I spent the next several hours slogging through loads of paperwork. Ximena had conveniently written and attached sticky notes inside each folder detailing my instructions, so I did as I was told.

I reviewed the properties in the Newark area available for purchase and for rent. I used Google Maps to survey the neighborhoods where the properties were located, including access to major roads, nearby businesses, availability of parking, and so on. I made notes about each property on a legal pad and paper clipped my notes to each printout. I flagged the three I thought we should tour with a real estate agent.

I entered the job applicants into Rangeman's background search programs, printing out detailed reports for each man. I knew that Rangeman's current employees came from a variety of backgrounds—military veterans, former cops, ex-thieves, computer hackers, con-men, identify thieves, and reformed hit-men, for starters—so I knew the rap sheets I was printing out for some of the men were not necessarily disqualifying information for employment. In fact, they may serve as a resume for some of the men's special "talents." I highlighted areas of interest and potential skills the applicants bring to the table as Rangemen employees. When it came to protecting people and property, who better to get into the mind of criminals than an ex-criminal, right?

As I worked, the anxiety I'd been feeling earlier in the day seemed to ease a bit. I was comfortable working in the office I'd been given. I was good at using the background check programs. I could still bumble around as a not-great, almost-okay bounty hunter, and I might actually catch the bad guys more easily with Ximena. Who knows? Maybe I'd like it. I knew Ranger was an opportunist, and he'd seen the opportunity to improve my employment situation and keep me safe. I mentally told myself to give this new arrangement an honest try.

By 5:30 PM, my ass was asleep and the only thoughts my brain could muster were of food. My stomach was empty since I'd skipped lunch, opting for donuts that I'd later lost in the gym. I sent Ximena an e-mail, detailing what had been completed for the day, then shut down my computer. I stood, stretching my arms above my head.

"You ready?"

Ranger was standing in the doorway of my office, car keys in hand. His face looked tired, but his posture was tall and straight, a relic of his military days.

"Yeah, let's go. I'm starving," I said, slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder. "Did you get a lot done today?" I asked.

Ranger nodded, tossing me a set of keys. "You can drive my car."

I glanced at the keys, then immediately felt a rush of excitement. I wasn't about to argue with him. Ranger drove a sexy black Porsche 911 Turbo. It was vehicular perfection; it was shiny, smelled like new-car-smell, drove fast, and offered exceptional handling.

We headed for the garage in silence, Ranger's hand on the small of my back. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket as we rode down the elevator. I dug it out and checked the readout. "Dillan" was on the screen.

Dillan Ruddick was the superintendent of my apartment building. We'd gotten to know one another fairly well over the years, since I regularly experienced apartment disasters that required his repair expertise. I'd had my fair share of blood to be cleaned up, fire-bombs shot into the place, and I'd even had one guy blow himself up in my apartment. Needless to say, Dillan head learned to keep a fire extinguisher nearby and had catalogued my preferred paint color and carpet choice. Given our history, I thought it best to answer the phone call. You never know when a skip might come unglued and blast a fire-bomb through your bedroom window, right?

"Hi Dillan," I greeted. "Everything okay?"

"Hi Steph. I haven't seen you around this afternoon. Will you be around tonight?"

"I don't know. I've got plans," I said, using the key fob to unlock the Porsche. "Why? What's up?"

Ranger gave me the "Who's that?" look, so I silently mouthed "Dillan." He nodded, showing no surprise or emotion. He knew I was a disaster. He eased himself into the car, being careful with his healing leg.

"Well, I wasn't sure if you'd seen the notice that was posted on the front door by the City of Trenton this afternoon, so I wanted to give you a call so you had plenty of time to vacate the building."

"What?" I asked, confused. "No. What are you talking about?"

"The City of Trenton has condemned the building. You have forty-eight hours to move out. Well, I guess now it's more like forty-five hours."

"That can't be right," I said.

"Sorry, Steph. Condemned means condemned."

"Why?" I flung my messenger bag into the car, then slid into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind me.

Ranger listened intently, his brow furrowed.

