A/N: This is a sequel to my first novel-length story, "Plum Sweet". This story will make a lot more sense after reading its predecessor. As always, everything familiar belongs to Janet Evanovich. I simply enjoy creating new or different situations for her characters.

They say when life gives you lemons, you're supposed to make lemonade. At this very moment, I was contemplating what exactly life intended for me to create from a four-hour long stake out. I'd been sitting in the car so long my butt was asleep, and I could barely keep my eyes open in the warm car. The spring sun was beating down, warming the air temperature to just above my comfort level. A nap was inevitable, but I really needed to see the stake out through. My credit card payment depended on a successful apprehension.

My name is Stephanie Plum. I work as a bond enforcement agent for my cousin's bail bonds office, Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. I'm average height, average intelligence, and am the genetic recipient of a head full of unruly, curly brown hair. My metabolism is pretty forgiving considering my doughnut-heavy diet, and I can almost always button my jeans. Unfortunately, today was the exception, the top button of my jeans popped under my girly cut v-neck maroon t-shirt. My father's heritage is Italian, my mother's heritage is Hungarian, and my attitude is Jersey through and through. I grew up in a blue-collar section of Trenton called Chambersburg—or the Burg for short. In the Burg, the houses were small, the yards were tidy, and the gossip was endless.

"I don't think he's here," Lula said, fanning herself with an envelope. "We've been sitting here for hours, and I need to tinkle. I'm hungry. Let's get out of here and pick up one of those double Clucky burgers at Cluck in a Bucket."

"I'm sure Silvas is here," I said with mounting frustration. "His neighbor called this morning to rat him out. I'm not leaving without him."

I'd sat here twice before this week staking out Mario Silvas. I'd spoken with his neighbors and left my card, hoping they'd call if Mario came home. Lucky for me, that call had come today.

According to his file, Silvas was a sixty-eight year old retired banker. According to Connie Rizolli, the bonds office file clerk, he was still active in finance, laundering money for the many illegitimate business run by the Trenton mob. Considering Connie's family was mob, I guess she should know. Silvas had been charged with possession with intent to distribute when he, in an attempt to diversify his business, was caught with half a kilogram of cocaine in his car. My weasel cousin wrote his bond, and now he was in my crosshairs as a meal ticket.

"Maybe we need to get invisible," Lula said, examining her lime green manicure. Her nails matched her lime green halter top dress and strappy heels. Her chocolate skin was smooth and flawless. Lula's dark brown hair was straightened to the texture of boar bristle with a lime green chunk of clip in hair to tie the ensemble together.

"This dude ain't gonna come home with this monster parked out front of his house. Everybody and their grandmother knows you drive this car."

I heaved a sigh. Lula was right. Unfortunately, my Corolla had met its untimely demise at the hands of a sewage truck not long ago, leaving me to drive my Uncle Sandor's powder blue and white 1957 Buick Roadmaster. Uncle Sandor had bequeathed the refrigerator-on-wheels to my Grandma Mazur when he moved into a nursing home. Since Grandma didn't have a driver's license, I often drove it when I needed a spare set of wheels. Given my car karma, I needed the car monthly. The car did nothing for my image, but it was free and indestructible. I really needed a new car.

"How would you suggest we get 'invisible'?" I asked.

"We could sit here in my car," Lula said, a bead of sweat trickling down her chest and disappearing between her two giant boobs.

"Your car is a bright red sports car. I wouldn't call that invisible."

"At least it's got air conditioning."

She did have a point.

I inserted the key in the ignition and rolled the engine over. "Let's roll. We'll try again later."

"Where we goin'?" Lula asked, buckling herself in.

"Gioviccini's. I'm starving."

"No Double Clucky burger?"

"Not today. I can't button my pants."

Ten minutes later, we parked Big Blue outside Gioviccini's Market and hauled ourselves inside. for a late lunch. The store was bustling with the Saturday afternoon rush, elderly patrons and families alike filling their small handheld grocery baskets with breads, olives, salami, salads, and canned goods.

