Sneaking this story in just in time for the December challenge on Janet Evanovich Fan Fiction FB group. It's a little longer (read: a lot longer) than I thought it would be, but I'm quite pleased with how it turned out. Hopefully you will be to.
Activity: Baking Cookies
Trope: Coffee Shop
Dialogue Prompt: "Don't just stand there looking at me"
AN: This story is set a few months after the events of "All I Know So Far" but you don't necessarily need to read it in order to follow the events that occur here.
The Daily Grind
I was nodding along in agreement with everything my cousin was saying as he finished up the briefing for the new assignment. It was a solid plan, a little out of the norm for us, but no unachievable. A couple days ago, Ranger had been approached by one of his FBI contacts regarding a batch of drugs they'd been tracking, and according to the file in front of me on the table now, the intelligence they'd been able to gather suggested that goods were being passed off at a coffee shop located just outside the boundaries of the Burg. Being that Trenton was Ranger's kingdom and he had decent burg connections, the FBI had requested Rangeman work surveillance on the coffee shop with the intention to seek out the perpetrator and bring them to justice.
Knowing that a standard, straightforward stakeout, even with our fleet of non-descript vehicles, wouldn't do the trick, Ranger had liaised with the owner of the Daily Grind and put together a comprehensive plan to send a few of us in undercover and I was honestly so excited.
I was used to playing a part at functions when we ran personal security, blending in with the high society types and sampling some of the good wine along the way, or when we infiltrated bar and security staff at clubs when we ran distractions, but aside from the odd occasion when Steph decided to take a pizza delivery angle to get a skip to open their door it had been years since I'd had the opportunity to brush off some of my more low-key undercover personas. The last time I'd had to take on a character of this caliber was when I'd been on a government mission in Peru, but there was something about being on the lookout for a murderer that had stifled my enjoyment.
"We're seriously doing this?" I asked, managing to keep the excitement coursing through my veins out of my voice as the door to the conference room swung open and Ella bustled in with her trolley. Instead of the usual packaged lunches, or cleaning products, the cart was laden with clothes and other paraphernalia that she started handing out as she made her way around the room. There were only eight guys slated for this operation: three to go undercover as baristas, two as patrons, and three on the streets surrounding the coffee shop. Plus Ranger, who'd be posing as an upper level manager visiting the shop to check in, which allowed him to come and go as he pleased while maintaining operations here at Rangeman.
Looking around the room, I noted that he'd chosen the guys with the greatest ability to blend in. All the guys at Rangeman were ripped and tended to exude an air of authority and quiet menace when we were out on the streets, but when pressed had a reasonable ability to fly under the radar, though generally speaking their size was not in their favour. The men assembled around the table were the leanest of the lot; not overly muscular. We all had features that were non-descript or failed to give a solid indication as to our ethnicity, and we were decent actors to boot.
"No, the boss man called us all in here and took up two hours of company time to explain the operation because we're going to decline to assist," Woody drawled, picking up the apron he'd been supplied to examine it a little closer. I couldn't help but smirk when I saw that his full given name had been embroidered onto it. Woodrow. He hated it.
"I've always found declining requests from high-ranking officials to be the best way to get ahead," Ranger added sarcastically, proving once again how being in a legitimate relationship with the Bombshell Bounty Hunter had begun to soften his surly demeanour and impenetrable exoskeleton.
A few months ago, Ranger had returned from his final mission, his contract complete and well and truly put to bed. It had been an unnecessarily harrowing time for both him and Steph as he'd arrived home in the middle of dire personal crisis Steph had been plunged into by the misinformation of her mother and the Burg. A lot of changes had occurred in the ensuing weeks, not least of which being that both Steph and her father Frank had moved into the Rangeman building. Steph, as she dove head-first into the 'someday' she and Ranger had apparently declared, and Frank when he'd been released from the hospital after a terrifying dance with death and a single dinner in his own home in the Burg where his eyes had been wrenched open to the vile woman his wife had turned into in the wake of his injuries.
Frank's stay had been temporary, just until he'd recovered enough to resume all normal activities and could find his own accommodations elsewhere. Not that anyone had been pressuring him to move on. In fact, he'd quickly become a member of the Rangeman family, and still dropped by once a week just to check in with a few of the guys he'd apparently formed a bond with while working with Bobby in the gym.
His relationship with his daughter had only strengthened as his marriage marched toward a long-overdue death. And I, for one, was glad to see all the small changes both Plums were making in their lives now that they were out from under Helen's thumb. They appeared to be thriving, rather than merely surviving as they had been for most of Steph's adult life.
And so was Ranger.
"Just checking," I said placatingly as I lifted my hands in a 'my bad' gesture. Ella took the opportunity to set a pile of clothes in front of me and I promptly forgot about the line of questioning I'd started. Chinos, a dark green polo, brown leather belt, a pair of clear-lens glasses with tortoise shell frames, and black apron with the Daily Grind's logo embroidered on the pocket and my name on the upper edge of the bib. Fuck yeah! "I get to be a barista?!" I asked before I could even contemplate containing my enthusiasm.
At the sight of my name on the apron, my head immediately filled with all the coffee shop AU scenes I could act out while fulfilling my role in this undercover sting. And naturally, as soon as the thoughts flitted through, I wondered how many 'pretty pleases' it would take to convince Bobby to play the part of my love interest in those fantasies, since he'd already been playing the role in real life for quite a few years. Picturing Bobby in those scenarios had my pants tightening uncomfortably and I had to quickly divert my focus elsewhere before the other guys noticed.
Luckily, with Ella finished with her present giving and out of the room, Ranger was back to being his usual large and in charge self after his sarcasm glitch. "Santos, Woody and Binkie, you'll be onboarding as newly hired baristas. You'll each submit to a fake job interview at the Daily Grind this afternoon and start tomorrow. Your roster is included in the file. At least one of you will be on shift at all times. I'll leave the particulars of who covers what shift up to you, but if I see a single round of Scissors, Paper, Rock you'll all have an early appointment with me on the mats."
He paused to send a glare at Woody, Binkie and myself in turn, settling the hardest and longest on me, like he thought I was gonna goof off and lead the other two astray or something. Honestly, sometimes working for my cousin leaves me at a real disadvantage. It was like he couldn't see past the pranks I'd pulled growing up. Or the ones I'd orchestrated in the army… Or last week… Yeah, okay, maybe he had a point. I gave a short nod to let him know I understood and that I'd behave.
On that matter at least. I still couldn't get the idea of serving Bobby a beverage over the counter out of my head.
Ranger held my gaze a moment longer for good measure before returning his attention to the rest of the table. "Junior and Ram, you're our patrons. I need you to back up on peak times when the coffee shop is busiest so that we still always have sufficient eyes on the foot traffic. Ram, you'll be an out-of-town businessman. Junior, you're young enough to work the college student leaching off the café's wifi angle."
Junior held up his campus notebook and patted the battered looking knapsack he'd been supplied with a smile. Pretty sure I wasn't the only one looking forward to this operation.
"That leaves Zip, Vince and Ghost as our men on the outside. You'll be representing various maintenance services working in the area."
Having finished the instructions, he gave us all a couple minutes to digest the information we'd been given. A glance around the table showed that everyone was nodding along, a certain spark I hadn't seen on the men's faces in a while, although Binkie and Vince seemed to be locked in a stare down silently wondering if they could trade places. Binkie had already done a stint working in a coffee shop when he was in college and always announced loudly that he'd shoot himself in the foot before he stepped into that kind of role again. My guess was he wasn't willing to risk Ranger's ire, though, so he'd just have to suck it up.
"Any questions?" Ranger asked when he felt satisfied that we'd had enough time to familiarize ourselves with the materials.
Woody and I both raised our hands, but Ranger, perhaps wisely, chose to give his consent to speak to Woody first. "Do the regular staff at the café know that we're working an operation?" he asked, flipping through his copy of the file.
"Negative," Ranger replied. "The risk that a staff member is involved is too great."
"But the manager knows?" Junior said. "What if he's involved in the drug dealing?"
