Chapter 9

"I'll be home the day after tomorrow," Tank told Ranger. "One more stop to make.

"The agency?" Ranger asked.

"Yeah, and I'm uncertain about my reception. I have a history with the director. We didn't part on the best of terms," Tank said.

"The director?" Ranger asked. "The new director?"

"Uh huh. I knew her before she was the director. If she's still pissed, I may not get any information. I'm going to have to do some serious sweet-talking."

"You're no sweet-talker. Maybe I should go."

"Let me have a try first," Tank said. "If I fail, you can give it a shot. I put eyes on Stephanie today. She looks good and seems to have built a quality life for herself down here. I'll have an interesting report for you when I get back."

"I'm doing some limited investigating as well. I might have some news for you also," Ranger said.

"What are you gonna do, man?" Tank asked. "When are you going to let her know you're still alive?"

"Not until I'm sure we've exhausted all avenues of information here, and not until I'm more mobile."

"Huh. I thought you were getting the hardware off."

"I did," Ranger told him. "It was replaced by a big black brace and I'm undergoing some intensive therapy."

"Cally?"

"Yeah, she's here now. I'm out of the assisted living and into the house, but she's treating me as a private patient. I've got at least another week before she turns me loose."

"Have you talked to her about your suspicions?"

"No, but I'm going to very soon."

They disconnected, and Ranger walked back into the living room where he'd left Cally.

"That was Tank," he told her.

"His call was good timing," Cally said. "My mom called. I told her I'd be coming home soon. I was wondering if you'd go with me. I want my mom to know. I don't like keeping this from her."

His heart jumped in his chest. He'd gotten used to the fact that she was alive, but she'd been on the other end of Cally's phone and somehow that made it real.

"I can't answer that yet. I'm not sure what the best way for her to find out would be. Seeing me in person will be a big shock for her," Ranger said. "I know you've told me before, but I'd like you to tell me again. Everything you can remember that your mother told you."

Cally sighed heavily. "I've told you everything I can remember about that conversation. But I'll tell you once more. You know the easiest way to find out everything my mom knows is just to ask her. I think she'll survive the shock of seeing you."

"Not yet," Ranger said. "I'll explain why."

"All right," she conceded. "You explain why while I help you exercise those muscles. And then I'll tell the story over from the beginning."

"We'll talk first," Ranger said, "and then you can work me out."

"Nope," Cally said. "Those muscles were immobilized along with your fracture. They need therapy. I'm here to help you and I'm going to do that. We exercise first and talk later."

Ranger smiled at the young woman. With her hands on her hips glaring at him she reminded him so intensely of her mother that it was almost painful.

"Quit smiling," she groused. "You're a charming guy, but you aren't getting your way on this. Exercise first."

"You're pushy," Ranger said, still smiling. "Good thing for you, I like pushy."

They did talk after the workout, but the conversation took a turn Ranger hadn't expected. Cally patiently answered his questions and repeated the story she had told him before. "My mom and I talked about it several times," Cally said. "She was really good to answer any question I had. I guess after years of storing things up, it must have been a relief. She even told me a little about her bounty hunting job. She said that's how you met her."

"It is," Ranger said.

"She said she loved you," Cally said. "She said that when she left it was because she had lost both of the men she'd loved."

Ranger gave her the response she'd been wanting. "I loved her."

Cally's hesitation prompted him to continue. "She loved your father, too. I wasn't good relationship material, and she had to make a choice. She chose your father, but we remained friends. I was MIA after a mission. I was laying low due to some inaccurate Intel. I had no idea she'd been told I was dead. I would have helped her…and you."

"When can I tell her? Or do you want to tell her?" Cally asked.

"Soon," Ranger said. "The time isn't quite right yet, but soon. I promise."

Tank grabbed his suit jacket off the passenger seat and slid from the vehicle. He slipped his arms in and adjusted the cuffs of the dress shirt beneath the jacket sleeves. A quick look in the side mirror of the truck let him see the Windsor knot in his tie was done to perfection. He'd practiced it last evening in front of the mirror in his hotel bathroom. Google said it was the most appropriate way to knot his tie for an interview. The interview he was getting ready to have was an important one and he needed every advantage he could get.

The suit was one of two he'd had custom made the year before, when he realized Ranger was serious about selling RangeMan. They'd cost him more than two months' salary. With his size he couldn't walk into Men's Wearhouse and buy something off the rack, so he'd used Ranger's tailor and gone for broke. He had no idea what use they'd get, but he thought he should be prepared in case his next employer wouldn't let him wear cargo pants and t-shirts.

He took a deep breath and walked resolutely toward the door. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He knew the idiom well, but he also knew the venture he was about to embark upon was a probable failure. Nevertheless, he had to try for Ranger and for Stephanie.

He successfully passed through the metal detector and showed his ID without qualm to the guard at the desk. He was nervous, but not about breaching the security at the office. It was breaching the wall surrounding the woman that he needed to meet with. It had been bad, the last time they were together, and it had all been his fault.

The receptionist looked up from her desk as he entered the room. "May I help you, sir?" she asked.

"I'm here to see Ms. Whittaker."

The receptionist frowned. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked.