"The building inspectors came by today, and they found friable asbestos tiles in most of the apartments in the building plus the laundry room," he explained. "Remediation isn't possible with tenants in the building, so the building has been condemned and tenants must relocate by Wednesday afternoon."

I put my forehead on the steering wheel and did some deep breathing.

I'd be the first to admit my apartment wasn't great. It was stuck in the 1950s, never having been truly updated. The only thing worse than the hideous kitchen was the bathroom tiles and fixtures. But despite being old, it felt safe. It wasn't fancy, but it was comfortable. It felt like home. The thought of having to move out of my apartment made me sick.

"You there?" Dillan asked.

"Yeah. Please tell me this is a horrible joke."

"Sorry, I wish. It's been a real pain in the ass, what, with finding moving companies to move all the old folks out of here. I have to move too, and manage the project living off-site. The landlord will have to pay up to three months rent to cover your costs associated with relocating, so save your receipts. Once the tiles are replaced and all the asbestos removed, the apartments will go back up for rent. You'll have first dibs on your old place, but if you don't want to relocate again, I understand."

I ended my call with Dillan and took a few more deep breaths to calm myself. My chest felt tight, and my palms were sweaty.

"Babe?" Ranger asked, rubbing my leg.

"My building is condemned. I have to move," I said, rubbing my face nervously.

"Do I need to call your mom to cancel?" Ranger asked.

"No," I said, sighing loudly as I turned over the engine. "An hour or two won't make much difference at this point. Plus, I need to ask my parents if I can move in for a while."

"Babe," Ranger said.

'Babe' could mean almost anything when Ranger said it. It was all about his tone, inflection, and body language. In this case, I'm pretty sure it translated to, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It will be fine," I said driving out of the garage. "Everything is fine." If I told myself this enough, maybe I'd believe it.

Ranger gave me a look that said, 'You don't look like everything is fine.'

"I hope you know you can move in with me," Ranger said. "It would be my pleasure to with you, either permanently or at least until your apartment is fixed."

Move in with Ranger? Warning lights and sirens started going off in my head. Sure, we'd been staying overnight at one another's places regularly, but actually living together? That felt like a lot of commitment. It felt serious. It made it feel like Tank was sitting on my chest.

I pulled into a parking place on the street and threw the Porsche into park.

"Babe?" Ranger asked, his brow furrowed.

"I need a minute," I said, placing my forehead on the steering wheel.

"You have serious commitment issues," Ranger said, relaxing back into his seat.

"Excuse me?" I was dumbfounded. I was in a committed relationship with Ranger. There had been no cheating. I had clothes in his closet and tampons under the sink in his bathroom. We shared a bed nearly every night. "I have commitment problems? What about you?"

Ranger shrugged. "I've worked through most of mine with my therapist."

I was dumbstruck. "You have a therapist?"

"Yes," Ranger said. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with marriage just yet, but I'd permanently cohabitate with you, no questions asked. Give me another month on a marriage. My therapist and I are working on it."

This only intensified my panic.

"Breathe," Ranger instructed. "We don't have to get married, Steph."

"Would you just shut up already?" I exploded, my panic turning to rage. I'd mentally hit my limit for the day.

Ranger's mouth transformed into a firm line, his emotionless military face in place.

We sat in silence while I did some mental knuckle-cracking. 'Get through dinner,' I told myself. 'Tell mom I'm moving in. Go to the apartment and pack up some stuff.'

Once I was relatively calm, I pulled back into traffic and pointed the Porsche toward Chambersburg.

I parked in front of my parent's house at 6:03 PM. We were three minutes late. That meant the mashed potatoes were cold, the gravy was congealed, the bread was stale, and the pot roast was ruined… at least according to my mother. Yet another black mark on my horrible, terrible, no-good day.

My grandmother was peering out the door when we climbed out of the car and started for the door. She was wearing black Pilates pants, a pink tank top, and pink Nike running shoes. She had loose skin oozing out everywhere, the Pilates pants hanging formlessly on her boney frame. Her hair was tinted lavender with lots of spiral curls perfectly in place. She finished the ensemble with pink lipstick, a watch, and small hoop earrings.

"Howdy," Grandma shouted out the door.

"Hi, grandma," I said, giving her a fast hug. "I like your hair."

