Chapter 10

"It's all you, Babe." Ranger nodded to me. "I've got your six."

I took a breath, steeled myself, and knocked hard on the side door of Mrs. Klueger's house that led straight to the basement. "Bond enforcement! Open up!"

We heard a crash, some muffled cursing, and then the rhythmic pounding of feet hitting the stairs. But the sound was too distant for those feet to be coming up these stairs.

"I've got the front door," Ranger called to me, already several paces away and on the move.

Not wanting to be cut out of the action, I tried the doorknob in front of me and found that it twisted without resistance. I swung the door open, stepped through the threshold, and then I saw red. Literally.

There was a splash - two consecutive splashes, actually - and then I was wet and cold and dripping with red. Oh god. Is that… it couldn't be… A soft whine escaped the back of my throat at the horror of being thoroughly coated in what my first instinct was telling me was blood. Luckily there were only a couple of soul-wrenching seconds before logic told me that blood wasn't so thick and uniform and… shiny?

I trailed a finger through the red coating over my arm and held it up to my face in odd fascination. I touched my fingertips together and felt the tackiness of it. It was paint. Why was I doused in red paint?

"Stephanie?" Ranger called out to me. "I've got Klueger. Come on out."

I met him in the side yard, and Ranger did a double take.

"It's paint," I told him. Then I pointed a stern finger. "And I don't want to talk about it."

Roger Klueger was shackled at his wrists and ankles, sitting on the ground. "Oh, shit. You tripped the booby trap."

Ranger manhandled Roger into the back seat of the SUV while he wailed about my new color being an accident. In the meantime, I dug around in the cargo area for something I could use to sluice some of the excess paint off of me. Then I spread a space blanket over the passenger seat and climbed in next to Ranger. He knew how to read the room, and he didn't make any comments as he set off in the direction of the police station. Roger clearly wasn't as intelligent.

"I'm real sorry about the paint," he told me. "It wasn't meant for you. Hell, I don't even know you. I didn't know who was gonna come through that door, but I needed to be ready in case it was the scary dude with the scar."

I remained silent, not ready to discuss the matter. Roger pressed on.

"What was I supposed to do?" he asked. It had better be rhetorical. "He threatened me to gut me! I needed some sort of warning system, and I figured the booby trap would at least slow him down, right? What do you think, could you still run after me, all covered in paint like that?"

Steam was practically coming out my ears, but Ranger saved me from having to respond. Or maybe he saved Roger from my response. It was unclear.

"Who threatened to gut you?" he asked quietly, his eyes still on the road.

"The scary dude with the scar," Roger said. "I don't know his name, he never told me. We only met once, when he hired me. It was dark, so I didn't even get a real good look at him."

"Hired you for what?" Ranger asked.

"Uh," Roger stammered. "I mean…"

"Hired you for what?" Ranger repeated. He stressed the enunciation of each word. He cut his eyes to the rear view mirror and caught Roger's gaze. Held it. I flipped down my visor and used the mirror to take in the show. Roger was going paler by the second, and I was afraid he was going to pass out.

"Robbery," Roger finally spat out. "Robbery is my specialty. They wanted the truck held up. I was supposed to just hold it there, and then some guys were supposed to come and take their share, but the stupid cop got there before they did."

"I take it your employer wasn't happy that the hijack didn't go according to plan."

"As soon as I got home from the slammer, there was a note waiting for me inside my house, saying that I fucked up and so they were going to fuck me up. The note was stuck to my kitchen table with a big fucking knife, and they said I could keep it because they had others, and they were going to use the knives to gut me like a fish."

"Why didn't you call the police?" I asked.

"Why would I do that?" He looked truly confused.

"Maybe it would help for them to know that there was someone running around with a set of knives, ready to gut people?"

He blinked. "Huh. It didn't occur to me."

I rolled my eyes. I supposed it shouldn't be surprising that Roger didn't associate the police with protection, being that he was a career criminal. When Ranger pulled up and parked near the back door of the cop shop, I got out of the car and yanked Roger out of the backseat.

