14
A/N: Here's the last chapter! The story is now complete!
Previously:
Steph thought he could read minds, that he was Batman. But he wasn't, and hell if he knew what and how to tell her what she needed to know. "Babe. Steph—"
With a shake of her head, she tore free and shut the door behind her with a finality that frightened him more than anything else had.
Chapter Seven
Steph knew what she had to do, but just in case she made a list on the drive to the marina where the Valeska was docked.
One. Get onto the Valeska and find something to nail her suspects.
Two. Switch departments to a safer investigative job that doesn't involve being stuffed into any dumpsters or getting handcuffed to towel racks, and as a result, live happily ever after.
Three. Learn to handle that HEA without Ranger.
That last made her throat tight as she navigated the windy highway, the summer-browned hills on one side, the sparkling white-capped azure Atlantic Ocean on her other. She'd had months to get used to the idea of being without him, and in that time she'd learned to spend whole minutes without dwelling on it, but her heart just couldn't wrap itself around the idea of this being permanent.
Angrily she swiped at a tear and told herself it'd been caused by the sun in her eyes. No more of this. She was her own woman, and didn't need nor want a man who didn't love her for all her little pieces and neurosis. It was all or nothing, damn it.
And in any case, she didn't have any tissues with her, so she sucked it up, parked in the marina, and slipped her binoculars out of her purse. She checked out the long rows of boats harbored. There were many, certainly more than a hundred, and they ran the gamut from small dinghy's that hardly seemed sea-worthy to party-sized catamarans and sail boats, to the multi-million dollar yachts such as the ones she'd been investigating.
She sought out the Valeska. She sat in her car and watched the boat carefully for ten minutes, and saw nothing. No maintenance, no guests, no movement at all. Hoping her luck had finally turned, Steph twisted into the backseat and grabbed her disguise; a white cap with a bobble plastic pizza on it and the pizza delivery box, which didn't hold pizza but her Mace, tape recorder and ID, just in case.
Taking a deep breath, she exited the car, and made her way down the wooden planks of the docks with purpose. As a pizza delivery girl, she'd want a tip. As Steph, she just wanted a damn break. She was due for one. This sort of thing used to excite the hell out of her but she felt no rush of adrenaline now, nothing but a confusing mix of duty and dread. She had no idea what was the matter with her. She'd wanted this job.
Okay, she knew exactly what was wrong. It wasn't the job that amped her life up and gave her a buzz.
It was Ranger.
Stubborn jackass.
She came upon the Valeska. Sleek, shiny, posh and so expensive she couldn't imagine planning to destroy it, insurance money or not. She shielded her eyes from the sun and called out from the deck. "Hello? Anyone home?"
No response.
It wasn't too difficult to get on board, she simply hopped the waiting plank and walked on. She figured if she could just get below deck, she could check out the place, look around, and . . .
And she had no idea. She just hoped to God some sort of evidence leapt out at her. She ducked beneath the bow line and walked along the bulkhead, heading astern, marveling at all the glass and flashy gold trim, at the lushness and sophistication.
At the back, on a vast white deck, she came across two wet suits and a pile of diving gear.
Still wet.
Roped to the back just below the deck was a small motor boat that hadn't been there last week. She stared at the diving equipment at her feet and understood. The drugs had been held on the second yacht, the one that had been purposely sunk, and they'd just gone back to retrieve the drugs, thinking they were safe because she, with her questions and interest, was locked up in Mexico.
Now that they had their insurance money from the first boat, and the drugs from the second boat, they thought they had it all.
She was about to change that perception.
The brass door heading below deck wasn't locked. A strange oversight with a boat as expensive as this one.
Or, and much more likely, the divers were still on board. As she stepped over the threshold, she heard the tell-tale muted voices. Heart kicking into high gear, she flattened herself against the inside bulkhead, between two large gold framed paintings that she recognized as museum quality, but because she'd skipped more art history classes than she'd actually attended in college, she had no idea what they were other than pretentious renderings of some fancy gardens.
The voices came from below. Steph kept moving, and found herself in the galley, surrounded by a luxurious crystal and china lunch spread that had been ravished. Leftover lobster, shrimp, and fancy pasta salads lay around with three empty bottles of champagne.
Seems someone, several someones, had been celebrating.
Steph adjusted the pizza delivery box. No one in their right mind was going to believe she really was delivering a pizza to this ship, but it was too late to change her disguise now.
What would they do to her if they found her snooping?
Didn't bear thinking about, she decided. Tiptoeing through the galley, she came out into a stateroom with plush seating, state of the art entertainment center, and . . .
And Ranger sliding in the opposite door like smoke, dressed in SWAT black, looking fiercely intense as he met her gaze.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed across the thirty foot room.
He took in the pizza delivery hat and shook his head. "Babe."
"This is my case. Get out."
"You first. Tell me you're armed with something more than pepperoni."
"I'm fine solo."
"No one's fine solo."
She let out a soft breath and felt her stomach twist. "You are. You don't need anyone, ever."
"I was wrong," he said flatly. "And I need you."
"You mean you want me."
"I say exactly what I mean, Stephanie. Always. And I need you. With me." His head came up at some sound that she didn't hear, or maybe it was just his sharp instincts.
"What?" she whispered.
"We're going to have to table this discussion until we're far away from the three guys downstairs divvying up their drugs, armed to the teeth."
"There's drugs?" Her proof! "Where—" But she broke off because someone was coming into the galley behind them.
She froze.
Ranger drew his gun and jerked his head toward the door from which he came. He wanted her to get out, and she knew he'd stand there in the open, covering her, until she did.
