Navigating Nine Chapter 08

Disclaimer: Not one Janet Evanovich was harmed in the making of this fan fiction. The universe is hers. The main plot is hers. The characters are hers and I promise to put them all back where I found them. However Ranger needs to be strip searched first.

Note: Thank you to all the BGGW, that supersuit and tiara are helping a lot.

CSIQueen: Thank you so much! As for your characterization question: I'm not sure that I do keep them true, but I try. I attempt to keep their lines reasonably close to what they say in the book during those parts and in the rest of it I tend to rewrite several times (for Ranger I write a normal conversation then delete most of his dialogue).
VerieaFornnan: Thank you, I am glad you've enjoyed both stories so far! No, I didn't skip any books. The last was eight and this is nine. I believe Ramirez got killed in seven. Oh, I did skip Visions of Sugar Plums though...

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I climbed into dad's hulking Ford truck and buckled in, although he usually wasn't one for driving like a maniac. Still, I hadn't ever dealt with him after a fight with Ellen, I didn't know how he might react. He turned on the engine and pulled out of the driveway, the radio coming to life in the middle of an Alan Jackson song.

I smiled a little as I realized the cab somehow smelled like hay and there were Dr. Pepper bottles on the floor. It was reassuring that some things would never change. We turned out of the Burg and I waited for Dad to break the silence. When Alan's voice finally faded he cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said without taking his eyes off the road.

"It's fine," I reassured him.

"No, it isn't, darlin'. Me and Ellen… we're not getting on too well." Ah, Daddy, you always were Captain Obvious. "And we haven't been for a while."

"Dad, you don't have to explain it to me. If you want to get a divorce, it's okay."

Dad's eyes finally left the road to regard me with a wary curiosity. "How'd you know?"

I raised my eyebrow. It probably wouldn't be a good time to explain that I could have sworn he'd already gone through several divorces. "That didn't sound like the yelling that you just hug and make up from."

Dad pulled into a parking lot and I wasn't surprised to see we were at Big Jim's. You can take the cowboy out of the Midwest but you can't deny him barbecue. Not if you want to live too long. "Ever been here?" Dad queried. "It ain't the best ever, but it's about as good as you can get this side of the Mississippi."

"You're just biased 'cause it isn't The Cattleman's Club."

Dad smiled. "Well, it isn't."

I shook my head and we headed in. Although there were people waiting, we were shown to a booth almost immediately, but it still took us almost fifteen minutes to get to because Dad stopped or was stopped by people at almost every single table or booth to exchange greetings, small talk, and other pleasantries. I fell into my accustomed place a little behind him, smiling politely, speaking when introduced or when I could add a comment. I tended to forget about this particular ordeal of being in public with him. He knew everyone. Or if he didn't know them they knew him.

If he'd ever been so inclined he probably could have run for president or at the very least a governor spot. But politicians didn't get to get dirty or ride bulls, so the world at large was mercifully safe from my father. The world of business however; that was another story.

Once we finally got to the table and ordered, Dad sat back to give me an assessing look. "I forget sometimes that you aren't just a baby," he said after a full minute. His eyes were filled with regrets. I thought about my childhood, about all the times he hadn't shown up or he'd been somewhere else; all the dance recitals and plays and games and competitions he'd either forgotten or disregarded in favor of going after that next ride, that next business venture.

"Time flies when you're having fun," I shrugged. Dad grimaced.

"I deserved that," he muttered, more to himself than to me.

"Daddy," I interrupted, giving in to the twinge of guilt. "You did your best, mostly. I know that. And you always let me know you loved me and you always at least gave me five minutes if I called. That's a lot more that some people get."

"I'm sorry I didn't do better back then."

I smiled. Yeah, but if he had done better he wouldn't feel guilty and I wouldn't have a new Jeep. It wasall about trade-offs. You give me this I forgive that. The old term was 'indulgences.' "Don't worry about it. You have enough problems right now. Like attorneys and alimony if you're serious."

Dad sighed and pressed a hand over his blue eyes. "I don't know what else to do, sweetheart. I tried everything."

I pursed my lips and tried to think of something helpful. Giving relationship advice to your parents wasn't something that came with the offspring handbook. "Do you love her?"

Dad's hand dropped to the table. "What?"

"Well, if you love her, you can't just call in the lawyers. So do you?" I looked at him, watching his reaction closely. His jaw tensed and his shoulders squared… his eyes were blank. Damn it, was that some sort of adult male trick I had previously been unaware of?

"Darlin' I don't—" he shook his head, "Christ, I don't know how to say this but…"

I sat back, suddenly uncomfortable. "You don't love her," I said, my voice soft and cautious.

"I do love her." His eyes were regretful again, but this was a whole different sort of regret. "It's just not that kind you're thinking it is."

I forced my mouth to close on the questions I was dying to ask. Did you love mom that way? Or the other way? Do you even remember if you loved her? Was this what happened to you two? What kind of love? What are we even talking about?

"You're not happy, are you?" I asked instead.

"I am, honey. I'm happy." But the voice didn't match the words.

"Daddy, you're the one who has to decide. Just remember Val and I are grown ups now. Val's getting divorced herself." And with that I ran out of clever things to say.

We were silent as the waitress returned with our plates, then we filled the silence by eating. I didn't finish my ribs and Dad gave me a sharp look as the waitress came to collect the plates.

"We'll have some dessert," he requested. "Cheesecake, I think." I opened my mouth to protest and got a cold blue glare for my effort.

"I don't know what the hell kind of diet your mother's got you on, but you're half skin and bones. You're a bounty hunter, not a model. You're going to eat."

