dermatologist or E.N.T.

"Did Stone propose marriage to you, Stephanie?"

His hands tightened on my arms. The pain spurred on the threat of tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.

"You're hurting me, Bobby." His response was to give me a tiny shake. Nothing particularly ominous if one overlooked the gleam in his eye.

"Answer me, Angel."

"No? Well, I suppose he sort of asked. I-I-I'm not sure now…" Bobby was starting to frighten me.

And just like that, just when I thought things were going to go bonkers, the pressure abruptly ceased and he released me. As the circulation resumed with a vengeance, my arms tingled by the assault of thousands of pins and needles. I rubbed the skin in an effort to dispel my incredulity at what just happened.

"Wait here," Bobby instructed in a no-nonsense tone as he removed me from his lap and ran towards the stairs leading to the bedroom level of the loft.

I didn't respond. I honestly was still trying to gather enough wits about me to ascertain what the hell just happened. By the time I did, Bobby was long gone and out of sight. I realized he must have gone in the same direction as Stone. Well, shit. What do I do now? I mean, Bobby wasn't exactly calm when he left just now. Hell, neither was Stone. I decided to take action.

I crept up the stairs whispering a silent pray to the god of stealth that I wouldn't make any of the stairs creak as I did. I slunk down the short hall and I tentatively popped my head around the bedroom doorjamb waiting for an explosion. When nothing happened, I slowed the jack hammering of my heart and grasped that neither man was there.

That was strange. Where did they go? I thought the bedroom was the only room up here.

I ran to the bathroom and searched it. I even looked in the shower stall, which just tells you how frantic I had become. I wandered back out into the bedroom and frowned.

Where the hell…?

I heard a muffled curse and then an ominous crashing sound. It sounded like the cacophony was nearby but muffled. I ran to the balcony and looked downstairs. Nope not there.

And then it hit me right behind the eyes. The sound came from behind the far bedroom wall.

I ran back inside searching for a secret passage of some sort, running my hands over all the mortar joints of the walls, desperate to find the entrance. After two more crashes and no further progress locating the door I was convinced that was hidden in the wall there, I kicked the closet door in frustration. After I ceased hopping around with my foot in my hand like a demented bunny rabbit, I could have slapped myself.

Oh, man. The closet.

I shut my eyes monetarily and then opened the door slowly. Behind the rack of clothes I found a recessed latch. I was about to push open the door revealed there when I heard angry voices and froze in my tracks. I was rethinking this whole 'barge in and save the day' plan I had concocted as I overheard some particularly nasty words float through the crack.

My eyebrows rose of their own volition. They were heatedly debating something it seemed. I never knew that Bobby or Stone could swear like that. If the situation had been different I might have laughed at one particular gem when Stone lamented Bobby's sad lineage in relationship to that of a bloodhound. When he got to the one about Bobby's mother I gasped. Not even Morelli's navy day recollections could have prepared me for that one.

I heard a slam and the crack of something wooden breaking.

Wonderful. What is it with these guys? I reached my hand out to push the door open to stop this insanity when it happened. I stopped dead; my blood ran cold. I morbidly pressed my ear against the door to make sure I was hearing correctly.

"She's mine. I won't let you do this to her; make her some common whore!"

"You are fucking insane, Brown!"

Another series of grunts and thumps occurred then the sound of flesh slamming against flesh.

"She's too good for you. I should never have introduced you to her. You will only use her like the others. I'll kill you before I let you…"

What does he mean he 'introduced' us? Tank did, if you want to get technical. Why did Bobby say that?

I hear another grunt and then the sound of some of physical grappling.

"Stay down, Brown. I mean it! I will harm you if need be. Stay still."

A choked sound and then silence. And just when I thought I couldn't stand the white noise any longer without going insane, I heard a sigh.

"Jesus, Brown. What the fuck are you talking about?"

A muffled sob followed that comment.

"She's my sister, man. Don't do this. Don't use her. Junie deserves better than that. Don't tell her you will marry her..." Bobby moaned.

"Fuck."

My thoughts exactly, Stone.

"She's Stephanie. We were talking about Stephanie, remember? I'm not who you think I am, Brown."

A pregnant pause.

"Bobby, you hear me?"

The sound of a slap echoed

"Snap out of it!"

Oh. My. God.

Bobby really thinks I'm his dead sister. I swayed on my feet. I thought I was just an emotional surrogate for his sister. I never thought he was this attached. Or this crazy. I never thought he believed I actually embodied Junie. That he had…

I gulped and threw a hand up to splay across my chest. As if that simple action could somehow revive my heart.

I slowly recalled how to breathe and tuned back to the conversation. Apparently Bobby had safely returned from his trip to Planet Looney.

"…it happens like that." Bobby's voice.

"You need help." Stone's voice.

Tense silence.

"Maybe," Bobby grudgingly agreed before continuing. "But the fact still remains that you need to back off Angel. Stephanie is not just some casual fuck."

Someone growled. I think it was Stone. The sound of more wrestling, a cracking sound and then a groan. Both men were now panting.

"That's our affair. But I will tell you this, what I feel for that woman is not casual. Not even close," Stone answered in one of the harshest tones I hade ever heard.

"So you meant what you said?"

"Again that's private business between me and Stephanie."

"I'm making it my business," Bobby snarled.

"Oh for God's sake man, how many times do I have to tell you? I won't hurt her. I want to keep her safe just like you asked me to back at the compound." Stone sounded even more exasperated at that comment than by anything else that has occurred thus far.

"No, you mean you want to fuck her!" Bobby shouted.

"Yes and no. It's more than that and you know that. I love her."

Holy shit!

I jumped away from the door as if it had suddenly caught fire. I backed out of the closet, cautiously shut that door and ran down the stairs to the living room. I hurled myself onto the sofa and tried to calm down.

Fat chance of that happening anytime soon!

By the time they came back downstairs twenty minutes later, I must have appeared my normal self. Not like a woman who had just eavesdropped on a conversation whereby she discovered one man was a complete loony and the other just declared himself… smitten by her.

I just couldn't bring myself to even think the word 'love' in connection with Stone's name. It was beyond belief. So I just plastered a perplexed look on my face (not a stretch) and garnished it with a wary frown. Neither man looked at my face and screamed 'Ah-HA!' so I took that as a good sign that my snooping would remain undiscovered.

"Angel, Angel?" Bobby's voice yanked me from my anxious ruminations. I looked up to find him bent over my reclining form on the couch.

"Uh, um, yeah? You said something, Bobby?"

The two men exchanged a look. Okay, maybe I wasn't as slick as I thought. I scurried to do damage control.

"Uh, is it time to leave?" I uttered brightly, trying to infuse innocence and light into my expression.

Bobby frowned at those words, but chose to interpret my mood differently than for what it truly was.

