I set Ranger's parents' table with multicolored Fiestaware plates, neatly folding a red and yellow cloth floral napkin at each setting. Ranger sat out the dishes Ella had prepared, and his mother brought serving spoons to the table. Roberto took drink orders, preparing glasses in the kitchen which Ximena then delivered to the table. In no time, we were seated for a meal together. We made our plates and dug in, enjoying the food Ella had sent.

We were mere minutes into the meal when Mariposa's phone began ringing. She excused herself and stepped into the next room to take the call. Minutes later, the doorbell rang. Ranger cut his eyes to his father then me, his expression conveying unchecked annoyance.

"Mom," Ranger protested in a raised voice. "You're supposed to be resting. Control yourself."

Mariposa poked her head in through the doorway and flashed Ranger a mischevious grin.

"Always, Carlito. I, like you, am a master of control," she joked, disappearing as quickly as she'd come.

Within minutes, the Manoso home was filled with Ranger's siblings and their spouses, nieces and nephews, and a few cousins. Ranger was surrounded with people, receiving hugs and well-wishes. He introduced me to his family members one-by-one, with each warmly welcoming me to the Manoso family, and in spite of my best efforts, I knew there was no way I'd remember each of their names. There were so many people! Many of them went so far as to apologize for their family's enthusiasm, and I couldn't help but laugh with them.

Offerings of food and drink had been deposited on the small kitchen peninsula, and Ximena busied herself icing down bottles of beer and cans of soda in an ice-filled cooler as Celia, Ranger's sister, cut small slices of my lemon chiffon cake, passing them among the guests. The house was alive with the sounds of adults conversing & laughing together, and the party spilled into the back yard where Ranger's nieces and nephews played, their laughter filtering in through the screen door. I caught a glimpse of Ranger's mother in the next room, and I could tell she was filled with joy at seeing her family together in her home.

Ranger's phone buzzed, and he checked the readout. He smiled as he announced, "It's Julie. Do you mind?"

"Go ahead," I said.

I took a moment to perform some intense mental knuckle-cracking. To be honest, I'd entirely forgotten about Julie. Not that I could ever truly forget Julie—we'd experienced too much together at the hands of Edward Scrog—but I'd forgotten Julie was part of the Carlos Manoso package. I realized that in marrying Ranger, I'd be, in theory anyway, a step-mother. Sure, Julie's mother, Rachel, had married Ron Martine, and Ron had legally adopted Julie. However, I knew that Ranger was still a part of Julie's life, visiting her several times per year in Florida and financially supporting her to the extent Rachel allowed. I couldn't help but wonder what Julie would think of her father marrying me, and I tried to squash down the worry those questions created.

I sipped at a small glass of strawberry daiquiri that Ximena had whipped up as I politely engaged in conversations with Ranger's family members, learning all about his childhood and rowdy teenage years. Listening to his sisters talk, it became clear that Ranger was a beloved and integral part of his family. This knowledge further brought into focus the person I'd once considered to be a man of mystery, further humanizing Ranger and reaffirming what I'd known—that deep down, he was a good man despite his hard exterior.

We were an hour into the festivities when I noticed Mariposa had disappeared from the party. I excused myself and wandered down the hallway, peering into doors. I found Mariposa laying on the bed in the master bedroom, her eyes betraying the exhaustion she felt.

"Hey," I said quietly from the doorway. "Are you feeling alright?"

Her weary eyes found me in the doorway, and she gave me a soft smile.

"I'm better than alright, my child. I need a few moments to rest, though."

"Can I do anything for you?" I asked uncertainly.

"Come. Sit," she instructed, patting the quilt beside her. "I want to soak up your light and your goodness. I've prayed for you for so long."

I wasn't sure I had light or goodness to offer, but I wasn't about to argue. I obediently did as I'd been asked. I sat cross-legged at the head of the bed with my back against the headboard. She took my hand in hers and closed her eyes, her face relaxing. I stroked her arm lightly as her breathing evened, and in a matter of minutes, she had drifted off to sleep.

I sat with her like that for some time, enjoying the quiet and the stillness in the small bedroom. I was overjoyed with the status of my life, but frankly, I was emotionally drained. I allowed my eyes to wander the room, spotting an eclectic line of photo frames atop the dresser. I squinted at them, making out the faded photos they contained. One photo caught my eye, and I studied it. It was a photo of a beautiful young couple with six small children. The woman was wearing a green and white floral dress, and she had beautiful dark tresses with a smile that lit up the photo. A man held her close in the photo, his loving gaze lingering on the woman rather than looking into the camera. The man looked like a leaner version of Ranger, and I quickly realized it was his father. The photo was of Ranger's immediate family.