"Then we'll likely figure that out and take appropriate actions when we do," Ram said.
I still had my hand half in the air, positioned so Ranger knew my question was off topic as we all discussed the logistics of obtaining evidence via the body cams and gaining approval for the take down from the FBI in a timely manner. We all agreed that Ranger needed to enter further negotiations to obtain more authority in that respect, including the ability to call the shots in a time sensitive situation. But something was still playing on my mind, preventing me from lowering my hand.
This kind of operation was squarely in Steph's wheelhouse. She knew the area and the kinds of people that would frequent the café. In fact, it was entirely likely that she knew the majority of the patrons personally. She'd likely be able to pick out any suspicious actions quicker than any of us could.
"Santos?" Ranger prompted on a sigh, seeing that I wasn't going to let my query drop.
"Is there a reason we're not pulling Steph in on this one?" I asked.
He just nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and I thought for a moment that that was all I was going to get from him, but then he lowered his head let out another sigh. He likely knew as well as I did that Steph could easily have this all sorted in a few hours provided the right person showed up at the coffee shop while she was there. "Her dance card is full," he stated, lifting his head once more. "Full load of skips from Vinnie, her continued training here, and…" His pause here was hesitant, and I knew instinctively that he was battling the twin urges to protect Steph's privacy and to provide information that would ensure she received the support she needed when she needed it. It was a tenuous balance and he hadn't always gotten it right in the past. "Her parent's divorce hearing is on Friday," he finally finished.
"This close to Christmas?" Vince asked, leaning his elbows on the table as he peered around Zip to the boss. "That's hectic."
We all nodded our agreement. Unfortunately, Frank's separation from his wife had not been a particularly smooth process, even with the top lawyers Ranger had connected him with. After she'd been served with the divorce papers and incited a typically horrendous showdown in front of practically the whole Burg, during which Helen once again demanded Frank think about what he was doing to their family, while Frank refused to compromise on his morals a moment longer, they'd entered into formal discussions. The whole situation had only caused more stress as the Burg, no doubt lead by Mrs Plum, had almost unanimously decided that the breakdown of their marriage was Stephanie's fault.
Steph hadn't wanted to talk about it with any of the guys, preferring her usual methods of sweeping things under the rug and plastering on a brave face while self-medicating with Boston Crèmes, but we knew it must have been taking a toll on her. And if it had progressed to a hearing, then clearly the discussions hadn't gone well either.
I thought back to the last time I'd seen Frank in the gym with Bobby, just two days ago, and wondered if I should have seen similar signs of strain in the man's demeanour. Probably not, Frank was ex-military, he knew how to keep a blank face, and up until he was shot in the chest by one of Steph's skips (the event that kick started the demise of Mr and Mrs Plum, while simultaneously ushering in the rise of Steph and Ranger) he'd been almost as tight-lipped as Ranger was when it came to his emotions. If he was stressing or worried, he wasn't going to show it outwardly. Something that Steph had obviously learned from him because she didn't look any more rattled than usual given the circumstances.
"Exactly," Ranger agreed with Vince's assessment, drawing my attention back out of my head. "Between that and the proximity of The Daily Grind to the Burg, I thought it best to leave her out of this one."
He waited for more questions, queries, and concerns to make their way into the air and when none came, he called the meeting to a close and exited in his usual swift and efficient manner. I watched him go, still puzzling over the details of Steph's life that Ranger had revealed. It sounded like Ranger had made the decision not to include Steph without any kind of consultation with the woman herself. A move to protect her, for sure, but I had to wonder if it was the right move in the long run.
Steph, motivated by Frank's work in the gym in his post gun-shot wound recovery, had taken up the offer of training that had been gathering dust on the table for years, and as such was doing a lot better I the fugitive apprehension department. It was still Steph, so there were still ample opportunities for rolling through garbage that she seemed incapable of passing up, or senior citizens that simply refused to put on a robe to cover up their sadly deflated, naked bodies on the way to the police station, but on the whole, she was bringing in skips with the kind of efficiency that we always knew she was capable of deep down.
I'd taken on the task of teaching her various holds she could use to restrain and incapacitate an opponent even when they were significantly larger than her slight form, and in turn how to get out of said holds if they were used on her. She was developing and honing her skills, and her capture rate was the proof in the pudding. It was Monday today, which meant she likely had a brand new stack of files from Connie, but lately she'd been finish most of them by mid-week, leaving her free to spend more time at Rangeman filling in wherever she was needed. There was nothing to say that she couldn't divide her time between skips and the coffee shop if she was interested in helping out.
"Why do I get the feeling Steph doesn't know about the coffee shop operation?" Binkie said into the silence Ranger's departure had left behind.
"Because she probably doesn't," Ram pointed out. "Boss Man's giving her the time and space she needs to get through a tough time and like he said, the location is a little too close to home for her right now."
"So do we keep it a secret?" Zip frowned, looking from face to face around the table. No one liked keeping secrets from Steph. Not least because she almost always called us on them.
I made a sound of contemplation in the back of my throat. I didn't like the idea any more than the others, especially considering there was absolutely no good reason for it to be kept a secret. "If she asks what you're up to this week, don't hide it," Lester said. "She's going to notice the change in work pattern, and clothes. There's no point in needlessly making her suspicious. Be smart and use your discretion."
With that settled, I flipped my file folder closed and stood from the table. I had a job interview in a couple hours and there were a lot of decisions about my character that I still had to make. Was Lester the Barista an up-beat, cheerful guy like Lester the Everyday was, or was he a surly, cynical bastard surviving on black coffee and the scent of death. I cut my eyes to Woody as I made my way out of the conference room and couldn't help but smirk. I'd leave the cynical bastard act up to him; it was likely the best he could manage if he was going to be called Woodrow all day long.
It was a short walk down the hall to the command floor and it's maze of cubicles, but the second I turned into the first row a grin slid across my face. Bobby, who'd left our bed early this morning on a call out and had been out of the building ever since, was leaning over the back of my desk chair, his ass in the air as he scribbled something on a post-it note. If we'd been in the privacy of our own apartment, I had several ideas of how I could accept this very obvious invitation. Being that we were still in the office, though, I settled for a squeeze of his tight buns, following it up with a kiss on the neck when he froze at the initial contact, allowing me to lean in close and press against him.
Bobby bit back a quiet moan, encouraging more kisses as he turned and straightened, capturing my mouth for several moments before breaking it off quickly when I swept my tongue along his full lower lip. I let out a growl of protest but stepped back out of his space anyway. I knew the drill. We'd been caught in compromising positions in the office a time or two over the years, and each time had been a pain in the spleen by the time my cousin had gotten done with us. Luckily, Bobby had more restraint than I did, and could usually be relied on to stop things before they went too far.
"Well, I know what to look forward to tonight," Bobby smirked, adjusting his cargos as he set his ass on the edge of my desk. "How was our meeting?"
I dropped my coffee shop uniform onto the table beside Bobby and lifted the apron to slip it over my head. "You're looking at The Daily Grind's newest barista," I said with a waggle of my eyebrows. "A few of us are going undercover to catch an drug dealer."
"Oh my coffee shop AU," Bobby said with a sly grin. "Does Ranger know the can of worms he's opened by giving you that apron?"
My lips curled into a mischievous grin to match his as I slid the glasses onto my face and mussed my carefully constructed hair spikes, tying the apron around my waist. It wasn't quite the same with the black Rangeman fatigues underneath, but it didn't matter, because the affect on Bobby was instantaneous. His eyes darkened as I planted my hands on the table on either side of him, leaning in close enough that my breath ghosted across his cheek, eliciting a shudder from my medic. "I'm pretty sure he does not," Lester murmured. "Unfortunately, I think he's hired me to make drinks, not flirt with all the customers."
"That's a shame," Bobby whispered, never once making a move to escape. "But hey, my friend swears you can pick the perfect drink for anyone. I'm a bit sceptical, though, because there's no way you can take one look at someone and just know their order."
"Mmm," I sighed against his ear, receiving another sinful shiver for my efforts and that familiar tightening in the front of my trousers. "But, of course, I nail your drink."