"Don't worry, Angel. Before you know it we'll have this whole thing cleared up and you'll be able to come home. Stone and I will be in constant communication the whole time you're gone. I'll be playing my part here to find out what's going on. With any luck we can resolve this situation with a little ingenuity and some recon in just a few days. I'll find this hacker bastard and nail his ass to the wall," Bobby growled and then pulled me in for a long hug.

I felt unnaturally wooden in his arms, not quite sure how to react to him now.

"If it helps any, I'll miss you like crazy," Bobby whispered into the ear near his mouth.

I blinked, trying to mask my reaction to that last, very accurate sentence.

"Uh, ditto." I finally squeezed him back lightly in return. I knew he was perplexed by my weird reaction as he pulled back and studied my face. He must have decided to shrug it off again as trepidation about the whole running underground scenario.

Bobby and Stone exchanged some last minute instructions with one another as the three of us climbed down the stairs single file to the mini-van. To be honest I didn't hear a word of what they said. I was too busy avoiding even looking at Stone's eyes and the presence of Bobby's fingers at the small of my back as we descended. I was frightened of both of them for entirely different reasons.

Or maybe not; both men were capable of attacking or trapping me; just different forms of those acts, that was all. I shivered at that last thought as we reached the passenger door and Bobby felt that involuntary physical reaction.

He smiled sadly as he buckled me into the van and shut the door. He leaned in through the open window.

"I love you, Angel. Remember, you will come home safe to me, to your heart." And with that he pressed a kiss to my cheek.

I suspected he felt me tense at his touch. I assumed it when I watched him say good-bye to Stone. I was certain of it when we pulled out of the warehouse.

It was his expression that momentarily swayed me. I believed him deeply wounded as I watched him in the side view mirror, standing in the recessed light of the garage door closing. I observed him disappear behind those doors as the van gradually increased in speed. Long after they shut I was still gazing into the mirror, at odds about my reaction and his.

Was I wrong? Did I misunderstand what happened? Was Bobby fruit loops or was he just kind and loving? Was I making a mountain out of a molehill? Was I…

Shit.

I looked away from the mirror and tried to banish my thoughts of him. Little did I realize I would regret doing that and a great many more things that were yet to come. I had no way of knowing that would be the last time I, Stephanie 'Bombshell' Plum, would set eyes on Bobby Brown.

To be continued in chapter 35…

Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind

By FlyingKit aka Christine

Note; STD disclaimers apply. I am a NON PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts, or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.

Here's to all my buddies. You ladies are the wind beneath my cheesy wings. Sincerely, though, thank you. To my rock of lust, Ellie, my long suffering editor, Mo, my pr rep KappyQ, my juice wheezing best bud-dddy, Marcie and my cheerleader, Suze: thanks for the ongoing good vibes you send my way. And to all the newbies I soul sucked into the vortex that is CEotCK: welcome to the bumpy ride. I'm gonna ride this roller coaster 'til it flies off the tracks. PS has anyone seen SaMi lately? C.)

Chapter 35

Was I wrong? Did I misunderstand what happened? Was Bobby fruit loops or was he just kind and loving? Was I making a mountain out of a molehill? Was I…

Shit.

I looked away from the mirror and tried to banish my thoughts of him. Little did I realize I would regret doing that and a great many more things that were yet to come. I had no way of knowing that would be the last time I, Stephanie 'Bombshell' Plum, would set eyes on Bobby Brown.

"So you don't trust him either."

I whipped my head around to gape at Stone. I was momentarily blinded by his insight. And then I realized what he just said also referenced something else.

"What do you mean 'either'? You think I don't trust you?" I whispered in shock, trying the words out for size. This conversation was vaguely similar to… (Okay, I'll just say it) every argument I ever had with Morelli when we were dating. Except in this case the roles were disturbingly reversed. There, that wasn't so hard to admit, was it? Ugh.

"No, I think you don't. I'm not sure if you trust anyone really," Stone retorted without peeling his gaze from the road.

I'm not sure what torqued me off more; the fact that he wouldn't look at me or that he thought that I trusted no one.

"Would I be gallivanting off to God-only-knows-where in the dark of night with you if I didn't?" I ground out between clenched teeth.

"Who knows, I obviously don't. Are you the type of woman who would run from the law with an alleged accomplice to whom she is attracted but doesn't trust? I wonder if Mañoso knew that about you. Maybe he did, and he took advantage of it."

"What the hell does that mean, Stone?"

The sound of the interstate whistling outside my door was my only answer. I studied Stone's face and noted how taut the muscles in his neck were; He could give a banjo a run for its money.

"Damn it, do you intend to answer me or not?"

The roar of rubber raging against cracked asphalt grew louder; almost as loud as the blood roaring through my ears, but not quite. My anger burned so bright at this latest indignity that it blazed white hot.

"Fuck you, Stone," I whispered and then turned my back on him. (Well, I turned my back as much as I could while strapped in like a mummy. Damn mommy-vans and their safety belts. How can a girl adequately sulk in one of these things?)

The weight of the silence that ensued after my outburst was stifling. After ten silent minutes I decided to ignore the waves of tension radiating off Stone in the most rewarding way I knew how (naptime), when Stone spoke.

"Yes, Mañoso may have fucked you over, but you didn't have to take it. And you don't have to make everyone else who cares about you pay for his mistake. He hurt you. We all get hurt in life. And we all hurt people in return. It doesn't make it right."

How dare he imply that there was something wrong with me? How dare this man who barely knew me for a month tell me I was deficient in any department? How dare he tell me that I let Ranger use me? Hell, I trusted Ranger and look what it got me. Uh, let's see… there is so much to count up. It got me a big nothing that's what! Damn man, couldn't he see that? Couldn't he see that blind trust is what got me into the mess that was my current life? The man I cared for left me and then snubbed me. The men I considered my extended family betrayed me and now I am a fugitive from the law. Oh yeah. Life was a bed of freaking roses.

I swam in the discontent that the swirling current of thought drowned me in until I felt myself transform into the emotional equivalent of a piranha. I savored the rage like a fine wine, nursing it until it became a smoldering mass of resentment.

"Did you ever think maybe I'm not the problem? Maybe it's not that I can't trust, just maybe it's that I can't trust you. A man like you who thinks scruples are currency and morals are mushrooms," I spat the final syllables of the last sentence at Stone as if they were venomous.

When I leaned toward Stone across the divide of the front seats as I said the last words I had an ideal position to view his face. So, needless to say, I caught his crestfallen hurt etched there a nanosecond before he pulled on a blank mask.