Movement caught my eye, and I spotted Ranger peering in through the doorway. His face asked an unspoken question, and I nodded with a small smile. I was good. I eased myself off the bed and gently placed a cream-colored throw over Mariposa's sleeping form. Then I took Ranger's hand, kissed his cheek, and we went back to the family festivities together.

It was after seven when we returned to Trenton. The sun was setting in the west, and the air had cooled.

"I love your family," I admitted to Ranger. "I don't think I've ever been made to feel so welcome or so loved."

He smirked. "I was afraid they were going to run you off with so much affection," he admitted. "They've been waiting for this moment for a long, long time."

"It was good," I said, closing my eyes and resting my head against the seat.

"I asked Ximena and Lester to keep this quiet for now at work," Ranger said quietly. "You can decide how you want to break the news publicly and to your family. With your approval, I would like to disclose this information to Tank, though."

"Of course," I said. "Tank is like a brother to you."

Ranger nodded his agreement as he steered the Cayenne into the underground garage. He parked in his spot near the elevator, and Ximena's Range Rover parked several spots away.

"If you don't mind, I've got a lot of catching up to do with work," Ranger admitted, his voice somber.

"Do your thing, Batman," I said with a smile, exiting the Cayenne. "We've got forever."

As we waited for the elevator to arrive, Ximena joined us.

"I didn't know you were coming back into town," I told her.

"Yeah, I'll be in Trenton for a few days. My real estate agent has the paperwork drawn up on one of the properties you flagged. I did a walk through, and it seems like a good fit. I'm waiting to hear back about the offer. I'm going to need your help with scheduling interviews this week."

"Sounds like a big job, but I'm excited for you. You're going to be great as the boss bitch," I joked.

She smiled her wide grin, and the doors opened to the elevator.

"What are you doing tonight?" she asked me, pressing the button to the second floor.

"Nothing," I said. "Ranger has some work to catch up on, so I'll probably veg. I'm beat."

"Let's get a drink," she suggested. "We have a lot to celebrate, and I could stand to blow off some steam."

I considered the offer.

"I better pass," I admitted. "Another night?"

"Come on," she begged. "I'll have you home by ten o'clock."

I sighed. She was really going to make me do this.

"What would you say to killing two birds with one stone?" I asked, the elevator doors sliding open at the second-floor lobby.

Ximena stepped out and held the door open.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Let's grab a drink at the Handlebar. That way, we can see if Elena Avalos is working. If she is, maybe we can squeeze some information out of her about Dickie."

Ximena's face registered discontent. "You want me to go to some lame bicycle bar?"

"We can start at the bicycle bar, then we'll move on to something more your speed. But if its adventure you seek, she did shoot at Lester and I last time we saw her. It's bound to be interesting," I admitted. "Maybe you'll get to shoot her."

"Fine, but you owe me," she sighed. "I'll meet you on the seventh floor in thirty minutes."

Ranger gave me a kiss in the elevator and told me to have fun before departing for his office.

I fobbed my way into the apartment, freshened up, and dialed my makeup up a notch, adding a dab of eyeliner, a swipe of mascara, and a smoky hue to my lids. I tamed my hair and left it loose around my face. I dressed in a pair of clearance rack designer jeans, black heels, and a strappy, silky tank. I studied my reflection in the mirror to be sure I hadn't gone too far into 'slut' territory. I decided my shoes may not have been the best decision-I may not be able to run in heels if it became necessary. I changed into a pair of black leather sandals with silver accents and a flat sole. I placed the engagement ring in the closet gun safe for safe keeping. I didn't want to risk someone spotting the ring in public and word getting back to my mother. I gave myself one last look in the mirror and decided this was as good as it was going to get.

I ate a peanut butter and olive sandwich standing over the sink, deciding that drinking on an empty stomach wasn't a good idea, then I met Ximena at the elevator with the keys to the 911 in hand. Girls night called for a hot ride, right?

I drove us to the north side of Trenton and parked the Porsche in the small lot behind the bar that ran parallel to the bike path. The parking lot was nearly empty, with only a handful of cars in spots. Quite a few bikes were parked in the bike racks near the door, with bicyclists from the greater Trenton area taking advantage of the beautiful spring weather and longer light hours of late spring. The bar was a square box without much character, appearing to have once been an automotive garage. A pink fluorescent light above the door announced 'The Handlebar.' A large garage door was opened to the outside facing the bike path, and patrons sat at picnic tables, sipping pints of beer in their padded bike shorts and cycling jerseys.

Ximena and I climbed out of the Porsche, and she gave me a scowl.

"You REALLY owe me," she said, adjusting her silver halter top and hanging her wristlet on her wrist. I knew the small bulge at the back of her waist was a gun, and somehow, that thought was comforting to me.

