A/N: Hehe. Third chapter. Whoa. Anyway, um... oh, as to the whole question about whether or not you should read this 'cause, y'know- is it a babe story? is it a cupcake story? My opinion (well, it's just mine, 'cause it's my story) is forget about it. P I know it sounds harsh, but trust me. What I have in mind as to where I want this to go shouldn't really matter (hehehe... I sound so evil. I should be sitting in a chair behind a desk stroking a white cat as I say this.)

Oh, and... thanks to everyone who's reviewed. I'll distribute big hugs all around, okay? Because nothing makes me happier than having finished a HUGE gigantic English poetry project at 5:30 (when I started at 10:00 in the morning) and seeing that you all have reviewed. It's so nice. Thank you. ) It makes me want to update more. Weird how that works, huh?

So I sat in the middle of Pino's, devising a plan with the man who scared me the most. It's weird how life works.

"So, here's what I've heard," Ranger said, tracing a small outline of a circle with his pen on a napkin. "You know the guy ran off. The only question is, where to? Well, I've had Tank do some research."

He stopped there, and for a moment, I wondered if I should urge him to press on. I didn't really want to know how Tank did his research.

I made a gesture with my hands, and he continued. "Tank has a list of all the guys' friends... from pre-school buddies to former co-workers. Everything. And every state they live in now."

I got excited. "So you mean, it'd be really easy to find him."

"Sure, if he didn't have a friend in practically every state."

Oh.

"And province of Canada."

Double oh. "Well, are there any we can narrow out?"

"North Dakota, Hawaii, and Alaska."

Joy. I had mixed feelings about the Hawaii one. It might be fun to go to Maui or something, but then again, it would be kind of disappointing if it turned out he wasn't there. Or if I had to surf or eat roasted pig. In my dreams, I can surf. In reality, I'd fall flat on my face in front of Ranger. "So what, you're saying we have to go to all these states and see if he's in them?"

"Of course not. That's a stupid plan. Only you could come up with a plan like that."

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm kidding. Well, actually, I'm not. Only you could come up with a plan like that, but I meant it in a nice way. Anyway, look- here's what we're gonna do. I have contacts, all right?"

"Me too. Got them when I was 11. I think I want the colored ones now."

He gave me a look. "I mean people. I have people. I can call them up, ask them to do a quick – yet thorough – search if this is really want you want to do. Are you sure it's really what you want to do?"

The way he said it made me mad. Even if it wasn't really what I wanted to do, his tone of voice made me want to just to tick him off. "Yes." No.

"Well, I'll make some calls, then," he said, getting up and dropping a twenty on the table. "I'll call you later."

"Not if I call you first."

"What?"

"I don't know."

The phone rang at 3 AM, and I had a sharp pain of fear before I realized I currently had no creepy stalker guys coming after me. The fear melted away into worry, because the only calls that came at 3 AM were bad ones.

"Babe. Back your stuff. I have a surprise for you."

"Oh, boy."

"Not like that."

"I didn't say anything. What do you mean by a surprise?"

"I think we've found him."

Oy. Upon realization of this, I, again, had mixed feelings. Part of me wanted to go back to bed, because when I woke up in the morning, it would all be okay. Because I wouldn't know how he was doing.

And then there was the question of did I want to get back together with him? Ranger scared me, sure, but... at least he understood me. We were more or less in the same occupational industry. More or less being the key words. But whatever. Anyway you sliced it, Ranger could read my mind. I was almost sure of it.

Better judgment told me I shouldn't go, but better judgment has never been the biggest part of me, so I packed my stuff and waited downstairs for Ranger.

He pulled up in his truck, with at least three others following him, and smiled at me when I got in his car. "You don't look good. Nervous?"

"No." I lied. "How'd you find him so fast?"

"Like I said, I know people. And I have more than one phone line, so I can talk to a lot of people at the same time. It's actually pretty cool. Who knew that technology could be so cool?"

I smiled and leaned back into the seat, smelling the new-car smell that always seemed to linger with the truck. "So, why're you doing this for me?"

"Because I think you think it'll make you happy. And if you think it's what will make you happy, then you'll be happy... and I like it when you're happy."

"Doesn't happen too often, does it?"

"Happens more than you think."

I rolled my eyes, and then they inadvertently shut.

I woke up when we reached the airport, and practically sleep-walked my way past the tickets, the security checks, and just about everything else. I felt fully awake when I was seated on the plane, next to Ranger.

"I can't believe you're who you are, and we're flying coach. That has to be absolutely the most saddening thing I have ever experienced."

"Really?"