The connotations of my word choice was not lost on Bobby as he let out another little moan of desire, his iron-clad resolve slipping some. "Of course," he agreed, his hands coming up to clench around the apron strings tied at the front of my waist. "And your co-worker wrote you number on my cup when you weren't paying attention, so now I'm texting you."
"I've been working on my foam art, and I did some naughty bits in one of my co-workers drinks to amuse them, but you took it by mistake, and now you think I'm flirting with you," I added, catching his earlobe between my teeth and pulling back slowly until it slipped free.
"Aren't you?" Bobby countered, using his grip to tug me closer between his knees so he can press his lips along my jaw.
"I understand now," Ram said loudly from somewhere behind me, interrupting the moment. I lowered my head to Bobby's shoulder but didn't dare turn around and risk revealing just how turned on I was by this indulgence of one of my favourite tropes. "This is why Ranger didn't put Bobby on the team. I was wondering, given that Bobby's the best amateur barista we've got."
"Fuck you, Ram," I replied conversationally, finally disengaging from Bobby and plopping down into my desk chair.
He smirked at the pair of us, hiking the coat hanger holding his grey business suit higher on his shoulder as he pivoted to continue on his way to his own cubicle three doors down. "No thanks," he called over his shoulder.
*o*
The interview with the Daily Grind's manager felt real. It felt like I was really being scrutinised for my suitability for the role. It was a good thing I'd done my research on a bunch of barista terms before heading over, otherwise I would have looked like a real dunce. Graeme, the manager, seemed to accept my answers despite the non-plussed expression on his face the entire time, and after about fifteen minutes of highlighting my most charming qualities, I was offered a 'trial' shift the following morning at seven.
I was no stranger to waking up early, and had a well practiced hustle that I could call on if I ever found myself in need, but honestly, the need to be across town so early in the morning was a struggle. For a start, I'd had to leave Bobby slurping down his cereal shirtless at the breakfast bar without indulging in a sampling of the flesh he'd left on display for me. And then there was the fact that my usual commute to work was one short flight of stairs up, not fifteen minutes by car across town in morning traffic. How did people do this every morning and not resort to fantasies about ramming all the idiot commuters off the road?
Maybe that was the secret. Maybe all morning commuters were a little homicidal at heart.
I walked into the coffee shop with five minutes to spare and was greeted by the surly face of my new co-worker, a twenty-something year old woman with green streaks in her jet black hair that I knew from her background check and her embroidered apron, was named Kayla. She stared at me from behind her thick mask of eyeliner while I punched in just the way Graeme had showed me yesterday afternoon and followed my progress as I set my hydro flask – another prop from Ella – on the edge of a bench in the back room, slipping the apron over my head and tying it in place.
"I'm Lester," I said brightly, extending my hand in Kayla's direction.
She flicked her eyes to the appendage like it offended her, let out a huff and slid off the stool she'd been perched on. "You're late," she informed me, stalking off into the front area.
I shook my head, trailing behind her. "No, I'm early," I pointed out. "I was told seven o'clock."
She pursed her lips and gave an eye roll that would make Steph proud. "If you're not here fifteen minutes before your shift, you're late."
The urge to shake my head against was strong, but I resisted lest it become a habit and I ended up shaking something important loose. "Do I get paid for those fifteen minutes?" I asked as she started turning on machines and booting up the computer on the front counter. I watched her movements carefully, figuring this was about as close as we'd get to her actually training me and not wanting to look like a complete imbecile when I was on with Brandon tomorrow morning.
"Of course not," Kayla scoffed. "That time is so you're ready to start work when your shift starts."
"I was ready to start work as soon as I walked in the door," I said. "I don't need fifteen minutes of prep."
"It's company policy."
"They can't legally make you work those fifteen minutes without pay," I stated, following Kayla out from behind the counter and pulling down chairs from the tops of tables when they started. "Arrive on time for you shift, yes, but they can't mandate a specific amount of time you have to be early. And if you need to start the process of opening up the shop before opening time, then they need to be paying you for that time. Same with closing if you have to stay back."
Kayla paused with a café chair halfway to the ground, staring at me with a new expression on her face, and I was pleased to not that it wasn't the contempt with which she'd started out the morning. "So even though the shop hasn't opened yet, because I'm technically working right now, I should be getting paid for these fifteen minutes because they expect me to have everything ready by seven?" she questioned, rephrasing the information I'd given her to check that what she understood was what I meant.
I nodded, gently taking the chair from her hands and setting it on the floor before tucking it under the table. "That's right. And if they refuse to pay you for that time, then you have a couple options for combatting it. You could-"
"How do you know all this?" she interrupted, flicking her black bangs out of her eyes to peer curiously at me as she crossed to the front door, flicking the flimsy lock over before flipping over the sign to 'open'.
Shrugging, I picked up the chalkboard sign that I guessed needed to be taken out to the sidewalk. "I have a friend who works in HR," I said. Really, I just knew because Ranger had had a huge argument with Hugh, the Boston Rangeman manager, over it back in the day. Hugh was trying to get the whole fifteen minutes before your shift thing happening, and Ranger, having done his research and consulted with the appropriate people when drafting up company policies, was adamant that we couldn't do it. I'd endured my fair share of rants on the topic and apparently the information had filtered into my brain and filed itself away in the long-term memory folder.
With the café set up and ready for customers, Kayla led the way back behind the counter and started fiddling with the stacks of cups under the counter. I watched carefully, unsure of what else I could or should be doing at this point.
Apparently it definitely wasn't that, because after a couple of minutes, Kayla dropped her hands to her hips and turned to face me with a decidedly Burg glare. It was a good thing I'd had so much practice receiving this particular brand of expression rom Steph, otherwise I might have thought she was legitimately pissed off at me, instead of just mildly annoyed.
"Are you going to just stand there staring at my ass all shift, or are you going to help?" She demanded, flicking a those bangs out of her eyes again.
Caught off guard, I blubbered through a rather convincing fish out of water impression before finally reconnecting the cable that runs from my brain to my mouth. "I wasn't staring at your ass," I said firmly, crossing my arms over my chest. "I was watching what you're doing so I can learn the routine." I was going to leave it at that, but my traitorous brain must have leaned too hard on the defence button, and I found myself stating. "Besides, I have a boyfriend."
I watched with interest and just a little bit of amusement as her eyes widened slightly in surprised, followed promptly by a familiar expression of disappointment falling onto her face. Yeah. I tended to have that effect on people when they found out I not only wasn't interested but was already take. It was a good thing Bobby and I didn't advertise the fact that we'd invited a third party into our bed from time to time. A self-preservation tactic, because the minute people found out they were all over us like white on rice, begging for a chance to experience such an erotic fantasy.
"Okay," Kayla muttered, a blush creeping up her neck, past the green collar of her uniform. "Okay, good," she added more firmly, dropping her hands to her sides with a nod. "Why don't you make a drink; show me your skills." She gestured vaguely to the machine taking up a third of the counter space as she returned to her cup counting.
Slowly turning my head to stare at the machine, I realised that it was quite a bit different to the coffee maker Bobby and I had at home. There were more buttons, more spouts, more things to get wrong. And even then, Bobby was the main brewer of caffeine in our home. His coffee maker had been a birthday present he bought for himself a few years back, and while he managed to create drinks that, to an exhausted man, were almost as good as sex in a dry spell, I'd only really managed enough to get myself over the line when he wasn't home: Black coffee, basic latte, passable hot chocolate.
Stepping up to my new opponent, I cut my eyes to Kayla. "What would you like me to make?" I asked. Please say one of the three hot drinks I have in my repertoire.
Without missing a beat or looking up from her task, she rattled off a drink order that sounded to me like she was speaking a foreign language. It was at that moment that I realised just how out of my depth I was. My first shift had barely started, and I was already sinking.
Think, Santos. Think. How can you maintain your cover while also not revealing how completely incompetent you are?
Seconds ticked by while I continued to face off against the coffee machine without moving to take action. Kayla, having finished taking stock of the cups under the counter, straightened and eyed me with a knowing look.