I sighed and sat back in my seat at loss as to what to do now. Even though I was certain I was the victim in this verbal assault, I couldn't help but regret those last words about his character. I mean, yeah sure, he was an ass. But did I need to lower myself to his level? Okay, so it wasn't exactly a long journey for me in the decency department…and I hated that he forced me to this have that moral realization.

After ten minutes rolled by I came to the conclusion that Stone had no intention of talking to me further on this trip. No way was I going to let him squirm out of the situation he created.

"So are you going to tell me where exactly we are headed?"

"No." He didn't bat an eyelash as he said it too.

"What?" I spat and turned incredulous eyes on Stone.

"No, that really wasn't something I felt like doing right now."

I'll just bet. He probably was entertaining thoughts of homicidal asphyxiation by way of seat belt instead. Well, tough. I had a fan club full of people who wanted to kill me for years now. Stone was merely a card-carrying member, not the president. The last I heard Morelli still held that position, with the major competition for the office being my mother, the nurturer.

"Fine, but tell me anyway. For kicks why don't you try being straight with me."

In profile I watched Stone's eyes narrow. Well, shucks. I pissed him off some more. I guess good old Mom was wrong again. You could grow up to be a professional pain in the ass. I'll have to tell her the next time we have a one of those inspiring yet memorable heart-to-hearts she was so famous for sharing with me. The joy, the bliss.

"The City. We are headed for New York City. No more questions, please. I don't think I can manage to continue this caliber of good cheer for the duration with anymore of your witty repartee flying around."

"Touché," I rasped. "Remember you started it, I didn't. You wanted me to respond, so I did. Just because you don't like the way I did it, or the content, don't take it out on those around you." I smirked as I used his words against him. Two could play that game. "We can't all see eye-to-eye on everything in life, Stone."

"No, but it would be nice if you could truly see some things, Stephanie. For instance: the fact that people have feelings even if you choose to ignore them."

The unexpected comment jerked my head around like a top to stare at him. He exchanged such an emotionally charged look with me that I was afraid the intensity of it would cause the van to wreck and I don't think either of us would notice. Until that moment, I had been so worked up about him railroading me that I had forgotten his closeted (pardon the pun) declaration of love. Shit.

I looked away first.

Wary of any further draining discussions of any kind, I reached in the back seat and grabbed a hooded sweatshirt out a duffle bag. I outfitted myself in it and pulled the hood up like a shield in one smooth motion. Once my Old Navy emotional armor was in place, I reclined my seat and rolled over to face the door. I willed myself to sleep, but it was hard. For some reason the rhythm of Stone's breathing seemed to monopolize my thoughts too much for any type of restful respite to take hold. Damn his lungs. What did he need to breathe for anyway? Cripes, even when pissed off I still find him sexy. Someone please shoot me and put me out of my misery. I wonder if there was such a thing as a hormone-ectomy. Ugh.

Two hours later,

Interior of Tank's office at the Rangeman complex…

Anger percolated as Tank slammed the battered phone receiver down into the cradle. It was nearly midnight and there was still no sign of Bobby, Stephanie or Stone. And to cap things off, that ass, Tio, had called off the rest of the shift saying he had a date. A fucking date! Tank wanted to kill the slack ass. Tio was always doing brainless, inconsiderate shit like that. It was no wonder no one at Rangeman could stand the prick.

Tank sighed and stroked his bald head in an effort to shake loose a thought; any thought, really, that would help him figure out where the black hole was located that was gobbling up his personnel like Pac-man prey. He still couldn't believe Hector had gone missing too. He groaned. What the hell else could go wrong at this point? Upon later review he wished he hadn't thought that.

He jumped at the sound of his landline ringing. Either that or a dying frog was loose in his office. Tank was calculating his need to expand the equipment budget to include a new purchase allotment for phones as his scooped up the receiver.

"What."

"Charles?" the vaguely familiar, female voice wobbled tentatively. Tank cringed at the name.

"Yes, who is this?"

"Don't you know my voice after at least nine years, Charles? Or is it Tank? I never could call you that ridiculous name. Only a man would pick 'Tank' as a nickname. I never understood that you know; the need to name yourself after an inanimate object or add an –er to the end of a verb as a name." The infernal woman snorted as she said the last and Tank started grinding his teeth.

"Christ almighty, Mia, do you have a point to all this rambling?" Tank rolled his eyes at the woman on the other end of the line even though he knew she couldn't see him. Amelia Jones-Mañoso always did get on his nerves long before she married and divorced his best friend. Tank thought it had something to do with the fact that Mia had still been Bobby's girlfriend when she had first weaseled into Ranger's bed and affections. Tramp. The only good thing that harpy had ever done was give birth to his goddaughter, Lissa.

"You should acquire some manners, Charles. You should know that after being such a successful 'businessman' in Trenton. Why I should think that all your gun-running buddies would like you to be more courteous the next time you broker a deal on the golf course."

Tank snapped at that last jibe.

"Mia! Do you have a point to all this or is this just your usual bitchiness shining through? If so, fuck off. I don't have time for you histrionics. Some off us have to earn our livings and not just sponge off others." He heard her gasp at that comment and Tank immediately regretted his words. Now he would have to listen to her phony weeping and placate her enough so he could get off the phone to do some real work. Babysitting the ex-wife of a man with whom he wasn't speaking socially was not his idea of a fun. It was as he listened to Mia sob eloquently and half-heartedly muttered the appropriate placations that Tank heard his cell phone ring.

"I have to go, Mia. I'll have to call you back." Tank looked over his shoulder toward the cell phone that was even now mamboing across his desk barely out of reach. He groaned as it fell to the floor into the dark, unwholesome chasm between his desk and the wall. God only knew what lurked back there. He had counted 4 rings so far. He didn't have time for this crap. He leaned over to try and fish the mobile phone towards him with his foot as it abruptly silenced.

Mia continued even as Tank finished his plea to call her back. "No! You can't just hang up on me like that! Everyone keeps leaving me. I can't deal with another person doing it to me in any form right now. Fuck you and tell your buddy, Ric, he can shove that house of his up his ass. I don't want it!"

That got his attention. Tank dismissed the cell phone from his mind and tuned back into the conversation at hand.

"What did you just say?"

His cell phone resumed its ringing from its dust bunny den behind the desk, but Tank wasn't interested in its existence now.

"Oh, didn't you know? That bastard called me a couple of hours ago to tell me he was leaving Miami for good. He gave me his house on the beach. What the hell am I going to do with that monstrosity? I don't have the money to upkeep that thing. The inconsiderate…"

Tank interrupted before she could rant out of control. Meanwhile the cell phone ceased its noise for the second time.

"For God's sake, Mia, you are rolling in piles of alimony money from all those poor schmucks you conned. You're up to—what? -- husband number five now? So give me a break. And you and I both know he didn't leave the house to you, did he? He intended it be kept for Lissa, I'm certain of that." Tank was also certain things would have to be pretty bleak if Ranger had pre-empted his will and gave the house outright to his daughter. Tank's stomach started to churn. He could almost hear the melodious tones. But no, that was the incessant cell phone again.