Leslie Gioviccini was behind the counter scooping macaroni salad into a container for old Mr. Geary. Mr. Geary was a hunched little old man who was about a hundred and ten years old. He'd lived in the Burg on Slater Street for years and was neighbors with my ex-boyfriend, Joe Morelli.

Leslie handed Mr. Geary his macaroni salad and noticed me in line.

"Oh my god Stef, how's it going?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. "How's Joe?"

Mr. Geary turned to look at me, his curiosity peaked.

I'd known Joseph Anthony Morelli my entire life. We both had grown up in the Burg, him two grades ahead of me in school. He'd taken my virginity at sixteen, and I ran over him with my father's Buick at eighteen. Morelli was a slimy kid and teen, but he'd grown into a fairly respectable man after a short stint in the Navy. He'd held down a job as a cop, and he lived in a house he inherited from his Aunt Rose. For a long time, he was my boyfriend. Joe and I broke off our on-again, off-again relationship for good a few weeks ago. Before we could catch our breath, I'd gone out of town to Atlanta on a job for Rangeman, and Joe got shot three times on duty responding to a domestic call.

Joe had taken two bullets to the lung and one in the head. Miraculously he'd survived his injuries and had recently been released to his own home, but he faced a long road to recovery. His speech had been affected by the bullet he'd taken to his head, his thoughts slowed and his movements awkward. He'd been doing intensive therapy, his family providing nearly round-the-clock care. His prognosis for recovery was decent, but it sounded like his career as a cop was over. Despite breaking off our relationship, I'd dropped in to see him several times to check his progress. Even if we weren't together, Joe was still one of my closest friends. We'd been through too much together to walk away without a friendship.

"He's doing okay," I shared. "His mom is still spends a lot of time at his house, but his speech and mobility seem to be improving."

"Tell him we're praying for him at mass," Mr. Geary said before shuffling away.

Leslie put her hand to her heart. "Thank god he's doing better. There are too few eligible bachelors in the Burg as it is. It'd be a shame to see such a fine man become permanently damaged goods. What can I get you ladies?"

I let Leslie's words roll around in my head while Lula ordered a salami sub, a bologna sub, a tub of potato salad, a tub of coleslaw, and a tub of macaroni salad. Were women really so shallow to see him as damaged? He was a good man and a thoughtful partner. On the other hand, I wasn't sure I wanted to see him move on just yet. It might hurt.

I shoved the feelings away before ordering a salad with shaved turkey, praying I could zip my jeans tomorrow.

I stood in my bedroom with clothes strewn on every surface. Piles of skirts, dresses, trousers, sweaters, and blouses littered the bed, chair, and dressers. Shoes covered the floor. I was tugging on the eighty-fifth outfit I'd tried on in the past two hours when I heard the locks on my door tumble.

I stuffed my feet into a pair of heeled navy strappy sandals and looked at myself in the mirror.

My makeup was flawless. My hair was tamed into soft, brown curls. My nose was a gift from God. And the outfit sucked. Just like the eighty-four before it.

I heaved a sigh, pulling off the navy polka dot wrap shirt I'd been wearing being careful not to wreck my hair.

From the doorway, I heard a soft, amused, "Babe."

I flung the blouse onto the bed and turned to face Ranger wearing a black lacy bra, khaki knee-length skirt, and the sandals. Bob, my huge golden retriever, was doing his happy dog dance around Ranger's feet. I'd been babysitting Bob since I'd returned from our Rangeman job in Atlanta working the Publix Atlanta Marathon. Joe had been Bob's primary guardian, but he'd been unable to care for him since he'd been shot. As a result, Bob was bunking in Hotel Plum until further notice.

"Pretty," he said smirking, "but it would look better on the floor." Ranger scratched Bob behind his ears, the dog leaning into his hip affectionately.