And that was the truth. Somehow, her wild hair suited her. Grandma Mazur was a fun, free-spirited person. She deserved to have awesome hair.

"Why thank you," she cooed, scrunching a curl between her fingers. "You don't think it's too much?"

"It's perfect," I said. "Sorry we're late."

"No need to apologize to me," said grandma, "but you might want to hurry up and get in the house or your mom will start hitting the hooch. You sure do look pretty."

Ranger and I shuffled inside and into the small dining room where my father was seated. The table was set with my mom's nice dishes and silver, with enough food to feed an army splayed across the top-a sliced pot roast, peas, gravy, beet pickles, sweet pickles, slices of good Italian bread, a bottle of red wine, an antipasto platter, and some mysterious Jello salad.

"Hi dad," I said, pecking him on the cheek. "Where is mom?"

"Microwaving the potatoes," dad said. "You're late."

"Sorry," I said, taking a seat. "Circumstances out of my control."

Mom brought the potatoes to the table, grandma took a seat, and we were off.

"It's nice to see you, Carlos," my mom cooed, spooning peas onto her plate.

"It's nice to see you too, Mrs. Plum," said Ranger, stabbing a piece of pot roast and offloading it onto his place. "Thank you for the dinner invitation."

"We'd love to see you more regularly. Stephanie's ex-boyfriend came over every Friday for dinner," my mother explained, placing a roll on her plate. "Maybe we could find a regular night you could come."

I squelched a grimace at the mention of Morelli but said nothing, shoveling my plate full of food. Ranger made his plate, too, but he avoided the gravy, white bread, and Jello.

"That would be nice," Ranger said, spooning potatoes onto his plate. "Stephanie, what night of the week would work for you?"

I froze with a fork full of pot roast halfway to my mouth. Did he really just agree to my mother's idea?

"Huh?"

He flashed me a two-hundred-watt smile that instantly made my panties wet. "Is there a night of the week you'd like to come eat at your parents' house with me each week?"

"Well, about that," I said, pushing some potatoes around on my plate. "I'm not sure what my work schedule will be like for a while. I kinda started a new job today."

My mother crossed herself. "Thank god. Bond enforcement has been too dangerous for you. You never should have got involved with Vinnie. Did you take a nice office job somewhere? You look lovely today, by the way. I like the professional clothes."

"Not exactly an office job," I told my mom, still playing with food on my plate. "I'll still be doing some bond enforcement, but I took a job with Ranger's company, Rangeman."

"Good for you!" Grandma exclaimed. "Now you're a badass man in black!"

"Uh…. Something like that."

"I can't wait to tell all the ladies tonight at bingo!" Grandma exclaimed proudly.

"Actually, Stephanie doesn't work for me, just my company. She is the executive assistant to my cousin Ximena. She is establishing a new office in Newark. We could try for Fridays if that worked for you, Babe."

Friday family dinners with Ranger? I nodded wordlessly, struggling to comprehend what weekly dinners would be like with him regularly attending.

"Executive Assistant, huh?" my dad said through a mouthful of pot roast. "That sounds important. Proud of you."

My dad just said he was proud of me?

"Thanks, dad."

"She has demonstrated a lot of personal and professional growth in this career move. She's good at her work," Ranger bragged to my father. "She's an asset to Rangeman."

"Does that mean you'll be moving to Newark?" Grandma asked looking concerned. "I'm glad you got the job and all, but I'd sure be sad to see you move."

"No, I'll be here in Trenton," I explained.

"Phew, that's a relief," Grandma said, shoveling into her heavily-gravied potatoes.

"Speaking of living in Trenton…. Mom, Dad…. I was wondering if it might be alright if I stay with you for a while."

They both glanced up from their plates.

"What's the matter?" my dad asked. "You didn't have another fire, did you?"

"No, nothing like that," I explained. "My apartment building is condemned. Something about friable asbestos, whatever that is. I have to move out until they get it all fixed."

"Of course, Stephanie," said my mom. "Do you need help moving your things?"

