Thank you so much for your feedback, I appreciate it. This is my first Stephanie Plum fanfic, although she's not really in it. Please forgive me if you'd rather read about Steph, I just want all her men for myself 

Spoilers: If you hadn't read the books, you wouldn't be here, but you won't be spoiled either way, I blame it all on the gin

Rating: PG13 for language, it's adult language

Disclaimer: I made the whole thing up, I own none of JE's characters

Out Of my Mind

Chapter 7

Once again, I had been the one left behind. I was starting to get used to it. At least I had remained seated, so I wasn't left standing in the middle of the room like a dork.

I stared at Ranger's untouched mug across from mine.

And now that I was by myself, my surroundings had a chance to get through to me.

I took a quick look around to see if I 'recognized' the diner, but I couldn't remember it being mentioned in the books. As far as I knew, there was no diner a few doors down from Vinnie's office.

It was your regular mom and pop, a dime a dozen, place to grab a cup of coffee or entire greasy meal. And as the food smells from the griddle behind the counter wafted over to me, my stomach grumbled in response. It was almost noon and I hadn't eaten anything yet.

I took the money Ranger had left on the table and carefully put it in one of my pockets. Ranger had touched it, which made it a treasure for me. I wondered if I could get any geekier if I tried, but still left the money in my pocket as I signaled the waitress. Food first, thought later, I reasoned.

I ate every smidgen of food on my plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes and pushed it back with a satisfied smile.

Halfway through my meal, a nagging feeling had materialized and I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong. As I shifted in my seat, I felt my cell phone in my pocket press against my leg and I located the source of the uncomfortable feeling: I had completely forgotten to call Jess the night before!

Then again, she hadn't called me either, and that was equally odd.

I dug up the phone and instantly knew what had happened: The battery had died, somewhen, and since the charger was in my luggage in New York, the phone was now useless to me. I was truly a professional.

My only saving grace was that, unlike everybody else that I knew, Joe's and Ranger's numbers were not in my cell phone's phone book, so I'd still have access to them. Glass half-full kind of scenario.

Now all I needed was a reason to get in touch with them.

I studied the business card Ranger had given me more closely.

It just read 'RANGEMAN' on the front, and a phone number underneath it.

But when I turned it around, there was another, handwritten, number on the back.

This could mean that Ranger had accidentally given me a card he had used as a notepad, or, and I liked the second possibility a lot more, he had given me his personal number.

Joe's card had no handwriting on it, but all his numbers were clearly identified and his cell phone was among them. I was going to make use of it as soon as I had something resembling a reason to call.

Right, time to take stock.

I had a check for $70 that, for lack of a checking account in Lindsay's name I would have to cash at some cash-checking place, I had three or four FTA files and I was seriously rattled by Joe and Ranger.

Maybe I should also consider investigating the murder I had stumbled upon, but I felt rather incompetent to do so. I didn't know anything about the victim other than what the file had given me, and I was sure the police were doing their thing. Okay, so I chickened out, but I was trying to cover it up with valid arguments. I honestly felt even less competent to investigate a murder than I already felt about bounty huntering.

When I stepped out onto the sidewalk, the weather had gotten a little warmer and the Explorer was nowhere in sight.

I spotted a RiteAid across the street and sprinted over. My travel toothbrush was not going to last me much longer, and a girl has to have her priorities straight.

A half hour and three full shopping bags later, I unlocked my car, checking around for anything or anyone familiar.

Still no Stephanie coming out of Vinnie's office, no Lula on her way back from lunch.

Shrugging, I climbed into my car and motored off, a file study session and a bag of Riesen toffees ahead of me.

I didn't get very far.

About a mile from the office, still 20 minutes away from my motel, I had an accident.

That was the neutral way of saying: Out of nowhere, the car next to me hung to its right and crashed into me. I registered the crunch of metal and breaking safety glass, but I was too shocked to think.

Before I knew what was happening, the car rammed into me again, just a flash of blue in my peripheral vision, and I was slammed into a street light.