"Ow! Shit!" He pressed his hand to the back of his head, which had just gotten bounced off the roof of Ranger's car.

"Oops," I intoned. "Sorry."

News flash - I wasn't sorry. Not one bit.

I led him by his elbow toward the back door of the station. My pace was unforgiving, and he had to scramble to keep up with his little minced steps that the ankle shackles afforded him.

I managed to keep a lid on my frustration and hold my head high while I waited at the station for Roger to be processed. I studiously ignored the side-eye coming at me from all directions, and when I finally snatched my body receipt from Robin's hand, I marched myself out of the cop shop with every last bit of dignity I could muster. Which, granted, wasn't all that much dignity, given the drips and splatters and footprints I was leaving in my wake.

When I was done, I gingerly climbed back into the car and settled on top of my space blanket, then looked over at Ranger. "Your place, or mine?"

Even though he wore his normal, neutral expression, I could sense some exasperation seeping out of him. "I don't suppose there's any chance you can wait until we get back to Newark?"

I didn't know what my face was doing, but whatever it was, Ranger changed his tune after one look at me.

"Right. Okay. I'm not excited about us making an appearance at either your apartment or Rangeman right now. How would you feel about going back to the motel to shower?"

"What about clothes?"

"I can have one of my men pick some up for you."

"Can they get them from my apartment?" I asked. "I need something to wear to the barbecue tonight, too. I'd rather not show up in all black, and that's all I ever get when your men go shopping for me."

"That should be fine. I'll send the guys who are still running around with your tracker, and they'll make sure it seems like you're waiting in the car. Maybe it'll help us keep up the charade a little longer."

Ranger offered to drive to a nicer hotel, but I directed him back to the Cheshire Motel. It was closest, and I could feel the paint starting to dry. Roger had told us that it was at least water soluble, so I had that going for me, but it still wasn't the most comfortable feeling for it to be drying against my skin and in my hair.

Another guy had taken Derek's place at the front desk, and he eyed me dubiously while he slid a key card to Ranger. We trekked down to room 17 and I headed straight for the shower. Ranger had texted instructions to his men for their clothing acquisition mission, so all I had to focus on was returning my complexion to its normal color.

About forty-five minutes, three tiny shampoo bottles, and an entire bar of soap later, I was practically a new woman. The hot water had run out and I had goosebumps all over, so I took the time to blast my scalp with some hot air from the blowdryer. I really hoped that we were going to have time to stop back at the Newark house before meeting up with Ranger's family, because I was going to need some serious hair and makeup rescue.

My hair was mostly dried and overly fluffy when I emerged from the bathroom with my towel wrapped around me. Ranger was sitting with his back against the headboard of the double bed, legs stretched out in front of him. He looked up from his phone at my entrance and gave me a once-over.

"Does my skin tone look more pink than normal?" I asked.

"Come over here and I'll have a closer look." He patted the bed beside him.

"Nevermind." I unzipped the duffel bag that sat at the foot of the bed and pulled out my uniform of jeans and stretchy t-shirt. Then I paused and looked back at Ranger. "Your guys aren't very good at following instructions."

"I don't hire people who aren't good at following instructions."

"I asked for them to pack my red dress." I reached into the bag and pulled out the offending articles of clothing, which included a pair of dressier skinny jeans and a sleeveless red blouse with ruffles down the front. "You can't tell me that they don't know what a dress is."

"I altered your instructions," he confessed. He nodded toward the blouse. "I at least stuck with your requested color palette."

"Why can't I wear the red dress?" I asked, confused. I'd always thought I looked pretty good in the red dress, and I figured I'd need the extra boost of confidence to face Ranger's family. "I thought you liked it."

He reached out to grab my fingers and used his grip to reel me in until I was standing right beside him. "I love the red dress."

"Then why did you alter my packing instructions?"