"Problem?" she asked.
I let my shoulders sag. It was no use, she was going to find out eventually. "So, I may have lied in my application and interview," I admitted, maintaining eye contact with the counter rather than meet her gaze. "I have no idea how to work this monstrosity or anything like it. I've never made a coffee more complicated than a basic, at home latte."
She was silent for a minute, tandem expressions of frustration and pity warring on her face. "You know, if you'd just told Graeme the truth, he probably would have given you a chance anyway," she said. "He's not like the other meat patties around here. He doesn't care about your past so long as you're a hard worker."
I wasn't sure what she thought my background was that I would not only need to hide it and lie in job interviews but would also warrant her pity. I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. If she thought I was a charity case, she might let down her guard more around me and let slip a vital piece of information. I'd just opened my mouth to spin something to move on past my ambiguous character backstory when a phrase she'd used stepped up to the front counter of my brain.
"Wait," I said, confused. "Meat patties?"
She nodded, a twinkle in her eye. "Yeah. You know Chambersburg?"
"The neighbourhood?" I checked. "The Burg?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "The people there are sometimes referred to as Burgers, so…." She trailed off expectantly, holding her hand up between us as an invitation to finish her sentence.
"Meat patties," I said as realisation dawned. "Nice. My sister would love that." I didn't have a sister. I was an only child, but Lester the wannabe barista had apparently just adopted Stephanie Plum into his family. It made sense, since I thought of her like a sister anyway. A really hot, step-sister maybe…
"Exactly," Kayla nodded before my thoughts could get too distracted. "We're right on the edge of the broiler here, so we tend to see a lot of meat patties."
At that moment, the bell over the door tinkled, admitting the first customer of the day to the shop, and the time for idle chit-chat was behind us. Usually, I was informed, the morning shift was a two person job. Two experienced and competent people, she'd added pointedly when I opened my mouth to indicate how many of us were wearing the Daily Grind aprons. But since I'd passed my interview with flying colours, Graeme was apparently confident in my abilities to throw me in the deep end with Kayla. I felt a little sorry for her as she ended up making all the drinks as well as overseeing my work on the register. She was like a machine and a godsend, and I had to admire her work ethic and dedication. I sincerely hoped she wasn't the dealer we were looking for.
Ram had come in with the early morning rush wearing his pressed, grey suit, a tie, and carrying a leather satchel, ordered a breakfast bagel and lingered at his table in the corner 'working' until it had died down a bit. As the business crowd cleared out, giving way to mommies looking for a pick-me-up after the school drop off, Binkie arrived for his shift along with another actual staff member named Todd. I took my ten minute break in the back room and was pleasantly surprised to find a third staff member – Greta, the baker – hard at work rolling out dough.
"Whatcha makin'?" I asked, sliding onto a stool near her work station with my hydroflask and the snack box Bobby had prepared for me, scooping some of the trail mix into my mouth.
"Christmas cookies," she grinned. "We always keep cookies themed to the time of year stocked in the front case. Christmas is my favourite to work on though."
"What's your favourite Christmas cookie?" I asked to keep the conversation rolling. "What flavour? What shape? Give me your best recommendation, I have a sister with a sweet tooth who's fiancé ensures she wants for nothing, so she's notoriously hard to buy for."
For the next ten minutes, I listened to Greta talk enthusiastically about cookies, my mouth watering the entire time. I was pretty sure cookies would be the perfect gift for Steph this year, and I wondered if I could convince Greta to do a special order for me. Before I could broach the subject, though, my break was over, and Kayla was at the door to the back room, looking nonplussed as she called me back to the front counter.
She didn't follow me out, since she had to take her own break, so I was left out front with Binkie and Todd. They were both dealing with the orders coming in with rapid efficiency, that made me feel like a useless piece of shit, so I picked up a tub from under counter and went to clear tables. That, at least, seemed within my skill set, and had the added benefit of allowing me to get a closer look at the patrons. I even had the opportunity to strike up some small talk with a couple of them.
By the time the lunch crowd rolled in, along with my good friend Woodrow, who had indeed taken on decided to take on a jaded persona, Junior had set himself up in a corner with a shitty looking laptop. He had a textbook open on the table, an array of pens, highlighters and papers spread around him, and the very convincing look of a stressed college student working on a midterm on his face.
"Dude, can I get a refill on my cold brew?" he asked, glancing up at me as I passed his table. His left eyebrow kicked up approximately a millimetre as our gazes met. "This assignment is kicking my ass."
"Sure thing," I agreed with a nod to acknowledge I caught his update. He hadn't noticed anything suspicious yet. Neither had I. I hadn't had a chance to check in with Binkie yet, but I wasn't sure he'd had much free time to survey the clientele as he whipped up drinks after drink. I'd get an update from him when I took Junior's order to the counter, so that I could report confidently to the rest of the team when I got off shift in half an hour.
I was just rounding the counter to plug the cold brew into the cash register when the bell over the door tinkled, accompanied by a short blast of cold air. I lifted my gaze, the warm, customer-service smile I'd practiced in the mirror this morning plastered on my face as I started to greet the newcomer in just the way Kayla had taught me. My face split into a wide grin, however, when I caught sight of Bobby, clad in the old army sweats he favoured for his jogs this time of year and rubbing his hands together to warm them.
"Hey there, handsome," I greeted, bending to prop myself up on the countered, a fist under my chin so I had to look up at him through my eyelashes. "What can I do you for?"
Todd sucked in a sharp breath behind me, and I cringed when the clipboard he'd been filling out a checklist on connected with the back of my head. "You can't talk to the customers like that!" he hissed, grabbing my bicep and attempting to haul me into an upright position once more. I allowed it to happen, since Lester the Barista, while still buff, was not a hard ass, but I couldn't keep the lopsided grin off my face. "I'm so sorry," Todd was apologising to Bobby as he pushed me toward the back room. "He's knew. First day. Clearly hasn't been taught how to-"
Bobby let out a laugh that caused a tingle down my spine. "It's okay," he assured Todd. "Lester is my boyfriend. I came to pick him up from his first shift."
"Oh," Todd said. "Oh. Okay. Um… Sure…" His eyes swept first over Bobby, then me, his ears turning a bright pink as he quickly averted his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't realise. You're… I'm gonna go check on Woodrow."
As he dashed off in the direction of the restrooms where Woody had been sent to deal with a clogged toilet, Bobby and I just grinned at each other.
"I think he likes you," Bobby said, leaning a hip against the counter.
"I think he likes you, too," I replied, picking up a medium take-away cup and writing Bobby's name on it. "So, what are we gonna get Binkie to make for you?"
We both slid our gazes to Binkie, who had a death grip on one of the coffee machine handles, glaring at me like I'd just insulted him or something. "Make it complicated, and I will make you regret it," he seethed.
"But you're so good at it," I pointed out innocently, fluttering my lashes for good measure. Hey, it worked for Steph, I didn't see why I couldn't try it too.
"I'll have a half-calf, mocha with a pump of peppermint," Bobby requested, pulling out his phone as I punched his order into the cash register.
Binkie rolled his eyes and snatched up the cup. "Fucking half-caf," he muttered as he went about preparing the order. "You better hadn't make a habit of this," he shot at me.
*o*
By day three of the undercover operation at the Daily Grind, the novelty was starting to wear off. I'd received enough training on the coffee machine that I could confidently make a few of the more popular drinks without assistance, which was a relief to Kayla as we'd consistently been put on the opening shift together. But dealing with the meat patties, as Kayla had termed them, had me ready to pull my hair out. They were always gossiping, had no idea how to mind their own business, and worst of all, I'd heard Steph's name thrown about almost hourly as everyone seemed keen on talking about the Plum's divorce.
I'd placed an order of specialty themed cookies for Steph, hoping they'd be just the pick me up she needed in the face of everything she was going through and was looking forward to seeing what Greta came up with.
But aside from that, nothing was happening. None of the guys stationed in or around the coffee shop had picked up on any suspicious activity. There had been significantly less opportunities to act out coffee shop au fantasies than I'd been hoping for. And I was getting bored, which was always a danger situation.