It seemed like an eternity, but probably only seconds passed before I took a breath.

My heart was still pounding in my ears, but my brain had started a systems check to see if I was alive.

My first instinct was to get out.

Nobody had stopped yet to help this damsel in distress, so I tried to open the driver side door.

It was stuck.

The passenger side was blocked by the pole.

After I successfully suppressed a rush of panic, I realized the motor was still running.

A warm liquid trickled down my forehead. Sweat or blood, I decided, in no rush to find out.

I just put my foot down and took off, my whole body shaking, using vaguely familiar storefronts and intersections to semi-autopilot my way to the hotel, astonished to actually find myself in its parking lot.

I used my whole body weight to slam against the passenger side door, wedged it open and crawled out.

Like in a trance, I limped over to my room door when I heard someone yelling "Lindsay!"

It didn't register right away that, since it was the name I had been telling everyone, it was directed at me, until a hand grabbed my shoulder and I gasped out of my stupor.

What happened next could only be described as a system crash. Blue screen of death.

I meant to turn around to find the owner of the voice and hand, thinking they may be one and the same, and suddenly, the world changed from sunlight to blackest black.

When I came to, I was lying flat on my back, something wet and cool pressed against my forehead.

I opened my eyes and stared at an unfamiliar ceiling, my view partially obstructed by something white.

Before I could take further inventory, I sat up. A washcloth fell to the floor in front of me, and I was now sitting on the bed I had lain on.

In addition, a million tiny hammers went to work in my head and stars were dancing in my vision.

I groaned.

A rustle of clothes behind me caught my attention, but I didn't trust my neck enough to turn around.

Moments later, Joe swam into view, a concerned look on his face.

Oh bugger.

"How're you feeling?" He opened.

Slowly, my mind wrapped itself around the events earlier, and I figured I had fainted into Joe's arms. And missed it. So my luck.

"Uhm…" I thought that was a fair assessment of how I felt, but not very informative.

"What happened?" OK, that was a start. Assuming Joe had been the one calling out when I had arrived at the motel, he should know.

Joe stepped closer and squatted in front of me, in an irritating reenactment of the scene in Steve Moreno's apartment.

His chocolate-brown eyes regarded me as if expecting me to collapse again, but he seemed genuinely concerned.

And me unable to enjoy the moment of full Morelli-attention because the room was still kind of spinning. Typical.

"Just now? You fainted, but I don't think my presence shocked you into unconsciousness."

He picked up the washcloth and held it to my forehead again.

"You got out of your car that looks like something from the junkyard and walked right past me. Do you remember what happened before you got out of the car?"

"There was a crash."

"I gathered as much from the smushed car, I meant more along the lines of what the fuck happened?"

Oh, that.

Wait, I did know the answer!

I told Joe about the car slamming into me and taking off, although I couldn't remember why it had seemed so important to drive back to the hotel afterwards, and took the washcloth from him.

Our fingers touched momentarily, and I got little tingles from the sensation.

He gently pushed me back to lie down again and I was glad to realize that I didn't feel bad enough not to be disappointed at the fact that he didn't join me.

"I think you should go see a doctor." He stated, hands on hips. He really did have movie star good looks.

I slowly shook my head.

"I'll be fine. Could you maybe get me the Advil out of my car and some water?"

Oh great, now I was making him my nurse? Where had that come from?

Even curiouser, why did he quickly leave to do as I had asked?

I really hoped he was though, not just stepping outside to call an ambulance, because that really didn't fit into my plans.

Granted, I didn't have much of a plan, but going to the hospital wasn't much of one either.

Joe returned a few minutes later with my shopping bags. I had totally forgotten about them.

There were all kinds of potentially embarrassing items in them, but he methodically dug through them until he found the Advil, cracked the lid and handed me two.

He fished a bottle of water out of the next bag, opened it, and pushed it into my free hand.

I felt like shit, but at that moment, I could have purred.

He probably would have helped me up if I had looked a little more helpless, but I didn't want to push my luck. Slim line between helpless and in need of a doctor.