Ricardo Carlos Manoso, otherwise known as Ranger, is an entrepreneur and the owner of an elite security firm called Rangeman. I'd first met Ranger when I began working for my cousin Vinnie. Ranger taught me the ropes of being a bond enforcement agent. He bought me my first gun and taught me to shoot it. He taught me to track skips, and sometimes had helped me during takedowns. I've done some contract work for Rangeman on the side, and in return, Ranger keeps me safe from everyone but himself. Over the years, our relationship turned into more. He began stealing kisses and caresses, taking me to his bed when Morelli and I were in an 'off' phase. Very recently, we formalized our relationship. Calling him my 'boyfriend' seemed inadequate because boyfriend implied non-permanent commitment, but terms like 'partner' seemed too sterile. We'd kept our relationship mostly under wraps, with me only sharing the information with Lula and Connie, and Ranger only telling several colleagues at Rangeman.

I sighed again, placing my hands on my hips.

"I have nothing to wear," I pouted.

"Looks to me like you could clothe an entire third world county," Ranger said, gesturing toward the heaps of clothes on the bed.

I finally took a minute to study his outfit. I was shocked to find him in black cargo shorts, a black t-shirt, and black Nike tennis shoes. His brown skin announced his Latino heritage, his dark hair cut shorter than normal. His muscled body was nearly six feet of perfection.

"You're wearing that?" I accused.

"What's wrong with this?"

I threw my hands into the air. "It's shorts and a t-shirt."

"Babe. It's dinner with my parents, not the Pope. Wear something comfortable."

I let out an exasperated sigh and fell backwards onto the bed, letting my hair fan out around my head.

"Give your parents my regrets. Tell them I got sick, and I'm really sorry," I whined, closing my eyes and willing Ranger to go away. This entire 'meet the parents' predicament was an anxiety attack. My nerves were shot.

I heard his uneven gait as he ambled toward the bed. Moments later, I felt a garment land on my exposed stomach.

"Wear this," he said, an amused tone in his voice.

I open my eyes and held the garment in front of my face. It took me a moment to figure out what I was seeing. He'd tossed me a black lace negligee, tags still attached. The garment was almost entirely see-through. I blushed from my hairline to my toes.

I swallowed hard at the mental picture I conjured of me showing up to a backyard barbeque in the garment.

Ranger's laughter was infectious as he tore the garment out of my hands, laying it on the nightstand.

"We'll save that for later," he said, flashing me a huge grin.

He began sorting through the piles of clothes around the room, coming up with a simple periwinkle blouse. It was cotton and short sleeved with a modest v-neck and cap sleeves.

"Wear this with your skirt," he said, tossing me the blouse.

I pulled myself to my feet and tugged on the shirt. I stood in front of the mirror and scrunched up my nose.

"Really?" I asked.

"Really," he said, passing me a pair of tan Birkenstocks sandals with a toe strap. "It complements your eyes."

I couldn't suppress my smile as I tugged off the strappy sandals and slid into the Birks. We'd been a couple less than a month, and I was still adjusting to Ranger-the-boyfriend.

I checked myself in the mirror one last time and reapplied my lip gloss.

"Babe, we need to go. We've got an hour drive," Ranger said from the doorway.

Satisfied with my lips, I dropped the lip gloss in my messenger bag, shouldered it, and headed out of the bedroom.

I was surprised to find a glass vase filled with white lilies on my kitchen counter next to Rex. An envelope was displayed on the countertop next to the flowers, and a set of car keys was next to it.

I swallowed hard, raising one eyebrow at Ranger in question.

"Flowers for our first official date," he explained.

In instructed my body to keep my mouth closed, but I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped with the romantic gesture. Who knew Batman was a flowers guy?

I shifted my attention to the other items sitting with the vase. "And?"

"The car you agreed I could select for you."

I swallowed hard.

"And?"

"Your paycheck from the Atlanta job."

I had to admit, the paycheck was a relief. Rent was due, I'd maxed out my credit card, and my cable had been shut off the day before. I'd been bringing in skips right and left since I returned from Atlanta, but none of them had been high bonds. I still had a pile of more than thirty files to clear, and it looked like my next day off would be in 2030.

I pulled a knife from the drawer and used it to open the envelope. A simple black note was enclosed with silver embossed letters reading "THANK YOU" across the front. I opened the card and removed the folded check so I could read the note. I was surprised when the handwriting wasn't Ranger's.