Lucky for me, Ranger chose that moment to drop in for an inspection. The regular baristas looked like they were wetting their pants when he announced that he wanted to speak to each of us in private, and they didn't look any more at ease when they emerged from the back office he'd commandeered for the task. If anything, they looked a little sick, making me wonder if Ranger was so frustrated with the lack of progress on the case that he'd decided to lean on them a little. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have thought it an option, but he'd definitely been under more stress later between the op, a few new clients at Rangeman and the thing with Steph's parents. Not to mention Christmas was looming on the horizon, and he'd come to the conclusion that since he and Steph were together, he'd have no choice but to drag Steph along to Manoso family Christmas.
I thought it was just what Steph needed; to learn that even though her own family was falling apart, she'd gained the support of a whole new family. The Manosos had been dying to meet her since I accidentally let her name slip during Thanksgiving a few years ago. Ranger, of course, had mixed feelings about the whole situation.
And speaking of Ranger, he was currently very distracted.
After my first day and the frustration of morning traffic, I'd taken to riding one of the Rangeman bicycles to work. This morning, though, it had been sleeting, and I'd decided to hitch a ride with the patrol that had been leaving at the same time. Of course, that left me with the dilemma of how to get home when my shift ended at lunch time. I'd just stepped out the back door, phone in hand to call control and ask for a pick up, when a text came through from Ranger.
Around the corner.
Hunkering down in my coat, I tilted my head against the wind and started the trek around the corner to the familiar black SUV. He was standing beside the passenger door when I approached, frowning at his phone and only glanced up long enough to toss me the keys. Guess I was driving.
I slid in behind the wheel, and started the engine as Ranger settled in the passenger seat, texting one handed as he buckled himself in with the other. He gave me no indication of where we were headed, so I pointed the car in the direction of Rangeman and we were on our way. After a couple of minutes he let out a growl, snapped his head and shot a hand out across the cab, pointing to the grocery store on the next block.
"Pull in there," he instructed tersely, glaring back down at his phone.
I cut my eyes from the road to my cousin, concern welling up in my gut. First of all, Ranger never showed outward signs of emotion like this, and second, we were still very much in Burg territory. Something was off. I raised my eyebrow in question, but he was already focused on his phone again, so I had no choice but to steer the SVUV into the parking lot.
"Do we have a lead on a skip?" I asked, trying to get a read on the situation.
"No," Ranger replied, and in a rare and confusing show of open honesty, added, "I need a few things."
I did my best not to run into the pedestrian crossing in front of us as I jerked my head around to stare at my passenger again. We were seriously stopping in the heart of the Burg to pick up groceries? Didn't Ella usually handle that? What the hell was going on here? Had he been clobbered in the head while out on patrol last night? It seemed like the only logical explanation for what was currently transpiring in the seat next to me. Ranger didn't grocery shop, nor did he grunt and sigh in frustration. He outsourced all the shopping and cooking, and he kept his emotions on lockdown unless he was in private with Steph.
I eyed my boss, friend and cousin for a moment while waiting for a car to back out of a space and clear the lane so we could continue to the parks closer to the store entrance. His jaw was set, lips pressed together as she mashed his thumbs against the screen repeatedly. Probably, now wasn't a good time to ask what things Ranger needed. Best case scenario, it was condoms, and Ranger's reaction was because of a series of saucy texts Steph had sent to rile him up. Worst case scenario, they were going knife shopping and I'd would have to tackle Ranger to the ground to prevent a stabbing from occurring.
The moment I pulled the car into a space much further back that I was accustome to, Ranger was out of the SUV and striding purposefully across the lot, his thumb mashing having transitioned into manic scrolling as he continued to shoot daggers at the phone. As I could up to him at the automatic doors, Ranger was back to tapping furiously at the screen in his hands. He seemed dangerously close to muttering under his breath as we passed a group of middle-aged women staring openly at us both, mouths agape, eyes wide as dinner plates. Probably, they weren't used to well-built men infiltrating the grocery store on a Wednesday afternoon.
He paused just inside the entrance, glanced around briefly, and promptly stalked off, leaving me to trail behind him. I didn't want to interrupt whatever warpath he was on and risk having the anger simmering just below the surface turned on me full force.
In a matter of moments, I found myself in the baking aisle, staring at shelves of flour, sugar and other miscellaneous ingredients that were used to make sweet treats. Ranger dropped his hands to his hips, surveying the selection with the same keen eyed badassery he used to invoke fear in new recruits. Unfortunately for him, the glare did not appear to have the same effect on the dry goods.
Another growl rumbled from his throat.
"What are we doing here, primo?" I asked, though I had a bad feeling I could guess the source of our quest. There was only one person with the power to bring out such strong emotions in Ranger the he would deign to display them in public, and that was Stephanie Plum. The only thing was, I wasn't sure how flour and sugar was going to fix whatever problem had arisen to disrupt my cousin's equilibrium.
Rather than answer, he picked up the phone once more, tapped a few times and held it to his ear. "Hola, Mama," he said after a minute.
I was pretty sure I was going to get whiplash from all the times Ranger had said something to make me do a swift double take in the last ten minutes. We were standing in a supermarket, staring at baking ingredients, and Ranger was on the phone to his mother, a woman he avoided calling at all costs because it inevitably resulted in a lecture about the fact that he hadn't visited recently enough for her liking. To be fair, the whole problem could be solved if Ranger would just call and visit more often, but as with most things in his personal life, he kept his family at a distance, supposedly to protect them.
From the way his jaw clenched, and he stared at the ground, it appeared Ranger was once again receiving a verbal dressing down from his birth-giver. He said nothing, riding it out like he thought he deserved it. Which, to be fair, was entirely possible. This was Ranger we're talking about. He carried around enough guilt to fill the Pacific Ocean three times over. Eventually, though, either Maria finished her rant, or Ranger had reached the end of his legendary patience, because he let out a sigh, not lifting his head and murmured quietly, "I need your help, Mama."
Once again, I felt a twinge in my neck as my attention was jerked to the side, eyes wide in surprise. Seriously, what the hell was going on here? Since when did Ranger call his mother for help.
"What do I need to make cookies?"
If I hadn't already been staring open mouthed at the man, I probably would have caused myself even more of an injury snapping my eyes to my cousin. Cookies? Mr. My Body Is a Temple was asking about cookie ingredients? Something must be seriously wrong. And if Ranger was seriously contemplating sugary treates there was no way it couldn't be Steph related. But why would he be asking about making cookies? Surely it was easier to just walk down a couple aisles to the ready made stuff, or ask Ella to make them for him.
Ranger listened for a moment before letting out a frustrated breath. "The flat kind you decorate with icing, Mama," he snapped. A pause followed his words during which he stared back down at his shoe, taking deep breaths. "Sorry, Mama," he muttered.
I smirked. Tia Maria never accepted disrespect from her children, and Ranger was no exception. Probably, the woman had given him an earful for his tone. There were very few people in the world who could squeeze an apology out of Ranger. His mother was one of them. And so was Steph. I couldn't wait until they Christmas. I had visions of Maria and Steph ganging up on Ranger and forcing him into one of the hideous sweaters he somehow always got out of wearing the family Christmas photo.
The chuckle that was building in my chest at the image died and untimely death as a bag of flour collided with my chest so hard I had to take a step backwards or fall over. A bag of sugar quickly followed, along with a small bottle of something before Ranger stalked away motioning for me to follow. Apparently, I'd been relegated to the role of shopping cart. Soon, a carton of eggs and a stick of butter joined the collection in Lester's arms and Ranger fround at the items, like he was tring to figure out a complex math problem in his head.
"Flour, sugar, eggs, butter and vanilla? Is that it?" he asked into the phone.
I agreed, it sounded like a rouse. Surely something else went into it, like glitter, or happy tears, some kind of magical ingredient that bound it all together into the little slices of joy they eventually became.
