A/N: Standard disclaimer applies. Highlands Girl, I'm greatly indebted to you for all your help with this story.
I'd like to thank everyone for reading and following this story, and recognize all the wonderful people who take their time to review. I truly appreciate every comment I receive.
Chapter 14. Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Stephanie was buckling her black t-strap FMPs, when she heard a hard knock on her front door. From the energy surge she felt, she knew that Tank was in the hallway. Not bothering to look through the peephole, she opened the door and stepped aside to let him in.
"You're early, Big Guy," she said, forgoing a greeting.
She'd run into him at the bonds office that morning, while she was dropping off the body receipt for her last skip, and he'd offered to give her a lift to Rossini's for Bobby's memorial service. Her car's clutch had been acting up in the last few days, and she didn't want to risk arriving to the service late, or worse, getting stranded on the way, having to call for help. Flying high after an easy pickup, she'd agreed to catch a ride with him, but now she was questioning her decision.
"Looking good, Steph."
Catching a hint of amusement in Tank's tone, she saw that his eyes were crinkled at the corners. Following his line of sight, she realized he was staring at her feet. In her rush to get the door, she'd dropped the right shoe on the floor in her closet and was only wearing her left one.
"Har dee har." She rolled her eyes, walking toward her bedroom. "You're a regular comedian, Tank. You could've let yourself in, you know. Everyone else does."
Sliding her foot into her shoe, she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror. The black wrap dress she was wearing hugged her curves in all the right places and her grandmother's necklace, settled above the somewhat conservative neckline, drew attention to her pushup enhanced cleavage, without being too obvious.
Looking over her outfit, she had to admit that Tank had been onto something, and the comment she'd mistaken for a joke wasn't. What the hell is wrong with me? I can't even take a compliment. With a sigh, she grabbed her purse and headed back to the living room.
"You just about ready?" he asked, watching her pull a wrap off the coat hook. With a nod, she rushed out the door, debating whether she should apologize for being curt when he was trying to lighten her mood. But as the silence between them stretched, it felt silly to say anything, so she kept quiet, following him out of her building.
The late September evening was chilly. Shivering from a gust of wind, Stephanie pulled the wrap tight around her shoulders, before climbing into Tank's black Range Rover.
As he drove through the 'Burg, Stephanie stared out the window, trying to figure out whether she should have braved taking her own car. She was thinking that she'd have been spared from making a fool of herself, when his booming voice snapped her out of her reverie.
"What's on your mind, Little Girl?"
She got a feeling that he wanted to ask something else but didn't, waiting for her answer. Assuming that he'd be disappointed if she were to share her morose thoughts, she asked, "Do you know about Hector?"
He went along with her weak attempt at evasion, sensing that she'd clam up if he were to push for more. "What about him?"
The tone of his voice gave nothing away, and when she looked at him to gauge his reaction, she got no more insight into his thinking from his blank face. "Remember, you told me that you'd want to know if one of the guys was immortal?" She paused, telling herself if Hector didn't know about the possibility of becoming immortal, she wasn't breaking his confidence. At Tank's curt nod, she continued, "Hector isn't, or at least not yet. One fatal injury…" Her voice trailed off as she bit her bottom lip, before asking, "Do you think Ranger knows?"
"Never mentioned it." Tank fell silent for a moment. "Sure explains why he hired Hector." He shrugged, seeing her confused expression. "He isn't your typical RangeMan."
"That's the understatement of the century," she said, suppressing a chuckle.
He smiled indulgently at her outburst, before carrying on with the explanation. "Hector was one of our first hires at RangeMan Trenton, when we expanded beyond the core team, after Hal and Cal. Three months after we were up and running, Ranger brought in this scrawny kid with gang tats and piss poor attitude. Stuck him in a conference room with two laptops and told everyone to stay away. A week later, Hector was a fulltime employee."
"And you never questioned him?"
Lately, when talking to Tank, she felt as if she'd developed ESP, and his 'you should know better', rang in her ears even though he didn't dignify her question with a response. She wished she could communicate with Ranger as well as she now could with Tank, but had a feeling that came from his wanting no misunderstandings between them, rather than her improved ability to read the big man.
"I know, I know. He's the boss. But you guys are close, right?"
"Ever wonder why a ship needs only one captain?" Ignoring her eye roll at his naval analogy, he angled the truck into a parking space in the Rossini's lot and finished his thought. "A successful company isn't that different from a ship. One guy in charge. Ranger's that guy." He paused to kill the engine. "C'mon, time to pay our respects."
Laying her hand on his massive arm, she stopped him from leaving the truck. "But how? When you know Bobby…"
Tank cut her off. "Bobby Brown is gone, Steph. You have to accept that." The tone of his voice told her that her time to ask questions had run out, and she needed to put on her game face.
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. "Okay. I can do this."
"I got your back, Little Girl."
Walking into Rossini's, Stephanie saw a sea of familiar faces. The entire staff of RangeMan was there, save for the skeleton crew left manning the office; the TPD, paramedics, and E.R. staff from St. Francis showed up in staggering numbers. Giving a little finger wave to Eddie Gazarra and Robin Russell, she made her way to a table in the back, where Ella was setting out candles for the lighting ceremony at the end. After taking the candles from Ella's shaky hands, Stephanie wrapped her arm around the older woman and steered them away from the flower arrangements and pictures, absently wondering who'd put the collages together.