We strolled into the building and took a seat at the bar near the taps. I scanned the room and saw Avalos with a tray, delivering pints of assorted beers to a table of bikers across the room.

"Is that her?" Ximena asked, following my gaze.

"Yep," I sighed, turning my attention to the list of mixed drinks the bar offered.

"She's pretty," Ximena observed. "I wonder what she's doing with Orr."

"I can think of at least one thing," I said in a snarky tone, rolling my eyes, and Ximena laughed. We both knew my ex-husband was a sex addict.

"Evening, ladies," a male bartender greeted, sidling up to us. "What can I get you?"

"I'd try one of your blood orange and pomegranate Moscow mules," I said, setting the drink list back onto the counter.

"Excellent selection," he said, grabbing a copper mug from beneath the counter. "What can I get you, gorgeous?" he asked Ximena in a flirty tone.

"I'll take a draft of your IPA," she said, her expression letting him know she wasn't interested in his nonsense.

I gave him my credit card. "We'll run a tab."

"You've got it," he said. He glanced at my credit card, then busied himself preparing our drinks. Before he could finish, something caught his attention, and he left his post behind the bar to go address the need.

"I'm glad we can hang out tonight," Ximena said, relief evident in her tone. "I haven't had much time to relax between getting the business up & running and with helping my aunt."

I nodded my understanding. "You have a lot on your plate. You need to let me know if there are other ways I can help you. Take advantage of having me on the payroll. I've just about knocked out all the skips in my pile."

"Thanks, Steph," she said. "I appreciate it. Tell me what you know about Dickie."

The male bartender set our drinks in front of us, and we each took a sip.

"Wow, this is incredible," I admitted to the bartender. "Thanks."

"It's a local favorite," he announced.

I told her about the Avalos capture and my awkward encounters with Gerwin Fitch.

"So he's alive and sulking around Trenton, then," Ximena responded thoughtfully. "He's got to be leaving some kind of trail—financial, electronic. Something. We'll find it."

I nodded as Elena approached the tap to fill a pint glass. Her expression was cold, her eyes glassy.

"Hey," I greeted in a friendly tone, hoping to catch her attention.

"You think I didn't see you come in?" she growled, clenching her teeth.

"We got off on the wrong foot," I said. "Can we talk? I'm trying to figure out what's going on with Dickie. Maybe I can help?"

She briefly looked distressed, but her face transformed as she gave a cackling, humorless laugh. "Help? Right. It's too late for that," she said, her expression unreadable as she filled a pint with beer.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"If you were smart, you'd forget about Dickie and stay far away from here," she said, her brow furrowed. She took the glass and left without another word.

"That was helpful," Ximena announced sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "At least the beer in this place is decent."

She finished her pint and ordered another, adding a side of onion rings.

I yawned, the events of the day catching up to me.

"Com'on, Plum. You can't be that tired," Ximena laughed, playfully punching me in the arm. "I haven't even found a man to take home yet."

I surveyed the room.

"I'm not sure I'd want to take any of these guys home," I admitted. "The shorts aren't doing it for me."

As we laughed together, Ximena's phone rang. She checked the readout and answered.

"Hello?"

A few beats passed, then she responded, "Counter offer? Ugh. Annoying." She held the phone away from her mouth and whispered to me, "I'm sorry, I've got to take this."

I nodded my understanding, encouraging her to take it.

"Thanks," she whispered, walking out the open garage door to a quieter location.

The onion rings arrived, and I picked at them as I finished my mule.

"Can I get you another drink?" the male bartender asked, flashing me a smile.

"Can I talk you out of a water?" I asked, worried about my ability to drive after two drinks.

He tossed ice into a glass, poured water over it, and set it in front of me. I took a sip, and continued picking at the onion rings.

A few minutes passed, and I noticed I wasn't feeling all that great. My stomach felt icky, and my head was spinning. I didn't think I'd had that much to drink, but it was unclear to me how much alcohol was actually in a mule. The room felt overwhelmingly stuffy.

I saw Ximena standing in the parking lot looking angry as she argued with the person on the other end of the line. We made eye contact, and I gave her a small finger wave. She responded by tugging on her hair, giving me a wide-eyed look. She was officially pissed.

I slung my crossbody purse over my shoulder and hopped off the bar stool, wandering toward the restroom sign with my glass of water in hand. I figured splashing some cool water over my face would help in addition to drinking the water. I began walking down the small hall to the restroom, and I realized the walls appeared to be moving. I put my hand out to steady myself and shook my head to clear it.

Get it together Stephanie, I told myself. Quit being a lightweight.

I made myself a promise not to drink any more mules as I crept into the two-stall women's restroom. I set my glass on the granite-top sink and splashed some cool water over my face, drying it with a paper towel. The cool water was a relief, and I repeated the process on my bare arms. I lifted my glass from the sink and took a drink, turning to leave. I took a step toward the door, and the glass slipped from my fingers, shattering on the floor.