"What about the icing?" Ranger's frown deepened at the answer he received. "I already have sugar." A pause. "Fine. Powdered sugar. What else?" Another pause and his lips pursed. Between whatever was going on with Steph and this conversation with his mother, Ranger was in danger of losing his reputation for always having a blank face. Already a half dozen women had approached the shelves of butter we were standing in front of, taken one look at the expression blazing in Ranger's eyes and scurried away, mumbling about not needing butter anyway.
"I have real eggs, Mama, why do I need fake ones as well?" Ranger's eyes narrowed as he listened. "Right, powdered egg." He turned and paced back to the eggs, staring down at the cartons all lined up and orderly. "They don't have powdered eggs."
"Powdered eggs are in aisle four," the old lady six feet away interrupted helpfully, receiving a narrow-eyed glare from Ranger for her efforts. He didn't like being interrupted, nor did he like feeling like an idiot, and I was pretty sure this conversation had him quite a distance out of his depth. The only thing keeping him from drowning was the sheer force of his determination.
"Thanks, ma'am," I said to the old lady as Ranger stalked away, instructing his mother to email him the recipe for both the cookies and the icing.
"That's quite all right, dear," the lady said with a warm smile. "I remember my first time baking on my own. It can be confusing, especially when you're not familiar with the ingredients. I hope your friend doesn't get too angry with his mother."
I sent her one of my trademark grins. "Don't you worry about that, ma'am," I assured her. "She'll put him in his place."
Back in the car five minutes later, Ranger requested to be dropped at Tank's house with his ingredients.
"What's going on, cuz," I demanded, refusing to start the car. "What's with the cookies?"
He sent me a glare, but I wasn't backing down. He'd just dragged me through a grocery store in the Burg, I felt I had the right to know. "Steph texted me earlier," he said, not revealing any information I hadn't already assumed for myself due to his actions. "She ran into her sister and nieces at the mall. They had their annual cookie baking party with Mrs Plum last night and were telling her about it."
"Ohh-kayyy…" I said, drawing the word out to let him know I wasn't quite following his logic.
"Steph loves the tradition. It's one of the few family events she looks forward to every year. And she wasn't invited."
Ohh! Now I got it. Steph was upset that she'd missed out on making cookies with her family despite the fact that she and her mother weren't on good terms right now, so Ranger was going to make cookies with her as a supplement. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that you've never made cookies in your life," I said, putting the SUV in gear and finally backing out of the parking space.
"That's why I'm practicing at Tank's house."
"Why wouldn't you just get Ella to –"
"Ella's leaving on holidays to visit her sister tomorrow," he pointed out. "She's busy packing and meal prepping for the office so no one starves while she's gone. How hard can it be to bake a few cookies?"
And, friends, it was we in the business like to call 'famous last words'.
*o*
I was standing at the monitors station talking to Hank and Steph at five thirty when the elevator doors pinged open and Ranger stepped out. He was still in the charcoal slacks and white shirt he'd worn to the coffee shop this morning, but the tie was missing and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He'd managed to shroud himself in a semblance of calm since I'd last seen him, but I could tell it was all an act.
"Carlos!" Steph greeted enthusiastically, prancing across the space an wrapping herself around him. "There you are!"
"Babe," he smiled, capturing her lips in one of those searing kisses that made everyone in the vicinity instantly jealous.
After several moments they broke apart and Steph leaned back, giving him one of her assessing look. "You smell like smoke," she said. "Is everything alright?"
I couldn't stop the snort that escaped my throat. Clearly, his baking adventure had not gone as well as he'd hoped. At the glare he sent my way, I quickly stifled myself and averted my attention to the screen in front of Hank. I kept an eye on the couple out of the corner of my eye though.
"Things got a little out of hand on my last job," he explained. "It's all under control now, though."
"You're not hurt?" she questioned, taking a step back and examining his form more critically than before. "Because if you're hurt I'll have to- is that flour?" I turned my head just in time to watch as Steph licked her thumb and rubbed at a white smudge of powder on Ranger's neck.
"Dust," Ranger assured her, capturing her hand and bringing her fingers to his lips.
A peculiar expression crossed her face, a mixture of doubt and something else. Suspicion? She could smell a lie a mile away, and she wasn't used to Ranger producing them these days. They were building their relationship on honesty in face of everything she'd been through, and I just hoped he was ready for the repercussions he was guaranteeing for himself. No doubt she would give him a piece of her mind the moment they were out of view of the rest of the company.
"We should take you upstairs to get cleaned up," she said quietly, a semblance of her own blank face falling into place as she tugged him back to the elevator and out of sight.
"What was that about?" Hank asked me once the pair were sealed away inside the box.
"Boss man's trying to surprise Bomber with a cookie baking experience because she missed out on her family's traditional one," I explained, not caring if my cousin decided to take me to the mats for spreading his business. "He was practicing baking at Tank's house this afternoon. My guess is that he burnt them."
"Why wouldn't he just get Ella to-"
"Too stubborn," I shrugged. "And Ella's leaving for her holiday tomorrow. Don't worry, though," I added, pulling out my phone and tapping out a text. "I have a solution that I think might help him out."
*o*
"Hey, sorry, I overslept," Bobby was calling out as he emerged from the bedroom the next morning. "I'll get started on the coffee if you can-" His words cut off as he reached the entrance to the kitchen and I had to grin at the way he went slack jawed, taking in the scene I'd created.
"Welcome to the Daily Grind," I greeted with the sexiest version of my customer service smile. "What can I get started for you?"
He swallowed with an audible click, eyes roving over my body. I wore only the boxer briefs I'd pulled on when I slid out of bed half an hour ago, and my coffee shop apron. It covered up my abs, but not my nipples. A look that I thought was incredible sexy, and clearly Bobby did to if the bulge in his basketball shorts was anything to judge by. "Caramel Machiato," he whispered, licking his lips as he stepped closer, coming around the kitchen island toward me.
"Sir, this area is staff only," I admonished him, turning my back to start prepping his drink the way Kayla had taught me. "Please return to the other side of the counter."
I heard a slight moan as Bobby apparently took in the hard planes of my back, complete with the scratch marks he'd gifted me with last night. "Sorry," he whispered, retreating to the other side of the counter and sliding onto one of the bar stools I'd positioned there for him. His eyes were dark with desire as they roved over my body, watching my actions carefully. "God that's so hot."
"I can make it a more drinkable temperature if you like," I offered, sliding my hand down one of the levers suggestively.
"Don't you dare," Bobby warned. "This is like a dream come true."
I grinned in agreement. "I know."
I came around behind him a few moments later, setting his coffee on the table before pressing my hips into his lower back, letting him know just how much I was enjoying our role play as well. His breath hitched and he dropped his head back against my chest, turning to dart his tongue out to my exposed nipple.
"I could get used to this kind of daily grind," he panted. "You get to keep the apron, right?"
"I'm sure I can get another one made if I don't," I assured him, urging him up from the stool and wrenching his shorts even as I pushed him over the counter.
"Aren't you going to be late?" Bobby questioned when I started massaging his beautiful ass. "I thought you were still on the morning shift."
"Swapped with Woody," I explained, suppressing a moan as he shifted his hips to press back into my hands more firmly. "I'm starting at lunch time. I wanted to surprise you with your favourite coffee, and there isn't enough time if I start at-"
"Lester," Bobby said, reaching back to grab a fistful of the apron I wore. "Quit talking and fuck me like the dirt barista you are."
How could I say no to such a request? Letting out a groan, I flipped up the front of the apron so that it lay over Bobby's back like a blanket, reaching beneath it to release myself from my briefs. While I was busy exposing myself, Bobby reached into the drawer beside us and pulled out the bottle of emergency lube we kept in a hidden compartment there, passing it back to me as I leaned forward, pressing my lips to the small of his back, just above the hem of the apron.
"I hope the boss doesn't catch us," I whispered.
"Be quick and he won't get the chance," Bobby pointed out, grinding his ass against my erection. Just as I was flipping the lube open, though, Bobby's phone started ringing in the bedroom where he'd left it on the nightstand. "Someone better be dying," he growled as I stepped back, allowing him to stalk out of the kitchen to answer it.