Stephanie,

Thank you for your hard work and extreme dedication to Rangeman Atlanta. Enclosed you will find the pay for your time in Atlanta. The check includes regular pay plus hazard pay. An additional merit bonus was also added for your courage in the face of extreme danger and adversity. It was my honor to work with you. I hope you'll be part of our team in the future.

Cordially,

Eric

I swallowed hard, trying to choke back my emotions. It really was a nice thank you note. I closed the card and set it on the counter before unfolding the check. My eyes almost rolled out of my head when I saw the amount.

$15,000.

My shocked eyes met with Rangers, and he gave me a confused look.

"What?" he asked.

"This can't be right," I said, dumbfounded.

"May I?" he asked, extending his hand toward the check.

I handed it to him, and he studied the attached pay stub.

"Everything looks to be in order," he said, folding it and handing it back to me.

I unfolded it again and studied the stub.

"I didn't work all these hours. There is no way this is right. Rangeman got… I don't know, maybe a day of labor out of me. How am I getting paid for a week?"

"You spent days guarding my body in the hospital. And you get paid for your travel time too. And merit-based pay is at the discretion of the field office superior. Eric must have thought you earned it," Ranger explained. "If you think there is an error with your check, you'll need to take it up with Eric. It looks correct though."

I swallowed hard again and tucked the check into my messenger bag.

"Okay," I said on a whisper. I turned my attention to the car keys, surprised to find they didn't belong to a Porsche. Instead, a Toyota symbol was prominently displayed on the back of the key pad.

"I know you said you liked your Corolla," Ranger explained, "so I tried to find something similar. Would you like to drive it to Newark to test it out?"

I quietly nodded my assent.

"Would you like to take Bob?" Ranger asked, gesturing toward the massive, hairy, golden beast at his feet.

"Really?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Sure," Ranger said. "If he's with us, he isn't eating your couch. And my parents love dogs."

Ranger clipped Bob's leash to his collar, and we quietly locked up the apartment.

Ranger's leg was still weak and healing from the Atlanta Marathon bombing, so we took the elevator to the first floor before shuffling into the parking lot. His gait was uneven but improving by the day. I hit the "unlock" button on the Toyota keypad, and scanned the parking lot for the car that chirped in response.

I was surprised to find a sage green Toyota Camry parked several spots away. It wasn't the most recent model, but it wasn't old either. The sunroof was cracked.

"It's not black," I said.

The corner of Ranger's mouth crooked up.

"It's your car, babe. Not mine."

I walked to the driver's door and opened it, examining the interior. The car was equipped with tan leather heated seats, hands-free phone capabilities, and a touch screen.

It was a really nice car. Too nice for my budget.

"It's a really great car, but I'm not sure it's in my price range," I explained, sliding into the driver's seat.

Ranger loaded Bob into the back seat.

"It's a 2015 Camry with over 100,000 miles," Ranger said, sliding awkwardly onto the passenger's seat. "It's high mileage, but it's a nice, reliable car at a reasonable price."

Bob snuffled at the seats, circled, and flopped onto his side. Bob approved of the new wheels.

He pulled paperwork out of the glove box and handed it to me. I studied it, and my anxiety eased as I realized the car had been sold through the police impound auction. The receipt was for $4,143.

"Really? That's all you paid?" I said, disbelieving.

"I was hoping it was in your budget," Ranger said, shrugging. "If it's too much, we can work out a payment plan or find something different—"

Before he could finish, I wrapped my arms around him in a huge bear hug.

"Thank you," I said, burying my nose in his neck to breathe in his intoxicating scent. "I love it."

"Babe," he said, rubbing my back and kissing my temple.

In Ranger speak, babe can mean many things. In this instance, I interpreted it to mean, "You're welcome."

I adjusted the seat and steering wheel before driving my new wheels out of the lot toward Newark. "How was your day?" I asked as we pulled onto the highway.

Ranger gave a single nod. I took that to mean, "My day was fine." He sat in silence.