But no way was he going to risk himself for her. She shook her head and dropped down behind one of the couches.
Ranger didn't make a sound as he shot her a look that spoke volumes, then backed out the door from which he'd come just as someone opened the door from the galley.
She ducked low, her heart going high. Had Ranger just said that he'd been wrong? That he needed her? What did that mean?
A man entered the room, and another behind him, both in nothing but swim trunks, their hair still wet. Steph recognized the voices as the men who'd been speaking below deck.
The divers.
"We should get a move on," the first one said. He was in his thirties, built like a heavy-weight boxer, with tattoos covering most of his upper body. "Our flight's in a few hours."
"No rush now that our resident insurance investigator slash pain-in-the-ass is detained." This guy was thin and lanky, with no tattoos, just plenty of scars, and a chuckle that gave Steph a shiver. "Lou and Raul said they had to handcuff her nosy naked ass to her towel rack. I can't believe they didn't take pictures of her, man. She's still there, you know. Maybe we should go see her for ourselves."
Steph fisted her hands. Ranger had saved her.
Again.
"Raul said she squirmed a lot." Tattoo Guy let out a lecherous grin of his own. "He kept getting handfuls. Damn, we should have been the ones to catch her."
Fully creeped out, Steph huddled behind the couch, her finger on the Mace trigger.
"Got the shit?" Tattoo Guy asked.
"Oh, yeah, and it's pure, baby."
Steph felt the couch shift as both men sat on it. It was a low back, thick cushioned leather number, and though she flattened herself to the floor, if this so much as craned their heads an inch to either side, they'd see her.
Her eyes searched frantically for a way out. There was an end table to her right, a glass and chrome deal that had some fancy steel sculpture displayed. The sculpture was about a foot high and looked like a wire cage, though she knew better and figured it was another ridiculously price piece of art.
The thin thug opened a baggie, and Tattoo Guy stuck his pinkie finger into it, then brought it to his mouth to taste. He nodded and smiled. "Nice."
"Our cut's going to set us up for life."
"Then let's go get started on that life."
No. No one was leaving. But just as Steph went to make her move, a big, hot, sweaty hand settled on the back of her neck and hauled her up.
Bad guy number three. Heck of a time to remember the three bottles of champagne.
Tattoo Guy and his partner whipped around, jaws dropped. "What the—"
Steph hung from the third man's grip, feet swinging a few inches off the ground. Bringing her hand up, she nailed her attacker in the face with her Mace.
He screamed like the baby and let go of her. She hit the ground hard, scrambling to crawl away, but he fell on her, all three hundred pounds of him, a full dead weight.
Tattoo Guy let out a howl and dove over the back of the couch, landing on top of both of them.
Steph took the weight, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, her poor lungs uselessly attempting to drag in some air. Her one last thought – she'd screwed up again.
Then there was rapid gunfire and suddenly she was freed of the weight pinning her down. Sitting up, she saw Tattoo Guy rolling in agony, hands to the bullet hole in his thigh. Scrawny guy and Ranger stood face to face, each holding a gun on the other.
"Drop it," Ranger said in his scary mercenary voice, and Scrawny Guy dropped the gun.
Steph glanced to her right just as the third guy sat up and pointed his gun at her.
Uh oh.
She dove to the floor as gunshots pinged and ricocheted around her, crawling beneath the coffee table. Before she could even attempt to peek out to see Ranger – God, please let him be okay - she was hauled up into against a warm, hard chest.
"Are you hit?" Rough voice, gentle hands ran over her body.
"No. I'm fine," she said, but she wasn't. She was shaking like a leaf. She could hear Tattoo Guy squalling about his leg. There were sirens in the distance, and she realized Ranger must have called it in on his cell before he burst back into the room and saved the day. "Y-you still s-smell good."
He pulled her in closer. "Breathe, Babe."
She was working on that but she was still shaking.
Not him, never him. But he was holding her pretty damn tight. "You were worried about me," she said.
"I'm always worried about you."
Throat tight, she burrowed in closer.
"You know I love you, Babe, right?"
"In your own way," she clarified.
"In every way."
For the first time in two months, maybe even years, a fist around her heart loosened. "Don't let go, okay?"
His arms tightened. "I won't."
"No, I mean don't ever let go."
He lifted his head and cupped her jaw. "Be sure, Babe."
"I've been sure for a long time. But my job—"
"I don't care if you work for an insurance company, or me, or at the damn shopping mall. I don't care what you do or if you do nothing at all. Just be who you want to be."
Her throat tightened. "Can I see the Batcave?"
"That's a great idea," Tattoo Guy said. "Go to the batcave. Go anywhere other than here." He was hog-tied, sweating and gritting his teeth in pain, but when Ranger sent him one long look, he spread his fingers in a gesture of surrender. "Just sayin'."
Ranger looked at Steph again, and everything within her quivered with hope. "Is this real?" she asked. "I don't have to get over you?"
"It's as real as it gets." He dipped his head to rub her jaw with his. "And you can get over me. Or beneath me. Or better yet, wrapped around me." He lifted his face again and held her gaze with his dark one. "However you want me, I'm yours."
She meant to laugh but ended up letting out a gulping sob instead. "I want that, too. All of you. Preferably without your clothes."
Tattoo Guy rolled his eyes. "Hey, felon in the room."
Ranger smiled and kissed her, and everything was in that kiss; his promise, his hope, his love. All she ever needed.
The End!
A/N: THANKS so much for all your wonderful reviews, they mean SO much. This is the end of this story, but I have many more planned for Ranger and Steph. If you're interested, that is … Would love to hear from you. Be back soon.