"No. It's regarding something acute. Something that needs to be dealt with immediately. If she's not available, I'll wait." He turned and walked to one of the two small chairs that were placed against the wall opposite the desk. The size of the waiting area indicated that visitors waiting to be seen were a rarity. He settled his large, impeccably clad frame onto the small plastic seat and smiled at the receptionist.

His presence was unsettling her, he could tell. His physicality was an advantage and he was happy to stretch his legs forward, crossing them at the ankle and using all of the floor space available. He smiled amicably and kept his gaze focused on her, and he could tell she was flustered. "Just let her know I'm waiting," he said.

"Your name, sir?"

"Charles, Robert Charles," he said in his deep baritone. "Once she knows I'm here I won't be sharing your space for long," he said, still smiling broadly. And that was completely true. When Althea heard his name, she'd either see him immediately or immediately have security throw him out. It was a fifty-fifty chance and one worth taking if he could get the information he needed.

Moments later when he was ushered into Althea's office by a surprised receptionist he relaxed. Getting in hadn't been a sure thing, but at least he'd accomplished that part of the plan. He was running over the information he was going to share with Althea in his mind until he saw her rise from behind her desk and then he just quit thinking. The years had been good to her. She looked every bit as beautiful as the last time he'd seen her, when she'd told him that if he ever crossed paths with her again, she'd kill him. Remembering that he looked quickly at her hands and was relieved to see she was unarmed.

She smiled. She knew exactly what he was looking for. One slender hand lifted from her side to casually caress the strand of pearls she wore. In her soft pink suit, she was the picture of elegance and he was suddenly glad he'd dressed for the occasion.

"This is a surprise," she said. Her voice, low and throaty, caused an immediate reaction in him. He felt a rush of heat and brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck. He wondered why the hell he'd ever let her go. "I can't imagine why you're here, Pierre," she said.

"Don't call me Pierre," he said with a sternness designed to hide the flicker of desire he was experiencing just looking at her. "You can call me Tank." He hesitated just a moment, and then added, "Or you can call me Robert, Mrs. Charles."

She had a good poker face. Most people wouldn't have noticed her reaction. It was just a miniscule widening of the eyes, an almost imperceptible tightening of her mouth. He wasn't most people though and he knew she wasn't as collected as she seemed. "The time I spent in deep cover as your wife was not the highlight of my career. Just the opposite. A miserable six months with a disastrous outcome that almost ruined my professional future. I can't imagine what has possessed you to come here unannounced and flaunt that fiasco in my face. Do you have a death wish? What the hell are you doing here, Pierre?"

He sighed. "I'm here unannounced, because if I was announced, I'd never have made it past the parking lot."

"You got that right!"

"Althea, this is important. It could be a matter of life and death."

"You're in trouble then. I don't see how I would be in a position to help you."

"It's not me," Tank said. "It's a friend. And it's complicated. Look, can we call a truce, so I can tell you why I'm here."

She indicated a chair across from her desk. "I can give you ten minutes. Start talking."

Ten minutes was more that he'd hoped for, so he wasted no time in telling her the story of Stephanie and Joe Morelli.

"When I heard this story," he concluded a mere five minutes later, "I knew there was something wrong. WITSEC clients are usually informants with a checkered past. They have specific information to give. I've never known the program to provide cover and identities to relatives of a deceased victim. It just doesn't ring true. There are other agencies that might step in, but there would have to be solid evidence."

"You're right," she said. "Stephanie Morelli isn't telling the truth. WITSEC wouldn't have helped her in this situation."

"I know this woman," he said. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized his mistake.

"I'm not helping you protect one of your floozies, Pierre. You're wasting my time."

"Dammit to Hell! Althea," he barked. He stood from the chair and loomed over her desk until she stood and stared him down. He backed up only slightly. "She's not my woman. She is a good person who gave up her previous life to protect a daughter and she thought the help came from the WITSEC program. We don't think it did, but this is the place we must start."

"We?"

"Ranger and me. She was Ranger's woman."

"I thought she was married."

"It's complicated and we are trying to piece some sketchy information together. I need your help. I need you to see if a WITSEC file exists for Stephanie Morelli nee Williams. Stephanie Williams is her new identity. Her daughter is Cally Williams Edelman. There should be a file on her, too. WITSEC supposedly supported them for several years after they disappeared from their previous lives."

"WITSEC wouldn't support them. There might be money to help with the identify change, but we don't support victims for that length of time. And we don't re-identify people who aren't witnesses with known valuable information."

"I know that, Althea. I think something isn't right here. Can you just give it a look? Please. It's important. There have been recent events that lead us to believe Stephanie and her daughter may still be in danger."

The phone on her desk buzzed and she picked up the receiver and listened for a moment before she disconnected. "I have another appointment. You'll have to go. Leave your number with my secretary and I'll be in touch.

"Thank you, Althea."

"Don't thank me! I'm not doing this for you. If someone is breaking protocol here, I want to know. This is my program, and if what you say is true, then something is very wrong. I'll be in touch."

Tank walked to the door. He turned back and gave her one last look. "You're looking good, too, Mrs. Charles."

"I have a gun in this desk drawer. Get out now!"

He left and walked quickly out of the office stopping only long enough to give his number to her secretary. He didn't let the smile break free until he was back at his truck. She was going to help. And better yet, she still wanted him.