By the time he returned several minutes later, I'd made myself a coffee and was sitting at the breakfast bar eating a bagel smothered in cream cheese and disappointment. Morning sex was the best kind of sex; it kicked the day off just right. Interrupted morning sex, though, was the worst. I had a feeling I was gong to be in a bad mood all day. A feeling that was only confirmed when Bobby stepped into the kitchen fully dressed with his medic bag slung over his shoulder.
"Raincheck?" he offered, pressing a kiss to my lips and tweaking my still exposed nipple. Tease.
"I'll be ready and waiting for you when you get back from your surveillance shift tonight," I promised.
"Lose the apron," he suggested, stealing a bit of my bagel and heading toward the door. "But I wouldn't be opposed if you managed to land your hands on a can of whipped cream."
I groaned at the memory of what the man had done to me the last time we'd had a can of whipped cream in the apartment and even though I'd already showered when I got back from the gym, I made a beeline for the bathroom as door clicked closed behind him. There was no way I was going to make it through today with that image in my head if I didn't relieve a little pressure right now.
Twenty five minutes later, I was dressed in gym shorts, a tank and sneakers and closing the apartment door behind myself as I made my way down to the gym to meet Steph for our weekly session. Ordinarily, we worked on her self defence in the afternoons, in deference to her propensity to sleep late, but with my shift change at the Daily Grind, we'd had to switch things up. I wasn't imaging an overly productive morning, since it was, you know, morning. But the key was consistency. If I allowed her to take a week off, she'd find an excuse to take another, and suddenly we'd be a month without a workout. Not on my watch.
"Morning, Beautiful," I smiled when the elevator doors opened to reveal Steph leaning against the back wall. "Woodrow," I nodded toward the other occupant. "Looking sharp."
"Did you enjoy your lie in?" Woody questioned sourly, fixing the colour of his green uniform shirt and eyeing me with displeasure.
"Not at all," I responded, joining Steph against the back wall as the elevator continued it's journey down. "Bobby was called away by an emergency."
"That must suck," Steph sympathised, resting her head on my shoulder. "Or, well… maybe it didn't suck, and that's the problem?" she cut her eyes to me, a blush colouring her cheeks as they darted away again.
Chuckling lightly, I wrapped my arm around her shoulder. "That's exactly it," I said. "But don't worry, he'll make it up to me later."
There was silence in the box for a few seconds and I could feel the intensity of Steph's gaze spearing across the space to Woody. I counted down mentally, and right on cue, she opened her mouth to ask the question I knew was on the tip of her tongue.
"What's with the outfit?"
"Undercover," he explained shortly, not giving any extra details.
Her frown was almost audible as she attempted to put details together. "At a golf club?"
"Not quite," I said, knowing that the answer was never going to be enough to satisfy her curiosity. Before she could ask another question, though, the doors opened onto the parking garage and Woody stepped out. "See you at shift change, Woodrow!" I called.
"Can't wait," he muttered under his breath as he walked away, shaking his head.
"So you're on the op as well?" Steph asked as the doors slid closed.
"Yep," I confirmed, and to head off more question, I decided to reveal a little more information. "We were contracted by the FBI to sniff out a shipment of drugs they've been tracking. The product has recently turned up in Trenton, and since they'd know that Ranger owns this town, they asked a favour."
The doors opened again and I steered her out of the elevator and down the hall to the gym. "Huh," she said. "And you're allowed to tell me about it?"
I nodded. "I wouldn't have said anything if I wasn't allowed," I pointed out. A second too late, I realised where her thoughts had taken her. Clearly, between his obvious lie yesterday, and this new information I'd just revealed, Steph was now one hundred percent certain that Ranger was hiding something from her. And she would be right, but how did I confirm her suspicions without revealing Ranger's well meaning actions.
"Beautiful," I warned. "Ranger didn't tell you because he figured you're dealing with enough right now what with the Burg and your parents."
She sighed as we reached the edge of the mats, slipping off her shoes and setting her water bottle down on the bench. "He means well," she said in a voice that I was pretty sure was meant to stay inside her head. "But I wish he'd learn to talk to me about these things instead of just making a decision for me."
"He's trying, Steph," I assured her, giving her shoulder a squeeze as I too, toed off my shoes. "Everyone has slip ups while they're learning. And it's not like he forbid you from knowing, he just thought you'd appreciate not adding to your workload right now."
"The distraction might have been nice," she admitted. "But you're right. I shouldn't get mad at him for trying to do the right thing for me. Is there anything I can do to help the op?"
"Not just yet," I said, stepping backwards onto the mats and beckoning her to follow me. "But as far as I'm concerned, you're our A Reserve, so you better look sharp and be prepared to get your ass off the bench if we don't catch a whiff of the dealer soon."
She nodded, hiding her disappointment behind a weak smile. "Thanks, Les," she murmured.
*o*
"Oh, Lester!" Kayla said by way of greeting as I slipped in through the front door of the Daily Grind. She was grinning from ear to ear as she picked up an empty mug from the table beside her, setting in the tub on her hip, and I have to admit, the sight of so many of her teeth sent a little chill down my spine. I'd gotten the impression in the four days I'd been working with her that she was the coffee-as-black-as-my-soul kind of person, exuding an aura of darkness with just a little hint of evil lurking behind her eyes. The smile was out of character and it made me nervous. What had happened? Did someone slip over on the sidewalk just before I arrived? "I'm glad you came in this way, it give me a chance to warn you."
Like that did anything to ease my mind!
"Oh?" I questioned, following her back to the counter. "Warn me about what?"
"The big boss is in the back room, and I'm pretty sure he thinks he's the reluctant city slicker in a Hallmark movie or something, because he's pressed Greta into giving him baking lessons."
I narrowed my eyes in thought even as I gave myself a mental high-five. Ranger had told me my plan was stupid when I texted it to him last night, but a good night's rest had obviously changed his mind. "The big boss is the guy that was in here questioning everyone yesterday, right?" I asked, putting my hydroflask under on the shelf under the counter and slipping my apron over my head. "Yay tall, ripped, tight ass?" I held up a hand to indicate Ranger's approximate height.
"One and the same," Binkie confirmed. "It's pretty funny. Every now and then Greta has to come out front just for a break, because he's so clueless." He gestured over to the window in the swinging door between the main café area and the back room and I'd be an idiot to pass up the opportunity to see my cousin in such a vulnerable state. "You'd think a coffee shop owner would know a little more about baking."
"And coffee," Todd said, scooting behind me on his way to the register. "He didn't seem very knowledgeable when I spoke to him yesterday. It's a good thing he's hot."
I peeked into the back room, and sure enough, there was Ranger in similar attire to what he'd been wearing yesterday, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and apron strapped to his body and a look of sheer determination and concentration on his face as he attempted to roll out a ball of dough. It kept sticking to the rolling pin and breaking when he lifted it from the table. Beside him, Greta had a perfectly rolled dough in front of her and was patiently trying to give him tips to solve his problems. Grinning from ear to ear, I lifted my phone and took a sneaky video to show Steph later. No matter how perfect and image he tried to project, there was value in proving that he, too, was human and had his limits.
After that we got to work, and everything was business as usual until about an hour and a half later when the bell over the door tinkled and the usual blast of cold air blew in bringing it with it a group of very familiar females. I was standing behind the register, pressing a lid into place on one of the frappes Kayla had just finished making for an order, Binkie was in the back taking a fiver after having dealt with a vomit situation in the ladies room, Ranger was still back there mangling cookies, and I was staring at Stephanie Plum and her closest girl friends.
"It's pretty crowded," I heard Connie say as I cut my eyes to Junior who was hunkered over a thick literally novel with a pad of post-its flapping back and forth in one hand as he paid attention to everything but the book. "We should grab a table first."
"Good idea," Lula agreed, charging forward. "There's on over here."
As the rest of the ladies moved to follow, Steph's head turned, taking in the whole space and, for the first time, noticing me behind the front counter. "Lester?" she said, breaking away from the group with a frown. It only lasted a second, though, disappearing when she reached the register as a grin broke forth on her face. "It all makes sense now," she said, shaking her head. "Mary Lou invited us all for coffee here because she heard from some other moms that they'd recently hired the hottest baristas known to man. Of course, it had to be you guys."