"Now, stop the melodrama. What exactly did he say to you? No embellishments, Mia. I'm not in the mood," Tank ordered. He heard her swallow loudly before answering.

"He gave me some line about some dangerous work he was doing and not making back from some mission. He informed me he was giving the house to us. Then he wanted to talk to Melissa. Can you believe he wanted me to wake her up so he could talk to her? That asshole. I told him…"

"Are you telling me that after he said he was leaving town, that he wasn't coming back in one piece, that he wanted to speak to his only daughter before going… and you told him no? You denied him that?" Tank's voice lowered to a dangerous octave without his knowledge, but Mia most definitely heard it.

"I-I-I didn't think he was serious. I thought it was a power play. You know, his weird way of keeping tabs on us. You of all people know how controlling he can be, Charles. How was I to know it was serious? I mean he…"

Tank wanted to strangle the manipulative bitch.

"You and I both know he wouldn't fuck around when it comes to Lissa. Why did you really call here, Mia? What do you want from me?" Tank ground out in exasperation. All he wanted to do now was get on the phone and reach Ranger's private attorney, Richard Mann, to find out what the hell was going on. Tank knew Ranger wouldn't leave town on a dangerous mission without amending his legal paperwork. Especially if Ranger thought he was leaving on a suicidal mission as Tank suspected.

"I had some second thoughts and wondered if maybe I had misunderstood. Charles, h-h-he sounded so final. When he said goodbye he sounded so lost. Ric has never sounded lost in his entire life. I am so worried. Please tell me you'll find him, Charles. Make sure he's okay," Mia finished the words in a small voice. If Tank didn't know better he would almost believe that she was worried about Ranger's well-being. But…

"I have every intention of doing that, Mia. Don't worry." Then Tank decided to bait the hook. "Do you need anything?"

"Well, now that you mention it, Ric's lawyer mentioned a possible stipend he would be dispensing for the house upkeep. I was wondering if you could support me with that. You know how hard it can be taking care of a big empty property. Don't you take care of his house in Trenton?"

So that was her game; trying to weasel more property and assets out of Ranger's soon-to-be corpse. Tank laughed at her scheming in order to keep the homicidal rage at bay.

"Let me think about it, Mia. Don't call me, I'll call you." Tank practically snorted as he hung up on her protesting voice. Some leopards never changed their spots; Mia always was a predator. Too bad none of the men her life figured it out in time.

Tank picked up the phone and dialed the number of Richard Mann's private residence in Philadelphia. He didn't care if it was almost one in the morning. This was the kind of stuff the attorney was paid to do in Tank's opinion. He growled as the line rang. It almost seemed to echo. No, it was the damn mobile phone again, ringing in tandem, Tank realized. Well, fuck them, whoever they were. This was more important.

Meanwhile a few minutes earlier

Across town in the bowels of the warehouse district…

The staccato beat reverberated in the cab of the truck like a small snare drum. Lester stilled his finger assault against the steering wheel. He glanced out the windshield into the inky darkness that consumed the abandoned street before him for the millionth time that night. He sighed. Lester had no idea what he would do if this lead didn't pan out.

Bobby might have thought no one else knew about this new building of his, but he was wrong. Lester had known about it for a few days, although he had discovered its existence completely by accident. Okay, Lester had been snooping, but it was the results that mattered not the means, wasn't it? It wasn't Lester's fault that Bobby had left the legal paperwork in his desk where just anyone could come across it.

Lester recoiled at the memory of that discovery. There, in horrid black and white, had been Bobby's Last Will and Testament. Upon reading, Lester discovered Robert 'Bobby' Allen Brown had left everything he owned to Stephanie Michelle Plum, including his shares of Rangeman Ltd. and the derelict warehouse that was located just outside Lester's window now. In light of recent events, Lester was appalled Bobby had allowed the paperwork to stand unchanged. But one couldn't dispute the evidence. On the last page Bobby had scrawled his bold signature. Lester had even surreptitiously sought the consultation of the Rangeman attorney. The man confirmed the validity of the contract's contents and that it had already been officially filed after Bobby dropped it off, two hours after Stephanie had escaped.

"Fuck, Brown. What the hell were you thinking, you asshole? Jesus," Lester growled into the silence.

Lester reached into the passenger seat and picked up his recent illegal acquisition from the Rangeman equipment locker. Tank might skin him alive when he discovered Lester removed the night vision goggles he now had in his hand, but fuck it. He needed all the help he could get on this stakeout since he was working solo. Tank had nearly shit a brick when Lester informed him that Hector, his partner for the night, had gone missing.

Lester grunted and lowered the goggles. Fuck, this was looking bad for Bobby. When Hector went MIA Lester had decided then not to tell Tank about the will or the warehouse. Why damn Bobby anymore than he already appeared to be now. Besides, as soon as Lester found Bobby he would ask him what the fuck he was up to and put the whole thing to rest for good.

As Lester picked up the cell to report his latest update (zilch), he caught movement out of the corner of his eye by the warehouse loading dock door. He dropped the cell and fumbled for the goggles. By the time he slammed them on he was afraid he missed his only lead all night. He need not have worried.

He watched in stunned amazement as he witnessed Bobby and Hector emerge from the vehicle, a beat up gray Nissan to be precise, and walk toward the building's door. Bobby was visibly agitated and it appeared Hector was pushing him even though Bobby clearly did not wish to continue the conversation. As Bobby reached the entrance, Lester witnessed Hector grab Bobby's arm by the elbow.

Lester cringed. He knew that from experience you never restrained Bobby Brown when he was in a mood. And Bobby looked mad enough now to spit nails.

Bobby screamed something intelligible and Hector appeared to flinch at the words. Hector made a move towards the car and Bobby pulled his gun. Lester swore some inventive curses as he groped for his cell phone and tried to keep an eye on the argument in progress.

Bobby forced Hector to retreat to the vehicle and get behind the wheel and had climbed into the passenger seat by the time Lester recovered the infernal mobile phone. Lester threw the goggles to the floorboard, hit speed dial, and managed to covertly start the truck engine all at the same time in an amazing feat of multitasking and dexterity.

Lester successfully navigated his Dodge after the rapidly fading taillights undetected by the time Tank's voice mail picked up. Lester impatiently waited for the beep, and when the time came he left his stunning revelation in detail along with his blistering opinion of Tank's unavailable status. Lester hung up the phone by way of hurling it at the dashboard in a fit of frustration. The device split and debris rained toward the floorboard. Lester groaned.