"Damn it," I huffed, reaching for the pieces. As I bent, the axis of the world shifted and my stomach turned. I collapsed to my knees, doing some deep mouth breathing. Something was very wrong, and I was beginning to think it wasn't the mule.

I pulled my cell phone out of my bag and hit the speed dial to Ranger. He picked up on the third ring.

"Babe," he greeted warmly. "Having fun?"

I struggled to get out words, my body failing to register to mental cues my brain was sending.

"Ranger?" I asked, my voice sounding not like my own.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice thick with concern.

The phone slipped from my hand to the floor. I reached for it, but only succeeded in losing my balance and collapsing to the floor. The door to the bathroom opened, and the male bartender strolled in, a satisfied look on his face.

"I'm glad you liked the mule," he said, picking up my cell phone and tossing it into one of the bathroom toilets. "The Special K was an excellent addition."

My heart was racing out of my chest as I recognized the danger I had put myself in. My brain commanded my body to stand, to fight, to lash out, to scream—anything-but my body was paralyzed to respond.

He peered out the bathroom door, then hoisted me up with his arms around my waist, dragging me out into the hall and out the emergency exit. I tried to scream, but only succeeded in eliciting a small squeak. A white panel van was parked at the curb, with a man holding the sliding door open. I struggled to focus on the man's face, but he seemed vaguely familiar.

"She really made this quite convenient," said the man. "I love it when it's so easy to tie up loose ends."

I recognized the voice. It belonged to Gerwin Fitch.

"You'd better get the fuck out of here," the bartender said. "She was with another woman, and she was on the phone when I found her."

"Alley oop," Fitch said, grabbing my feet, helping to hoist me into the fan.

I landed on the hard floor of the van with a thud, my body connecting with another form. The door slammed shut, and I was in near darkness. The van began to move, and I begged my eyes to adjust, my body to cooperate. The thrum of the van's engine was interrupted by two gunshots, and I heard the sound of metal on metal. The shots had connected with the van, but we continued moving.

Ximena, I thought.

As the darkness came into focus, I realized I was lying next to another person. It appeared to be a man, but I couldn't get a good look at him without the ability to control motor functions.

My state of consciousness altered again, and I began to have an out of body experience. I felt as though I was floating above the floor of the van, helpless to control my nearly lifeless form.

Move, I begged my body. You have to move. You have to fight back, I pleaded with myself to no avail. You have to survive this.

Thoughts of Ranger swam into my brain, and my heart physically ached. I would give anything for him to throw open the van doors and scoop me into his arms.

The driver of the van made a hard left, and my body tumbled across the floor of the van, rolling with the person beside me. The driver righted the van, and I realized I'd come face to face with the person sprawled in the van next to me. I fought the vision before me into focus and realized it was Dickie. His eyes were open as if surprised to see me, a gunshot wound directly between his eyes.

It took me a few beats to process he was dead. My stomach heaved involuntarily, but I didn't vomit. I felt a few rogue fearful tears slip down my cheek, but I was helpless to brush them away.

The van came to a stop, and I heard the driver stop the engine. A few minutes later, the back doors opened, and Fitch stared into the dark interior.

"Our friends in Indianapolis will take care of the body," he told someone. "I suggest you get it there fast, though. They start to smell rather quickly."

"What's with the woman?" a man's voice asked.

Shrink wrapped bundles began being loaded around me, and I realized they were drugs.

"She was the problem we were discussing yesterday. She unexpectedly fell into our hands tonight. It was convenient, really. If she's too much trouble, get rid of her. Otherwise, you can put her to work. Midwest clients seem to be okay with old bitches, especially the truck drivers."

"What if she's not cooperative?" the man asked.

"She will be," Fitch said, climbing into the back of the van. He was holding a syringe in one hand. "A few doses of this, and she'll be begging for more."

My panic had risen to near stroke-level. I begged my brain to connect with my body.

Move, I begged my body. Please!

I focused and found I was able to wiggle the fingers on my left hand. I tried to use my fingers to push myself up, but I was unable. My muscles were gelatin.

My face must have registered fear, because Fitch addressed me.

"Don't worry," he said, sneering. "It feels good. I promise. A dose of this every few hours, and you'll realize we're the best thing that's ever happened to you."

He dug the needle into the veins in my arm, depressing the plunger. Instantly, a wave of inexplicable pleasure overcame me, warmth racing through my veins. My mouth became dry, and my limbs felt as if they were formed of concrete. I lay helplessly, with conflicting feelings of panic and pleasure as I felt an unnatural calm overtake my body. My racing heart eased, and eventually, I slipped out of consciousness and into darkness.