Ever since Ranger was injured in Atlanta, he'd been off duty. His days were filled with appointments, physical therapy, and resting. He hadn't been cleared to drive yet, so his Merry Men drove him when needed. I knew he'd been sneaking peeks at his e-mail and browsing contracts when he felt up to it, but he'd been relatively quiet all things considered. Ranger had good days and bad days. On good days, his limp was hardly noticeable and he was sharp as a tack. On his bad days, he was slow to find his words and grew tired easily. Despite his best efforts to conceal his discomfort, his body language revealed the truth behind his stoic exterior. I'd spent some time researching concussions online, learning it could take months or longer to recover. His recovery time didn't bother me, but I knew he grew frustrated with being cooped up in his apartment.

"What did you do?" I asked, digging for more information.

"Appointments."

Since this line of questioning didn't seem like a welcome conversation, I changed the subject.

"Who brought you by tonight?" I asked.

"Tank. Ram drove your car."

Silence. Ranger stared out the windshield, worry lines creasing his forehead.

I could tell something was bothering him, but he didn't seem like he wanted to talk. I turned the radio on softly, tuning it to a local popular music station and drove with silence between us.

As we pulled into Newark, Ranger began giving me directions to his parents' house. He directed me onto a northbound highway, then grew silent again. Lines of worry creased his forehead and the corners of his eyes.

"What's wrong?" I asked, glancing over at him. "I can see something is eating you up."

His eyes met mine, and he reached across the console to take my hand in his. The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly in a sad smile.

"I'm nervous about introducing you to my parents," Ranger confessed.

I laughed nervously. "Really?"

"It's not something I've done much in my life. It's nothing to be taken lightly," Ranger explained, stroking the back of my hand. "The first woman I introduced them to was Rachel. She was also the last."

Rachel Martine was Ranger's ex-wife and the mother of his only child, Julie. Rachel was a few years younger than Ranger and lived in Florida with her husband, Ron, who had adopted Ranger's only daughter, Julie. Ranger had married Rachel to support her during their unplanned pregnancy, but the arrangement had not been intended to be permanent. They divorced shortly after Julie's birth. Their relationship was amicable, but for the most part, he stayed out of Julie and Rachel's lives.

"Are you afraid they won't like me," I asked, genuine concern blooming.

"Not at all," explained Ranger. "I think they'll love you. I'm not used to having familial expectations attached to my relationships."

A long, pregnant pause sat between us.

"Babe?" Ranger asked, glancing at me.

"Yeah?" I asked, meeting his sad eyes.

"Before you meet her, you need to know that my mother is not well," he explained.

I worried my bottom lip between my front teeth, my mind shifting to a conversation I'd had in Atlanta with Ranger's cousin, Ximena.

Carlos's mom is undergoing chemotherapy treatments for colon cancer. Her prognosis isn't great. He's taking it really hard. He's buying her the finest treatment money can buy, but sometimes it isn't enough.

I debated acknowledging that I had knowledge of the situation, but decided against it. I wanted Ranger to tell me on his terms.

"I'm sorry," I said, holding Ranger's hand tightly in mine. "Is there anything I can do?"

Ranger shook his head, then directed me to make a turn. The scenery around me was changing. Small businesses had signs in English and Spanish. The neighborhood wasn't the ghetto, but it wasn't quaint and cute, either. It was a blue collar, working class neighborhood—one very much like the Burg.

"My mom has cancer," he explained. "She and my father are having a hard time. Please don't tell them about what happened in Atlanta. I haven't told them. They don't need the stress."

I nodded in agreement, understanding a child's desire to protect his or her parents from the truth. I did my best to keep my career from my parents too. Sure, they heard about a lot of what happened, but not all of it.

Ranger had visibly relaxed with his thoughts off his chest as he directed me to park in his parents' driveway. The concrete of the drive was way past its prime, large cracks crisscrossing its span with tufts of grass pushing through them. The home was a modest orange brick ranch style home with a one car attached garage. Well maintained boxwood and evergreen shrubs lined the battered sidewalk that led to the door.