"And now I'll have to answer for a dead cell phone along with everything else. Fuck!" he grumbled.

He knew the real reason why he was upset and it wasn't lying in bits on the floor. The reason had a ten-millimeter Beretta pointed at the head of one of his co-workers.

"Double fuck!" Lester banged his fist against the dash after up-shifting gears. To say he was uncomfortable with being the only one aware of this situation would be an understatement.

Several hours later in the downtown Trenton business district…

The world spun as Hector exited the borrowed Nissan. He laid one weathered palm on the metal roof as he exited and slammed the car door shut; the action did nothing to steady his stomach. His previous encounter with Bobby had left him shaken to say the least. The man had nearly killed him. It had taken a lot of fast talking to get out of that situation intact.

Hector knew Bobby would be angry when he found out about Hector's involvement in the espionage and theft. He just hadn't anticipated the violence of his reaction or the fact that Bobby would doubt Hector had not acted alone. Bobby's ultimatum that Hector and his associate turn them selves in was ludicrous. Before Bobby had released him he made Hector promise to bring him hard evidence of their transgressions within twenty-four hours. Not that Hector blamed Bobby for that second request. No one was going to believe that Hector's associate, once his identity was revealed, was capable of such a crime without something irrefutable backing up the accusation. And Hector had no idea how he was going get it. But at the same time he wasn't going away from the upcoming meeting empty-handed; not with Brown's death threat still hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles.

Hector sighed and not for the first time that night wished he had been able to get a hold of Tank when he had tried earlier that night. Even dealing with that man's colossal wrath would have been far easier than Bobby Brown's insane request and mood swings.

He nervously glanced around the underground parking structure. Shadows ruled the early morning hour of four AM making the night linger. They cloaked much of his surroundings and made it impossible to make out much of anything. Hector had hoped the neutral location of this deserted garage would make his partner more laid back and malleable. Lord knew no matter how he felt about the man Hector was realistic about his lover's intellectual limitations. Or he thought he was. Never in a million years did Hector think things would have gotten this out of control. That a man who seemed so inept could be so devious at time was disconcerting to say the least.

As the scrape of boot soles echoed in the cement cavern like a tomb, Hector shivered and flipped up the hood on his jacket. Hector shook off the shiver of dread that raced down his spine. Things had come too far for his imagination to run away from him.

Hector spun in the direction of the disturbance and disabled the safety on his handgun under the cover of his jacket. Before he could brandish the weapon, twin globes of searing light burned bright, rendering him blind. Hector cursed as he shielded his eyes with a forearm while he tried to make out the figure leaning next to the offending car.

"Relax, mi amour. I just wanted to make sure it was you and not one of our enemies lurking in the dark, waiting to attack me," the male voice practically purred the words with an almost feline smugness. Those dueling qualities of baritone sexiness and danger were what drew Hector to his lover like a moth to a flame. He had to have him from the moment they were introduced, it was that simple. The intensity of the feeling only disturbed Hector whenever he was safe and sound (read alone) in his own bed.

"Stop fucking around with those lights. Turn them off, damn it. We need to talk," Hector growled.

"Indeed, we do."

The headlights flickered and then died. The rapid decent into darkness left Hector fighting invisible specters. His eyes played tricks on him, protesting the abuse.

"Corazon, what we are doing is wrong. It should never have gone this far. It can't continue; you have to know that deep down."

"We have discussed this many times before, Amour. This is about justice, you know that."

The sudden proximity of the other man's voice startled Hector. He hadn't heard him move through the darkness.

"No, this is about Ricardo. It always was. It's an obsession. Its unhealthy how much you think about…"

"What? You mean thinking about how dear Ricardo got everything in life handed to him on a fucking silver platter; every advantage was his while I had nothing? No, Amour, its not unhealthy, this 'obsession' of mine…" The man's voice tailed off as his hands picked up the task of persuasion his words only alluded to with their silky intonations. Hector shivered under their ministrations.

"Tell me, does this feel like the touch of a man obsessed?" the smaller man continued. Hector moaned and tried to steady his thoughts.

"Distraction won't work this time, Corazon. It won't make me forget that this isn't right. Tell the buyer this is the last shipment, that we won't deliver them, and then… and then…" Hector fumbled, trying to think of a plan that would get them both out of the hole their actions had dug.

"And what, Hector? You expect me to tell these men that we refuse to hand over anymore disks or the whore?"

"She is not a whore. You just dislike Stephanie because she was so close to Ricardo…" Hector bit off the thoughtless words, dreading the reaction he knew they would trigger.

"She will get what she deserves; nothing more, nothing less." The words were spoken with decisive finality and not the anger Hector expected. Hector was familiar with the tone; he had heard it in many of his fellow 'brother's' voices during the days of his gangland youth. It was the voice of the man who had lost all hold on reality.

"You must stop this. You must stop it before it is too late, before someone dies," Hector implored the smaller Hispanic man. Hector jumped as the other man laughed, low and throaty.

"Oh, but it's too late for that."

"What the hell does that mean, Tio?" Hector rasped suddenly chilled to the bone.

"Just what it sounds like; only there won't be one death like I had planned, Amour."

That was the moment Hector went for the gun but he was too slow. The roaming hands that brought Hector such pleasure moments ago now delivered horrific pain. The fatal blow was swift and the struggle brief but perfunctory. Hector slumped to his knees clutching at his ruined abdomen, the gun now completely forgotten as he felt his life ebb away like a summer tide. He even heard the wet slap of the waves hitting the beach, completing the illusion. The realization that it was the sound of his own lungs filling with blood never occurred to him. It was then that Hector saw the knife; the very same stiletto he had gifted to his lover as a token of affection.

Hector reeled with futile thoughts of outrage and then sorrow for all he had lost by supporting the man before him. As knees buckled and he fell to the ground, Hector fought back with the only weapon he had left to him.

"They know, Tio. I told them all. I told them about you, about us, about the theft, and about the plan. You won't get away with it." Hector gasped, praying Tio would believe him and cut his losses with the arrangements now in motion.

"You pathetic fool. Did you think I wouldn't discover your betrayal?" Tio spat on Hector's immobile form. "Bastardo! I know you lie even now. You told only Bobby, no one else. No matter. Any man can be killed, no matter who they are. Accidents happen, yes?" Tio grinned as he leaned over and wiped his knife against Hector's jacket, before laughing.

"It would be a shame to lose a good blade because of a little dirt and gore. You taught me well. A clean weapon is invaluable, I have to agree, Amour." Tio stood and propped his back against a steel support column. The nonchalantly crossed arms and smirk were like salt in Hector's wound.

The ultimate indignity came several laborious breaths later.

"Hurry up and die. I don't have all night to wait on you," Tio sighed in exasperation and then walked towards the car he arrived in. Hector tried to respond but his life energy had waned too much; blood now choked his mouth and robbed him of his last words.