He brought his other hand to my hip, gave a quick but gentle tug, and before I knew it, I was straddling him on the bed. My knees were almost touching the headboard, my thighs were pressed to his, and I could feel the metal of his zipper against my bare… down there. I'd given up my grip on my towel and the knot at my chest was in danger of giving way with each breath I took - especially since my breathing was a bit more labored than it had been a moment ago.

One of Ranger's hands was resting on my bare thigh, and the other was toying with the edge of the towel where it hung over my navel. "I can't see you in the red dress without thinking about getting my hands inside it. And my mouth on what's underneath it."

As if to emphasize his words, his hands were on the move - one sliding up my thigh, under the hem of the towel, and the other slipping beneath the open edge in search of more bare skin. His lips skimmed the side of my jaw, then down my neck, and became more firm and purposeful when he began tracing a path across my chest, along the edge of the towel.

"Oh," I said stupidly. My energy was focused on calming my breathing. I was positive that he could feel my heart beating rapidly under his mouth.

His chuckle seemed to confirm that, and he pulled back to look me in the eyes. "Yeah. Oh."

Both of my hands were gripping his shirt, and I relaxed my fists, smoothing out the wrinkles. "I didn't know that was a problem for you."

"Under normal circumstances, it's no problem, Babe," he said. He had withdrawn one hand but the other was still under the hem of my towel, his fingertips tracing light patterns on my inner thigh, just this side of point-of-no-return. "But around my family, yes, that's a problem."

"I can see how that could be…" I sucked in air while I scrambled for a word, any word, other than hard. But that's what my mind kept coming back to, because his metal zipper was pressing against me more insistently. And then his lips were on me again, and I squeaked. "…inconvenient."

His lips curved in a smile as they traced across my collarbone, up my neck. He placed featherlight kisses on my ear, across my jaw, and then his mouth was millimeters from mine. I licked my lips, leaned forward, and…

I yelped. And squirmed. What the heck?!

Ranger pulled back and expelled a breath. "Yeah. Inconvenient."

He shifted effortlessly underneath me, as if my weight were nothing, and fished his vibrating cell phone out of his front pocket. That explained the weird - startling, but not entirely unwelcome - sensation.

Ranger answered the phone in a tone that made me feel sorry for whoever was on the other end. "Report."

Probably I was saved by the bell. Probably it wasn't the best idea to fetter away the rest of the afternoon in bed with Ranger while I still had $1500 worth of skips in the wind and my bank account was still $900 short of my rent payment. Those were the things I told myself while I carefully climbed off his lap. But those thoughts weren't quite enough to quell the tiny bit of disappointment that churned low in my belly. Ranger's hands firmly on my hips while he helped me up weren't helping the matter either, but it seemed that he was fully back in business mode anyway, listening intently to the other end of his phone call.

When I emerged from the bathroom dressed in my fresh new, paint-free outfit, Ranger was just finishing strapping on his utility belt. "What's up?"

"Manny and Vince had a Gabriella sighting."

A sizzle of adrenaline made me stand up straighter. "Do they have her?"

"Not yet. They're still trying to tail her, but it seems like she's working hard to lose them. It's a delicate game, since Manny says they're also being tailed by a couple of Reyes. They're trying to keep following at a distance."

"What do we do?"

"Tank is going to be here any minute to trade shifts with me. I want to get out there. He'll stick with you for the afternoon and help you with your skips."

"I want to go with you," I said. "Gabriella is one of my skips, after all. I have just as much stake in finding her as you do, if not more."

"No."

I came to a stop right in front of him and tilted my chin up to look him in the eye. "That's it? Just no?"

"That's it," he confirmed. "What's the number one rule?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Steph."

"Stay safe," I mumbled.

"Tank's here," he said. I'd long ago stopped questioning how he'd come across his apparent supersonic hearing. Or, who knows, maybe it was ESP. "Be gentle on him."

My lips twitched right before Ranger leaned down and planted a quick kiss on me. "No promises."