So I sat up by myself and downed the pills. I didn't know if they would help with the spinning, but they were going to silence the hammers for sure.

I felt better when I closed my eyes, but then I couldn't see Joe, so I kept them open. Small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things.

I turned my head enough to see the bedside clock; it was 2:30. It occurred to me that I was missing some time, so I had probably been out longer than a moment. I wondered if Joe had dragged me to the bed or had carried me like a knight in shining armor. Of all the questions, that one was the most pressing. Go figure.

Probably, I should have tried to lie down again, maybe even sleep, but then Joe would leave.

But why was he still here anyway?

"Why are you helping me?" I croaked out, and it sounded more hostile than I had intended.

"Sorry, I meant, why are you here? No that's not what I meant either…"

Joe's chuckle cut me off just in time, there was no stopping me once I really got onto the rambling train.

He had slouched down into one of the chairs by the foot of the bed and was watching me.

"I had more questions for you, I think. You sure know how to distract a man!" and he laughed softly.

I know he didn't mean it THAT way, but I still liked the way he said it, and his laughter was just infectious. It changed his whole face, softened his features.

"I try." I shot back, smiling, and I may have been trying to flirt at that point.

"You didn't by any chance see who was driving the car that crashed into you, or got its plates?"

It didn't sounds like he expected a positive answer, so I just shook my head no. "Sorry. It happened so fast…"

And then the tears fell. I hadn't even noticed they had crept up, hadn't felt it coming, but now it had all the signs of a major breakdown.

I took in some big gulps of air and hid my face in my hands, unable to stop the sobs.

Most of the men I knew would have jumped up and suddenly remembered some important thing to do, or, at the very least, shoved their hands into their pockets and panicked.

But Joe was at the bed within seconds and held me to his chest.

Now I cried even harder because I was mad at myself for being unable to enjoy the moment and have all kinds of sexual fantasies just because he touched me.

I didn't even really know why I was crying, I just couldn't stop it.

Having never been in any kind of car crash, I had no frame of reference. Up until that moment, I thought I had fared pretty well.

Joe was stroking my hair while murmuring "Shhhhh…it's okay…you'll be fine…" and such, it was very lulling.

I was finally able to stop sobbing, but I couldn't yet distance my self from the strong arms that were holding me. Also, I was too embarrassed to look at him.

He fished a tissue out of the box on the nightstand and handed it to me without letting go.

Maybe we could just stay like this forever, I wondered. I couldn't remember a time when I had felt safer than at that moment, in a strange room with a strange man. Well, sort of strange. I was a stranger to him.

I blew my nose and cleared my throat, inching away from him. Joe let me go but didn't get up off the bed.

"Sorry." I got out, my voice croaky from crying.

"Do you feel better?"

I nodded.

"I don't usually break down like this, it's just that…" what, exactly? It's just that I wasn't who I wanted everyone to believe I was, that I had no idea what I was doing and just wanted to wake up? Yes, that would sound totally healthy.

"It's OK." Joe just said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ears.

"You look like it was quite a rough one."

Oh Ted, was he trying to tell me I looked a mess?

I jumped up trying to go find a mirror, but I swayed and almost fell back onto the bed, the whole room was spinning.

Joe was at my side in an instant and steadied me.

I was OK after a moment and took a careful step.

Joe kept a hand on my elbow, but didn't follow. I guessed he didn't trust me to walk by myself yet but didn't want to appear smothering.

I shot him a grateful look and a shy smile and continued my journey to the bathroom.

What I saw in the mirror should have waited until later. Much later, like never.

To say that I was a mess was an understatement.

I must have gotten cut during the accident, and the blood had dried in my hair, clumping up and coloring it in odd spots.

My mascara had spread halfway down my cheeks and had settled into minor scratches on my face, drawing attention away from my bloodshot eyes.

Scary. Frightening even.

I shuddered involuntarily and turned on the faucet. But then I turned it off and stepped into the shower instead. No amount of sink water could clean me up, I needed full-body spray, preferably for an hour or two.