Hector Ramon Espinoza died in a pool of his own congealing blood; the feel of cold concrete pressed against his flesh and utterly bereft of love.

To be continued in chapter 36…

SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind

By: FlyingKit a.k.a. Christine

Note: STD disclaimers apply. I am a NON-PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts, or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moolah for this luverly little tale.

As you all know my 'puter is down. Special thanks to those responsible for pulling my biscuits out of the fire. Sorry the font is wacky; I will fix later when I reload MS word. BTW I hate Word Perfect: EL DIABLO as he is known in my house. UGH. Have fun with this chap, ladies. C.)

Chapter 36:

As Lester paid for the convenience store coffee, the cell phone on his hip rang. Lester swore as he struggled to unhook the replacement phone while juggling the mega-ounce styrofoam cup on the walk back to his truck. He hated the new phone that Cal had delivered to him; it was so out of date it was practically pre-historic. The swearing gained prolific proportions when he read the LED display on the caller id.

"It's about fucking time, asshole!" Lester ground out between clenched teeth and climbed into the cab of his vehicle.

"Where are you?" was the other man's only reply.

Lester slammed his car door. "Is that all you are going to say to me?" Lester spat before acidly mimicking Tank. " 'Where are you?' I can tell you where I'm not. I am not sitting around with my thumb up my ass while poor, schmuck Lester is trying figure out what color the sky is today!"

"Lester," Tank growled. Lester could hear the strain in his voice. He knew this situation was taking a toll on everyone.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, Boss. I'm at the 7-11 on Hancock, on my way back to the bar scene. I keep thinking that maybe one of them will turn up someplace unexpected. Hell, I'd even look inside the donut box at police station at this point. Can you tell how desperate I am, man?" Les continued morosely.

"Fuck." Tank stretched the word out to infinity.

"Uh-huh, you said it. I can't believe they made me. I haven't been made on a tail for… okay, no one has ever made me, Tank. One minute I was behind them on Stark crossing Comstock and the next: Poof! When I find Bobby and Hector I'm going to kick some serious ass. This is bad for the ego." Lester was still mid-rant, berating his own inefficiency, when they both heard the sound on the line denoting an incoming call.

"Hold on," Tank ordered and then the line went silent. Lester seethed. He had no outlet for all the anger his confusion had produced from the events of the last eight hours and the current rush hour traffic he just pulled the truck into didn't help maters much. It was long past dawn, and Lester had made little progress in locating either of the men he was looking for. And now, to top it all off, Tank had put him on hold after finally returning all his calls. Tank never put anyone on hold. It just wasn't Rangeman protocol.

Needless to say he was ready for a war of words, of the brimstone variety, when Tank finally got back to him minutes later.

"Drop everything; Report to the office immediately," Tank ordered Lester in a solid monotone. Lester instantly picked up on the significant change in his voice.

"Did one of then turn up?"

"In a manner of speaking…" Tank sighed. "That was a source at TPD. They just found Hector's body downtown. Multiple stab wounds, no evidence of significant defensive abrasions."

Both were silent a few minutes; neither wanted to state out loud just what that meant to Bobby's state of innocence.

"And Bobby?" Lester finally ventured.

"No sightings. Not even a whisper."

"Motherfucker," Lester aptly summed up.

"Be here in ten," Tank rumbled out and the line went dead. Lester's coffee sloshed forgotten in the console cup holder as the truck raced back to the compound.

Meanwhile across town in the TPD parking lot…

Bobby stood in the shadows of the alleyway behind the police personnel parking lot. He scanned the entranceway once more as a figure opened the rear station door and walked towards the row of vehicles. As the person came closer Bobby sighed. It was just some random beat cop getting into his car for the day and not whom he was waiting for. What the fuck was keeping the dumb ass, anyway? Bobby thought maliciously.

Tank wasn't the only one with a network of informants in the TPD. Not long after Hector's body had been found he was informed of its discovery by a flatfoot that owed Bobby a major favor. Bobby thanked his lucky stars the cop, Salzmann, was a drinker and that he chose this week to get sloshed on a particularly boring night shift. If not, he might not have been reprimanded and relegated to the relative obscurity of the evidence locker and docket inventory duties.

With some simple manipulation Bobby had maneuvered Salzmann into breaking his loose code of blue ethics enough to agree to hand over a copy of the inventory paperwork, crime scene notes, and a crumpled paper scrap found under the watch band on the body's wrist. Bobby was hoping the last would be a significant help to him with his investigation of the espionage and, in part, Hector's homicide. He might have despised the dead man for his act of betrayal but not enough to wish him gutted like a fish from stem to sternum. Poor bastard.

At that moment the squad car from earlier pulled astride, unexpectedly boxing Bobby next to the brick wall. The window rolled down and driver threw out his unwelcome invitation.

"Get in."

"Look buddy…" Bobby recognized the cop as one of Stephanie's childhood friends but couldn't put a name to the face.

"Get in the car, Brown. Otherwise in about a minute you'll be rushed by some plainclothes and arrested for murder," The driver interrupted with a slight nod over his shoulder towards the alley entrance.

Bobby brooked no further argument and climbed into the passenger seat. The driver handed him a police uniform shirt, complete with cap, and ordered him to put them on. Bobby was heartily amused and decided to humor the other man. Once replete in disguise, the cop passed him a pastry box and told him to visibly eat a donut while they pulled out into traffic. In honor of his Angel he selected a Boston Crème. After a few bites Bobby decided they weren't half-bad. Maybe there was something positive to be said about the more delicious vices of hers.

As they passed the alley entrance a second time, Bobby witnessed a swarm of plainclothes and uniforms storm his former hiding place near where he had parked his car. Bobby turned toward the driver and shot him a look of gratitude. The other man smiled at him with a slight nod. The only thing Bobby regretted was the fact that Trenton's finest now had another of his vehicles in their possession. At this rate he would have to steal them by the dozen just to keep up.

It wasn't until they cruised a residential street several blocks away from the station that either of the men spoke.

"How did you know?" Bobby asked genuinely curious as to the answer.

The driver snorted. "You mercenaries aren't the only ones to have their own information network, you know. Mine just happens to be of the gossip variety and cop gossip is infinitely more reliable than the average rumor mill. For your information, your pocket wasn't the only one Salzmann had crawled into."

Bobby swore and uttered a single word. "Morelli."

"Officially? Yes, Morelli was the leader of that raid. Off the record?" The driver inquired and the two shared an unspoken understanding. Both knew the amount of trouble an unofficial account could bring an informant. Their worlds may differ somewhat, but not to the degree where some evils weren't shared. Bobby inclined his head to signal his cooperation.