My teeth clicked together as I tried to get up the courage to tell him I was a grown up girl and fully capable of setting my own diet and watching my own weight, but my well-honed sense of self preservation won out. You just didn't talk back to your dad, no matter what age you were cause he could still tan your hide.

I settled for glaring right back at him. But I ate the cheesecake, because if the weight loss got to the point he noticed it, I probably looked like Kate Moss. Dad waited until the last crumb was gone from my plate before he called for the check.

I sulked all the way back to the truck.

"Don't give me that," Dad said in a warning tone.

"Sorry. But maybe I want to lose weight?" I demanded.

Dad snorted. "Then you're damned crazy. You turn sideways and stick your tongue out you might pass for a zipper."

Ah, ever the poet. I rolled my eyes.

Dad dropped me by my Jeep then headed back to his office, taking the time to promise to call me and let me know where he would be staying. I waved once in the direction of the house, smiled at Mabel who was on her front porch smoking, and took off. I headed for the apartment. I really needed to start thinking about getting rid of it.

Mom had dropped by it once and phoned me immediately after that she had a perfectly suitable room for me, and to please get rid of it. She said it had negative energy, was out of alignment with the geophysical lines of harmony and furthermore needed a good psychic cleansing. According to her she had seen more cheerful funerals than that apartment.

I would have liked to have argued with her but I couldn't. It's hard to think up an argument that will appease a dragon when you actually agree with them. That and she had already talked to the building's owners, knew exactly when my lease was up, and had handed me a stack of real estate options more suited to my cosmic needs and within my budget. Efficiency is important, even in New Age guru dragon queens.

So the old dorm-like apartment would probably be a thing of the past in two months whether Janet willed it or not. I could either get another apartment that was more secure to not live in, or I could move in with mom, or I could continue coexisting in the Bat Cave.

Okay, so barring major catastrophe I would probably be staying in the Bat Cave, but I still needed to decide if I felt the necessity of an escape route a la Steph and Morelli… Ew. Okay. There went the other apartment. I was not doing that crap.

It would be swim or live with the parental. Maybe if dad was single by then I could infringe on his bachelor status to annoy him. The idea held some appeal.

In the spirit of efficiency I reached my conclusions as I pulled into the lot. I threw the jeep into park and bounded out, prepared to go in, check that nothing was stolen or greatly amiss, thieve the cute leather jacket, and be on my merry way to tell Batman all about my awful day slaving in factorial Rose Red, facing the Fire Ellen-mental, and the possibility that I might once again enjoy the happiness of two single parents. Until my mother handfasted to Derek.

Yuck, save that last thought for tomorrow. I was in a happy place, damn it. Enough thinking for one day. I grinned at Mrs. Bestler as the elevator doors opened.

"Oh, hello, dear!" she exclaimed. "I haven't seen you here in awhile. You finally move in with that delicious bounty hunter?"

I laughed. "Actually he moved me in with him. Guess he was tired of waiting."

Mrs. Bestler fanned herself as the elevator rose to the second floor. "My, my. That man could move me anywhere he wanted."

I nodded in acknowledgement. Ranger could certainly move in mysterious ways. I said goodbye and hurried down the hall, resisting the urge to fan myself. I turned the key in the lock and slipped into the apartment, wrinkling my nose at the musty unlived-in smell.

The jacket was in the bedroom, I remembered and I made it to the hall before it struck me that something was seriously amiss. I turned back to the kitchen, my eyes drawn inexorably to the object sitting on the table.

A vase of red roses and white carnations sat there, placidly glistening and conjuring up the romantic notions inherent to their species. The romantic notions however took a backseat to the overall creepiness emanating from the small white card leaning against the vase. I took an instant, instinctive dislike to that card. I knew what that card was about. I knew what it said. I had read all about it in another life.

I stepped closer eying it as I would another of the gigantic mutant jumping spiders Abruzzi had set on me. Sure enough there was a message printed on the outside of the envelope: 'Tag. You're it.' And inside there would, of course, be snuff photos of some poor lady with her head blown off or her eyes gouged out or whatever sick sadistic shocking thing Janet's twisted little head had devised.

Third world countries were too good for Janet. Should I ever meet her she was headed straight for rural Kentucky.

I bit my lip and continued to stare at the flowers, half expecting them to move, maybe even sing a song, demand some humans be fed to them…

Using two fingers, and staying arms length from the evil flowers, I picked up the envelope. I used one finger to nudge the flap up and dumped the photos out on the counter. A quick glance and I turned away. The sheer amount of crimson and gray flesh tones told me all I wanted to know.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and flipped it open, hitting speed dial. It rang twice before it was picked up.

"Talk." Nice to see you too, sweetheart. How was your day? Sorry to hear that…

"Remember what I said about getting stalked and murdered? Well, I'm calling to say I told you so." There was several beats of silence.

"What?"

"I dropped by my apartment and I found a vase of red roses and white carnations with a nice friendly 'Tag, you're it' message and an envelope filled with up close and personal photos of people who died in extremely bloody violent ways."

"I'll be there in ten. Don't touch anything," the voice had gone from terse to all-out grim. Central America was quivering with fear and dialing its psychiatrist. And he disconnected.

I glared at the phone as I snapped it shut. I hated that. I hated, hated, hated that. Ranger was so getting a lecture on phone manners. I flipped the phone back open and checked the date. Damn, it was June, so probably any charm schools in the area had already started classes. Rats. Well, not like he would go anyway. I sighed, shutting the phone and heading out the door to wait for the cavalry.