"Asbestos, huh?" my grandma said. "I've heard that stuff is bad news. Causes all kinda lung problems, like cancer and mesotheli-whatever the heck. I've heard about it in commercials on television. You'd better hope that you don't end up glowing in the dark or coughing up blood or anything."

Great. Something to look forward to.

"I invited Stephanie to stay in my apartment," Ranger interjected, "but it sounds like she would prefer to stay with you. I can help her move her things."

I shot him a glare that could freeze water and kicked him under the table.

Grandma suddenly looked hopeful. "Well, if Stephanie wants to stay in my room, I'll come stay with you, Ranger."

I let out an exasperated, "Oh my god!"

"My apologies, Mrs. Mazur. My apartment only has one bedroom," Ranger said.

"Like I said, I'd be happy to stay with you," Grandma joked, winking.

Barf.

Ranger winked back at Grandma, flashing her a grin. Grandma looked pleased with herself.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum," my mother began. "You really ought to reconsider…"

I cut her off. "I ought to what? Move in with Ranger? Get married? Produce more grandchildren for you?"

"Steph," my dad admonished, "your mother is simply worried about your long-term interests. Isn't that right, Helen?"

My dad gave her a look that said 'not another word.'

"Correct," my mother said, downing her glass of what appeared to be iced tea, but I suspected was whiskey.

"Well, for what it's worth, I'd be more comfortable staying here for now, as long as that is okay."

"Of course," my dad said, sopping up gravy with his bread.

Ranger and I drove away from the house with me behind the wheel. As I had expected, Ranger had avoided dessert, so I had eaten his piece of cake in addition to my own. Now, I was in a sugar-and-carbohydrate-induced coma. Not only was I overly full, I was in a rotten mood.

"Babe?" Ranger asked. "Have I done something wrong?"

"Today has really sucked," I said. "I know you're trying to help, but if I move in with you, I want it to be on my terms—not because I'm homeless."

"That's fair," he said. "I'm just trying to understand what is going on between us."

"What do you mean?" I asked, steering the Porsche onto Hamilton Avenue.

"You are pushing me away," Ranger said, hurt on his face.

"I'm not pushing you away," I argued. "You're suffocating me. I need some autonomy, but every single piece of my life is suddenly connected to you in some way. I need some power in this relationship. I've become a puppet-you pull all the strings. You didn't have anything to do with my apartment, did you?" I accused.

"No," Ranger said. "Do you really think I'd do that to you? I'd never do anything like that, but I am sorry that this happened to you."

"Thank god. But really, what else are you doing behind my back? What else are you hiding from me?"

Ranger didn't answer, his blank expression firmly in place.

"Oh my god!" I shrieked, throwing a hand up in anger. "There IS something! What the hell?!"

Ranger's face became contemplative. "I'm not sure now is the time to have this conversation."

"We are having this conversation," I argued. "You can't keep doing stuff behind my back. You're treating me like an employee, not like your girlfriend."

"It is related to your work at Rangeman, so I thought it was appropriate I make the decision."

"Please include me in these decisions!"

"Okay. I apologize. We can talk about it."

"Talk about what?" I asked, giving him the side-eye.

"Hiring your future partner."

"Oh," I said. "Well, it will be a while before I'm done helping Ximena. No rush."

Ranger nodded.

His silence gave me a bad feeling.

"What?" I asked.

"Given the circumstances, I expedited the timeline," Ranger said, folding his hands in his lap.

"Expedited? Meaning…. You already hired someone?" I asked.

Again, Ranger's response was a nod.

It became abundantly clear that my emotions were running too high to safely have this conversation while driving. I pulled into a gas station parking lot, throwing the Porsche into 'Park.'

"You didn't even talk to me about it!" I exclaimed. "I'm not even sure what my job description is going to include-and you hired someone."

"Special circumstances," Ranger said. "I hope you'll forgive me."

"Who is it?" I pried angrily. "Did you hire Lula?"

Ranger shook his head 'no.'

"Is it anybody I know?"

"Steph, can we please do this somewhere else? I don't like arguing, especially in the car."

"I asked if it was anybody I know?" I shouted, waving my arms.

Ranger nodded.

"Who?"

Ranger sighed, resigned.

"Joseph Anthony Morelli."