"Let's just say that the feds just rolled into town and have put Morelli on a short leash to do their bidding. Although they don't act like any feds I have ever seen before. They also seem to have an unnatural interest in your boss' company and its employees. At this very moment, murder warrants have already been issued for your arrest and for Stephanie's, and they didn't come through normal channels if you catch my drift."

"Fuck me," Bobby exhaled on a groan.

"I'd say you were already fucked, buddy," The driver said with a macabre grimace.

"Why?" Bobby asked his blond-haired, WASP-y companion. "Why help me?"

Eddie Gazzara rotated slightly in the driver seat so he could shoot Bobby Brown a heavy look. "I'm not. I'm helping her. Stephanie is family. And even if she wasn't a cousin-in-law, I'd do it because she's my friend. She'd do the same for me. She's… special." Slightly uncomfortable with the sentiment he expressed and the unmistakable understanding written on Bobby's face, Eddie returned his attention to the road.

"Yes, she is," Bobby echoed in agreement.

"So... Should I even bother to ask where you've hidden her? I'm assuming you have because nothing has blown up since the apartment. The way I figure it, if she was still in town Morelli would have found her by now; her trail of destruction is pretty distinctive." Eddie ventured. He got his answer from the closed look on Brown's face. "I thought not. Fine. But she better be safe, man. And God help the guard on her, I hope he's wearing a cup. I've seen the damage she can do; she is crafty when it comes to get-aways. After a few days locked up in solitary, she'll get antsy and she'll make her move. Being an accessory to many a Plum household escape attempt during high school taught me that. Mark my words, it's her nature," Eddie warned and Bobby chuckled in return.

"I know," Bobby agreed. The warmth in other man's voice surprised Eddie and his hackles rose along with the protective instincts.

"What is she to you?" Eddie said, sharp edges audible in the question. "I thought you two were just friends and roommates." Bobby heard the threat and smiled slightly. It never failed to amaze him how Stephanie affected the people in her life.

"We're more than that. We're family," Bobby clarified foggily and turned a look on Eddie that would turn most men into stone. "And no one hurts my family."

Of that Eddie had no doubt. He wouldn't wish the gleam in Brown's eye on his worst enemy. He nodded silently, acknowledging the other man's claim.

Eddie pulled to the curb a few blocks later. "Don't take this the wrong way, Brown, but take off the shirt and get the hell out. Taxi ride is over."

Bobby smiled at the other man's bravado under the circumstances. It took a lot of backbone to talk shit to an ex-army muscle head/ murder suspect. He chuckled as he shimmied out of the disguise and angled out of the black and white. As he tried to shut the door after exiting, Gazzara's hand shot out preventing him. Bobby watched in amusement, as the other man seemed to take his measure with a silent look. Something in what he saw must have satisfied him because Gazzara shook his hand. When the hand left his there was a manila envelope in its place, along with a clear plastic bag stamped with the word 'Evidence.'

Bobby's grin widened. He started to open his mouth but Gazzara interrupted him.

"Don't say it. This never happened, capice? I don't know you from Adam." And with that Gazzara slammed the door shut. As he drove away with the window down, Bobby could have sworn the man muttered the words, 'I'm one dumb son of a bitch,' under his breath. But he could have been mistaken; it could have just been the autumn wind.

Bobby shook off the smile and slid onto a near-by motorcycle at the curb. He 'borrowed' it in a matter of minutes and was on his way back to the warehouse. There was a lot of research to be done and an urgent phone call to make. That son of a bitch, Stone, wasn't going to like what Bobby had discovered thus far. Bobby sure as hell hadn't.

Interior:

Subterranean complex somewhere beneath Langley Air Force Base in Virginia…

Why was it that some colors that were supposed to be soothing, weren't? Ranger pondered that question as he strode through the maze of puce bedecked hallways. It was his way of downplaying the unmistakable feeling of fear that had gripped him since he arrived at Langley. It had been years since Ranger had been in the formidable clutches of the Colonel. He didn't much appreciate the circumstances that had driven him back into his personal version of hell.

After the second security checkpoint his escort of four M.P.s departed, leaving him alone in a small antechamber. Ranger theorized the room was used primarily for visitor receptions. He just hoped the sheer number of guards that had been his welcome committee weren't an indicator of the type of reception Ranger could expect from the Colonel. He wasn't in the mood for grandstanding.

He knew the Colonel would be polishing his horns in glee once he found out why Ranger was here. That is if he didn't already possess that knowledge. The old man had a knack for that sort of thing. It was the reason the Colonel wielded the power that he did. Several Joint Chiefs of Staff, and even a President or two, had managed to incur the Colonel's magnificent wrath over the years. It could be said that Presidential impeachments weren't spontaneous; they were cultivated.

After several minutes went by, Ranger figured out the game. It was what the Colonel adored most: the chase, the torture, and the merciless kill. Keeping Ranger waiting was the Colonel's idea of mild entertainment. Since there wasn't a chair in the room, Ranger stood at parade rest. He knew as the minutes turned into an hour that the old man was watching. Ranger could practically feel the lens of a security camera zoom in on his face like an electronic predator.

Finally a respite came in the form of a disembodied voice emitted by a hidden speaker.

"Walk to the south wall and prepare for clearance. Place all weaponry in the provided container. Then proceed to the east wall for admittance."

Ranger did as he was bid. At the south wall he went through the required retinal scan and palm check. At the password he hesitated before inspiration struck. He typed in the words 'FAUST'S LAMENT' and wasn't terribly surprised when a metal container was revealed behind a panel in the wall. The old man knew his hate for him as well as his fear. As well he should, he had cultivated Ranger's disdain; using it to carve a soldier out of the place a soul should be. After all toys were made to be broken, weren't they?

After placing the majority of his weapons in the container, Ranger walked to the east wall and passed through the entrance that was unveiled. A solitary figure appeared and fell into step with Ranger's purposeful stride. Ranger didn't even blink at the other man's presence. He had expected an escort, just not this exact escort.

"Codex," Ranger stated the man's mission name blankly with a slight inclination of his head. The identity of the man had come as a great shock, but he hid it well. He had the Colonel to thank for that ability as well. Everything that made him hard and merciless, every aspect that made him aloof and estranged from the outside world was in part due to that man. Ranger felt his disgust grow for what he knew he was about to do in a few minutes. The bargain that he would strike.

"Ranger," the other man responded.

"I thought you were gone. South America wasn't it? Heard you were rotting in an internment camp somewhere."

"The rumors of my capture and subsequent death were greatly exaggerated. More's the pity, really," the man stated with a slight darkening to the familiar lilt of his voice. Ranger looked askance at the redheaded man beside him. The Irishman had been one of the most outspoken of his colleagues before Ranger managed to free himself of the Colonel's complete hold four years ago through dubious means.