I nodded, grateful that she had enough sense not to say anything about an operation in front of Kayla. "Guilty," I said. "So can I get you started with anything?"
She shook her head. "We haven't had a chance to work out our orders yet," Steph said, jerking her head toward the table Lula had nabbed where the other women were now chattering excitedly and pointing toward us. The lack of chill was no promising for the continuation of the undercover op, but I was already formulating ways to write them into my character story. "I'll take a look at the menu and get back to you," Steph added, leaning a little heavier on the word menu to let me know she'd actually be surveying the area for signs of drugs exchanging hands.
"Sure thing," I agreed easily, and she walked back to join her friends, head swivelling this way and that as she went.
"You know her?" Kayla asked, giving me a peculiar look as she set the last of the frappe's on the counter in front of me.
"My sister," I replied automatically.
"Huh," she said, grabbing the lids from my hands and pressing them onto the cups herself. "I could have sworn Stephanie Plum didn't have a brother."
"I was adopted," I said before I could stop the words from escaping. It really wasn't a good idea to start spreading tales like that about Steph's family so close to the Burg, but the words were out before I had a chance to properly think about it, and then I had to commit. "They kept me hidden away because Mom was ashamed that she hadn't been able to give Dad a son by natural means."
Kayla's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates while I mental gave myself a dressing down. Not only was that kind of 'cover up' not helpful, it wasn't even remotely believable. "Seriously?" she breathed.
In a bid to make things right, I let out a snort of laughter. "God no," I said, brushing a crumb off the counter and turning back to the register as the door bell tinkled again, announcing more customers. "Sister is an honorary title. She's, like, my best friend."
"Oh."
"Yeah," I said. "I'm actually an only child, if you can believe it."
She gave me a look. "That actually explains so much."
I rolled my eyes and poked my tongue out at her. Like I hadn't heard that one before. Everyone acted like being an only child was a detriment. Whatever. We bantered back and forth a while longer, interrupted by a couple customers before Steph returned and rattled off the four coffee orders for her table.
"I'll bring them out to you, Beautiful."
They stayed for an hour before Mary Lou had to leave to pick her kids up from school and Connie had to leave to get back to the bonds office. Steph and Lula, though, seemed deep in conversation and keen on sticking around a little longer.
"She got a Spidey sense yet?" Binkie murmured as we crossed paths out in the seating area.
I cast a glance from Steph to the door to the backroom and shook my head. "Not on either front that she's letting on," I replied. As I passed her table, though, her hand shot out to grab my wrist, pulling me in close.
"What's the difference between the bags of beans on the shelf behind the counter and the ones that are kept under the counter?" she asked, her gaze drifting past me to the register where Todd was finishing up serving a customer. The sturdy guy accepted his bag of beans with a short nod and tucked them into his puffer vest, out of sight.
"There are no beans under the counter," I replied. But as soon as the words were lined up on my tongue, I was filled with doubt.
She shook her head, brow furrowed. "I wouldn't bet on it," she said. "The guy that just left came in with a bag of beans, he must have said they were out of date or something, because the guy at the counter took them and exchanged them with a bag from under the table, but you, Binkie and the chick with green streaks in her hair all sell the bags from the shelf."
I stared at her for a moment. How was it that she had observation skills and instincts this good without a scrap of military training? "You sure?"
A nod. "My gut says he's our guy, and those bags under the counter aren't coffee beans," she said firmly. "Is there any way we can test the theory?"
"Bobby bought a bag of beans when he was here on Monday," I said, "We could get him to come in and…. It'd have to be someone else. Todd knows he's my boyfriend." I squeezed her shoulder in thanks. "Leave it with me, Beautiful."
On my way back to the front of the café, I sent Junior the signal to be ready, and the same to Binkie before ducking out the back and shooting a text off to Bobby. Ranger glanced up from the cookies he was piping messy icing onto and raised an eyebrow at me. I just gave him the same signal I'd given the other guys and sent another text to Vince, Ghost, Woody, Ram and Zip to get in position around the building.
I slipped out front again, busied myself wiping down the counter and tidying the stacks of cups while I waited. It was twenty minutes later that Bobby sauntered in, ordered a cappuccino and went to join Steph at her table, and a tense ninety seconds after that that Benny approached the register where Todd was waiting to serve.
"I bought these beans on Monday and they're out of date," Benny said, plonking the bag on the counter between them and holding Todd's gaze.
Todd nodded. "I'm sorry about that, sir," he said sincerely. "Let me grab a replacement bag for you." I kept my attention on the cups I was stacking, but could sense Todd's furtive glance my way just before he ducked to grab something from behind a box on the shelf under the register. "These should be more to your liking," he assured Benny.
"Thanks," he replied, and out of the corner of my eye I realised that we were not going to be subtle about this at all because Benny was already working open the top of the bag right there at the counter.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, man," Todd said, pulling it back away from him. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Checking they're good," Benny said innocently.
"You can't open it here!" Todd seethed, glancing around again.
Benny met my gaze over Todd's shoulder and nodded, lifting a dusty finger to where I could see it.
"NOW!" I shouted, lunging for Todd as he leapt over the counter and made a run for the door just as the back room burst open and three men sprang out of hiding, guns in hands and scanning the scene. Needless to say, the remaining customers panicked and caused a commotion, filling the aisles between tables in a bid to escape the danger. They were streaming out the door, yelling and screaming, and I was pretty sure Todd had gotten away until the crowd cleared and I saw Steph standing by the door, a body on the ground at her feet and a stun gun in her hand.
"Don't just stand there looking at me," she said, powering off the stun gun and tucking it into her purse. "Chuck me a pair of cuffs."
"Babe," Ranger said, moving forward. I had no idea where he'd been during the scene we'd just caused, but it damn sure wasn't in the bathroom washing up, because he had flour and coloured icing streaked all over his clothes, face and hair. "Nice job," he complimented, crouching down to slap the cuff on Todd's wrists. "Proud of you, Babe."
She grinned. "I have to say, it's a nice change to come out of a situation like this and not be the one covered in food," she told him, patting his chest as he straightened and releasing a plume of flour into the air. "I can almost believe that you were actually back there baking cookies or something."
"Oh, he absolutely was, Beautiful," I called as Junior and Binkie hauled Todd out of the way. "I have photographic evidence. And yesterday, he called his mom to ask her how to bake them."
Her eyes cut from me to him, eyebrows disappearing into her hairline. "Seriously?" she asked.
"Gotta commit to the role," he said with a noncommittal shrug.
"Ranger, man, tell her the truth," Bobby demanded planting his ass on the closest table and crossing his arms over his chest.
My cousin let out a sigh, scrubbing his hands over his face before meeting his girlfriend's gaze once more. "I knew you were upset about missing out on your family's cookie baking night, so I wanted to give you the experience without them. I've been back there all day with Greta, the baker, trying to learn how to bake the perfect cookie because I pretty much ruined Tank's kitchen with my attempts yesterday afternoon," he admitted.
Steph's grin only widened. "Really?" she asked.
"Really," he said solemnly. "I'm sorry if I worried you by keeping it a secret. I wanted it to be a surprise."
She let out a laugh and threw her arms around him, not caring that she was now sharing in his flour covered state. "Well, I'm definitely surprised," she said into his neck. "Thank you, Carlos."
"We need to contact the FBI and get the scene secured before the cops arrive," Bobby pointed out, digging his phone out of his pocket.
My mouth dropped open as I gazed across the space to him. "Oh shit," I said conversationally. "I forgot about that part."
He rolled his eyes. "It's a good thing you're pretty," he mused, lifting the device to his ear.
I let a slow, seductive smile cross my face as I held onto his gaze, reaching slowing into the refrigerator on the bench behind me and pulling out the can of whipped cream I'd stashed there earlier, and tucking it into my apron pocket with a raised eyebrow. He licked his lips, and my smile turned into a wolf grin. This case could be wrapped up fast enough.
End