"Well, my first date with Dickie. But that's about it. This is the second most saddening thing I have ever experienced."

Then it was his turn to roll his eyes at me.

"Where are we?" I asked when I woke up again. The plane had landed, from what I could tell, and I realized I had just gotten on a plane with Ranger without any knowledge of where we were going.

A small tinge of panic twisted in my stomach, and I tried to convince myself it was just hunger, but in reality, I was scared.

He gave me a grin. "You're scared."

"No I'm not."

"You're lying."

"Yes I am."

He put an arm around me. "Babe? Welcome to Houston."

"Houston?"

"Yes."

I raised an eyebrow. "As in Houston, Texas? What are we doing here? There is no way that he moved to Texas. That's like... the opposite of him."

"Exactly."

I didn't know what point that proved, but I got off the plane anyway. By the time we'd hailed a cab, checked in at the hotel, and gotten in our rooms, I was feeling as if I didn't really care whether or not we found him. I just wanted to go back home.

Anyway, I was instructed by Ranger not to leave the hotel under any circumstances, so Tank and I played Jenga, Monopoly, and Connect Four. By that time, Tank had fallen asleep on the couch watching Viva la Bam and I snuck out of the hotel room, silently laughing that, of all people, Tank was a victim of jet lag.

I felt superior. Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah. Sure, I'd get caught, but... who really cared? Not me. I had very, very big doubts that Ranger would actually inflict punishment. Scare me half to death, maybe, but this happened on a day-to-day basis so it wasn't really any different.

I snuck down to the Town Square (not sure how I found it), and took a seat at the Baker Street Pub bar. I sat in a bar stool in the dark corner, trying to stay hidden, watching a football game on TV, listening to the guys around me talk about it. Jeez.

The game ended, and the bar cleared out, and I was sitting there, sipping a water, thinking about my life, and the guys in it, and the guys who were currently not in it, when I couldn't help but think about how maybe... life wasn't so great after all.

It was hot, and humid, and I wanted to go back to the hotel, but I didn't want to, because I knew if I went back... well, there wouldn't be anything there worth going back to.

But then again, I couldn't really think of anything worth going back to in Trenton, either.

Except maybe Ranger.

I left the bar and walked around a little bit, liking the melancholy feel. All these buildings, and they all looked the same.

Suddenly, I saw someone out of the corner of my eye. And to quote my niece, Mary Alice, I'll give you three guesses as to who it was and the first two don't count.

"Stephanie?"

Okay, time to face this. You can do this. This is doable. In fact, this is more than doable, it's... mega-doable. If you can't do this, you're a chicken. Insert chicken noises.

"Hi!" I said. "What's up?"

Way to go. I mean, if you haven't seen the guy for six months, why would you say hi, what's up? I mean, who does that?

Big, uber-sigh. "Are you... I thought you were dead."

"I was. I mean, no, I wasn't. Dead, I mean. Gone, I was. Yeah. So you could say that... yeah, I was gone. Because... they kidnapped me. And they... put me in a warehouse. And I stayed there. For six months."

He gave me a hug, and I started to cry, and then he started to cry, and then I felt bad, because I made him cry.

Oy, my life is complicated.

"So you found him," Ranger said, pacing around the hotel room in apparent distress and confusion.

"Yes."

"How is it that, I've been looking for this guy using all the best technology, all the people I know, and yet you find him because you stumble across him in a parking lot?" Okay, he was officially mad. I wasn't sure why, though.

"That's... the story."

He rolled his eyes. "Oy, how do you do it?"

Good question. "Look, I don't know! Okay? All I know is... I'm confused. I don't know what to do about this."

"About what?"

Oops, said too much. I didn't mean to inform of him of my whole go-with-Morelli/go-with-Ranger problem. "About nothing."

Ranger sighed. "Did he give you his number?"

"Yeah."

"Call the guy. You haven't seen him for six months. Call him, and hang out with him, because you deserve it."

I thought it was weird that he used the phrase 'hang out', but whatever. I didn't think it was right to argue that point.

I dialed his number, and a woman picked up. Whoa. "Hello," I said. "Is Joe there?"

There was a long pause. "Yeah, what do you want with him?"

"I just wanted to talk to him."

"He's not in right now. You probably shouldn't call anymore."

Oh, my God. A wave of realization crashed over me. "Oh, my God, Terry Gilman?"

"Uh, no. It's Terry Morelli now. So, I have to go, but don't call back, kay? 'Cause he's not here, and I don't know when he'll be back. All right, buh-bye."

She slammed the phone down, and I felt as if the entire world had just fallen on my entire shoulders.

Terry Morelli?