"Home sweet home," Ranger said, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.

An older man stood in the screen doorway as we climbed out of my Camry. His caramel colored skin was smooth and stood out in contrast to the white polo shirt he wore. He finished the ensemble with khaki shorts and penny loafers. His salt and pepper hair was cut into a classic pompadour. He looked to be slightly younger than my parents, maybe late fifties. He was extraordinarily good looking for an older gentleman, and it was abundantly clear where Ranger scored his good luck. When Ranger made eye contact with him, the man's face broke into a beaming smile. He descended the stairs, meeting him on the sidewalk.

"¡Hola, Carlito!" said the man, standing in front of Ranger.

I grabbed Bob from the back seat, wrapping his leash around my hand before closing and locking the car. Bob did a happy dog dance on the sidewalk, wiggling his butt up to Ranger.

"¡Hola, papÍ!" said Ranger, giving his father a warm hug. They did some back slapping and exchanged some words in Spanish before breaking the hug to turn their attention to me.

"Papí, this is my beautiful Stephanie," Ranger said, gesturing in my direction. "Stephanie, this is my father, Roberto."

"It is so grand to meet you," Roberto cooed with a thick accent, extending his hand to me. I placed my hand in his, and he kissed the back. "It is not often we get to meet women who associate with Carlos. It is truly my pleasure."

"It's nice to meet you," I said, unsure how to match the enthusiasm of his kind welcome.

"And beautiful she is," said Roberto to his son, winking.

I felt a scarlet scald start to climb from under my collar.

"She reminds me of your mother when she was young."

"Where is mamí?" Ranger asked, glancing to the door.

"She is on the patio waiting for you," said Roberto, pointing us in the direction of the from door. "Come, we have much to talk about."

Never one to be ignored, Bob bounded up to Roberto and shoved his nose into his butt.

"Sorry," I said, dragging Bob away. "The dog has no manners. This is Bob," I introduced.

Roberto turned to me laughing, a joyful sparkle in his eye. He knelt on one knee, ruffling Bob's ears. "It is sure nice to meet you, Bob."

Bob gave Roberto a wet kiss on his face, and he broke into more laughter. "Come, we have a yard you'll enjoy," he said to Bob, leading the way.

We ascended the short staircase and shuffled through the house. The home was small but comfortable. A hallway ran down the middle of the house, with rooms on each side. The home was decorated in a warm but eclectic style, with photographs intermingled with colorful tapestries and vivid, colorful artwork. We walked to the back of the house, where a sliding glass door led to a small patio in the back yard. A charcoal grill was lit, cooking delicious smelling food. A white outdoor table that seated eight was centered on the patio, circled with chairs with bright, striped cushions. The table was set with disposable Chinet plates and colorful paper napkins. Colored plastic bowls of various side dishes lined the center of the table. I let Bob off his leash, and he ran into the grassy yard, snuffling for a place to tinkle.

"¡Mamí!"

I turned to see Ranger crossing the grass to a pair of reclining patio chaise lounge chairs. One seat was empty. The other contained a small woman wrapped in a red and yellow floral quilt. She wore a red crocheted hat on her head, her sandaled feet and frail hands peeking out from the blanket.

"¡Carlito!" she responded. "How I've missed you."

Ranger bent to gently embrace his mother. She closed her eyes, a look of pure joy crossing her delicate features. He held her for a long moment, rubbing her back.

"I've missed you too, mamí. How are you feeling?"

"Old," she responded, winking at him. "You should come around more. What have we here?" she asked, shifting her attention to me.

"Mama, this is my Stephanie," Ranger responded. Ranger closed the distance between us, taking my hand to draw me forward toward his mother. I gave her a small smile and a finger wave as he wrapped his arm around my waist. "Steph, this is my mother, Mariposa."

"Hi," I said, unsure what to say. "It's nice to meet you."

She gave me an assessing look from head to toe, her face devoid of emotion. Apparently Ranger's blank face was genetic.

"Hello, Stephanie. Thank you for coming today. When are you due?"