Brien 'Codex' Kirken was a rebel and always had been. Ranger had always been vague on the man's origins, but knew it involved being a foot soldier for the IRA before he somehow made his way into service for the United States government. Ranger suspected there was an extradition order or threat of execution that hung over his companion's head to keep him in league with the Colonel. Always gregarious and incredibly passionate in nature, Codex was a conundrum. Although the man represented everything an assassin should be, he still clung to a code of morality. With this unconventional nature he embodied everything that the Colonel considered weak, and was known to harbor more consuming hatred for the old man than even Ranger. It was what had bonded the two men all those years ago. Mutual loathing and disgust could be powerful motivators.

The shell of a man before him now therefore distressed Ranger more than words could ever express. He couldn't help but wonder if he would look just as defeated himself after a few years.

They strode in silence through the final corridor and entered a cavernous chamber. It was unfinished stone and earth that looked as though it had been just excavated, which unsettled Ranger somewhat. He always recalled the Colonel having more of an affinity for manufactured white spaces filled with unforgiving steel and concrete. It was a bit of a shock when he discovered the old man perched atop a rock in a dark recess of the cave. The rock had been carved to resemble a throne of all things. Ranger couldn't help but marvel at the man's sublime arrogance.

Ranger studied his former commander with shuttered eyes, taking in all the details to process later. The old man hadn't changed much over the years. It wasn't as if Mother Nature had been kind per se, but more like she had just emphasized the man's true character.

The rough planes of his face were now edged in lines only further accentuating the depths of his evil. His physique was still sizeable with muscled mass and his hair a plentiful bulk of steel gray. In uniform the man was commanding. Out of it he was eerily psychotic looking, wearing his aura of suppressed violence like a cloak. Ranger had always likened the image to that of Faust seeing Mephistopheles for the first time.

"Ah, the prodigal son returns…" the Colonel sneered from his makeshift throne. Ranger wished he could just blow the man away now and use the granite the man sat upon as his epitaph.

"You know why I am here." It was a statement, not a question that Ranger posed.

"Dear boy, when have I ever not known something that interests me?" The other man countered as he climbed down a series of rock staircases to stand opposite Ranger. "Make no mistake; you have always been one of my interests over the years. Although I am disappointed by your handling of recent affairs."

Ranger waited for the Colonel to continue, knowing he had to play his part for now if he wanted this man's aid. The other man circled Ranger slowly, taking his measure. After several silent minutes he announced his decision.

"I will assist you in locating this leak of yours."

"And the Watcher?" Ranger ventured slowly.

"Ah, yes, the Watcher. Surprisingly, that person's identity escapes me. But I assure you that can be remedied within days or even hours," the Colonel stated on his third circuit of younger man. Ranger refused to follow the man's actions, and kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. It was a test of his abilities to do so with such a threat so close at hand.

The older man finished his stalking and came so close to Ranger's face that he could smell the man's aftershave, a mix of herbs and mint.

"But tell me, son. Are you finally willing to meet my price?"

Ranger was prepared for this, but all the same it still made him almost ill to answer.

"Yes, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"You understand there will be no way out this time? No, senator to assist your blackmail of me," the colonel's words were delivered low, almost a hiss.

Ranger internally grimaced at the man's venom. He knew that when he had pulled some nefarious strings to leave the colonel's permanent employ and went onto government contract status only, he had made an enemy of the man before him. Ranger was beginning to think he had underestimated the other man's malice regarding the past.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" The Colonel leaned into Ranger and growled.

"Yes, sir."

The Colonel backed away with what passed for a smile tacked to his face.

"Excellent. You serve the time you had left on your previous contract to me, along with the addition of two more tours. And of course I have the option of withdrawing my support at any time if you develop any… behavioral quirks once again."

Ten years. Ten more years with this man. Ten years of anguish. Ten years of slitting throats and wadding in blood. Ten years, Ranger thought. And on top of it, the task of pleasing the man before him enough so he wouldn't order Ranger killed. Ranger had the inexplicable desire to laugh. There really were no other options.

"Understood." A solitary word sealed his doom.

"Ah, I wish that was all it would take for me to accept you back into the fold, dear boy. But once a traitor, always a traitor." The Colonel had backed away during his speech until he was a safe distance away from Ranger. He frowned and looked toward Codex, who had stood silent sentry behind Ranger for the duration of the meeting. "Codex, remove the handgun from his back."

A tightening around Ranger's eyes was his only acknowledgment of what was occurring. He should have known the older man would see his remaining weaponry. Codex did as he was bid, disentangling the pistol from the shirt covering Ranger's back. A bead of sweat rolled down his spine into the now empty leather holster, but Ranger remained ensconced in his blank mask. If he were slated to die, he would do it without emotion.

"Now hand the gun to him, Codex. We shall see what mettle you are made of now, son," the Colonel intoned.

Codex turned so that he was positioned between the two men. He faced Ranger as he placed the gun in the other man's outstretched hand. Their eyes met over metal. A shared glance expressed it all. Neither knew what the old man had up his sleeve.

Ranger witnessed the Colonel's face split slowly into a devious smile over Codex's shoulder. He knew the reason for it the minute the man gave his next order.

"Kill Codex, one bullet to the head. If you fail…"

The gunshot echoed off cave walls, seeming to ricochet in more than sound. The body fell to the floor. Ranger dropped his shooter's stance by lowering his weapon emotionlessly to his side and met the older man's eyes. He watched as the Colonel silently pulled out a linen handkerchief and wiped the blood splatters from his face.

"Give me the name of the leak." Ranger almost didn't recognize the voice as his own.

"Rest easy, the Plum girl is not responsible, although she is under some questionable influences at present. The mole is Hector Espinoza. One of your men, is he not? He worked for a man you are acquainted with who now goes by the name of 'Stone.' He plans to sell your information to an unnamed third world country this Wednesday. Grand Central Station in New York, lower concourse: The Oyster Bar, third table from the right." The Colonel smiled. "I'd give you the exact time but that wouldn't be sporting, now would it?"

The older man threw the soiled linen in his hand at Ranger's feet. "Be sure to clean up this mess before you leave. I am giving you three days to put your affairs in order. After that… well, let's just say we wouldn't want anyone else to step in to assist you, now would we, dear boy?" The Colonel laughed and exited the room.

Ranger called for a sweeper crew and within a matter of minutes had the room put to rights. The body had been incinerated and the blood washed away. It was only as his footfalls echoed through the corridors of puce perversion to the exit that Ranger allowed himself to think about what he had just done. His only solace was the look of gratitude in Codex's eyes before he pulled the trigger. He had wanted to die. Ranger shivered slightly. How long would he last before he was the one wearing that look?

To be continued in chapter 37…