Stephanie was listening to Ella share her fond memories of Bobby, when the housekeeper from the Rumson house waved them over to one of the RangeMan tables. "Hello, Stephanie, honey," Maritza said softly. "Lester was looking for you. You'll be doing a reading?"
Leaving Ella in Maritza's capable hands, Stephanie headed for the front of the room, where Lester stood, talking to Tank. She was just a few feet away, when she caught sight of a familiar form, clad in a black pantsuit instead of the usual leather. Mentally rolling her eyes, she locked her gaze with Jeanne Ellen Burrows.
"My condolences," Jeanne Ellen said, putting her hand on Stephanie's forearm to halt her progress, "heard you guys were tight."
"Thank you." Narrowing her eyes, Stephanie glared down at her arm. "I wish we could catch up, but I'm needed up there." She waved her hand in Lester's general direction. "If you excuse me…"
Jeanne Ellen stepped back, releasing her, and Stephanie continued on, thinking, No tingles! Thank God for small favors. Trying to keep a somber expression, she stifled a highly inappropriate giggle, when she pictured an aged version of Jeanne Ellen. She had a feeling that loose wrinkled skin and sagging body parts wouldn't agree with the Catwoman.
"Whatcha plotting, Beautiful?" Lester cocked an eyebrow, when Stephanie stepped in front of him.
"Oh, nothing." She shook her head for emphasis. "You were looking for me?"
"Just wanted to make sure you're still good with this."
"Stop treating me like a damn china doll," she gritted through her teeth. Before she could continue with the Lester tongue-lashing, she felt a familiar surge of electricity at the nape of her neck, and then another, stronger that almost knocked her over.
"Okay there, Steph?" Lester asked, watching her closely.
She nodded, turning around to see Ranger heading their way, with a woman at his side. As though he knew she'd be watching, he stopped to exchange a few words with Joe Juniak and introduce his companion. The tall brunette looked oddly familiar, but as Stephanie tried to remember where she'd seen her before, black dots blurred her vision. Squeezing her eyes shut, she exhaled slowly to fight off the sensation. When it seemed that it was working, she opened her eyes, and the floor tilted.
Drifting back to consciousness, Stephanie was lying in a bed smelling faintly of Bulgari and wearing a soft tee-shirt. Ranger's bed. Ranger's shirt. Ranger's apartment. Prying her eyes open, she found herself staring into a pair of concerned eyes, the color of molten chocolate. A gentle hand settled over her wrist, checking her pulse.
Knowing Ranger's stance on relationships, Stephanie had always assumed that no other woman was welcome at Ranger's penthouse, and yet, here they were. Too dumbfounded to speak, she watched the brunette, whom she'd seen with Ranger at Rossini's, jot down a few notes on a pad. Then, putting paper and pen onto the nightstand, the woman met her eyes again and said, "Not sure if you remember me, Stephanie. I'm Morgan Carter. I wish you'd met with me earlier in the week as I'd asked."
"Please, call me Steph," Stephanie corrected automatically, shaking the offered hand, as the memory of their first meeting came back in a rush. She could almost smell the hospital disinfectant and hear the words that Ranger was going to make a full recovery. "You're Dr. Carter," she repeated softly, the puzzle pieces clicking together. "You're the surgeon who operated on Ranger after he was shot two years ago. And the new RangeMan medic."
"Guilty. The lengths I'd go to help a friend." Morgan smiled apologetically. "Wasn't my place…"
"And still isn't," Ranger's deceptively even voice came from the hall. "If you're going to work for me, Carter, you have to be more aware of your surroundings."
Morgan bristled. "It's not my surveillance skills you need me for." She'd been so focused on figuring out how to help Stephanie, she ignored the feeling that Ranger was near.
"Steph, come down to the infirmary when you're done here. I haven't seen blackouts like you're having in a long time, but I'd like to test a few coping mechanisms that might help." Picking up her pad, she gave Ranger a mock salute. "Boss."
With an infinitesimal shake of his head, Ranger said, "If she wasn't such a good healer…"
"You'd call her to the mats?" Stephanie asked, her face splitting into a cheeky grin.
"No. I'd never hire her. Quite frankly, I'm still not sold on the idea. But RangeMan needs an in-house medic, and immortal candidates aren't exactly lining up for the job."
"Careful now, you're sharing." Stephanie was tempted to feel Ranger's forehead for fever, but that required getting out of bed, and she didn't know if she were up for it.
"Babe." His eyebrow rose.
"Oh, good, you're back to one word answers. I was getting worried." She rolled her eyes. "This conversation almost had potential. Too bad it went to shit."
He smirked. "Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?"
"Yeah. You can start by explaining why you lied to me."
"Steph?" All trace of amusement left his tone, and his eyes narrowed.
"Julie? Scrog? Any of those times ring a bell?" She folded her arms across her chest. "I know immortals are sterile, so there's no way Julie can be your biological daughter. What's the deal? Start talking, Ranger, or I'm outta here."
He let out a sigh, and not the slow exhale that she was used to seeing, but a real, deep one. "Get dressed and meet me in the living room." He turned on his heel and walked out before she could stop him.
Standing by the window, Ranger tried wrapping his head around the way all plans involving Stephanie Plum inevitably went sideways, with or without a fault of her own. Though, tonight's fiasco? That was all on him. He'd been so blindsided by the petty attempt to make her jealous, unbecoming for a man his age, that he didn't foresee her fainting from being close to four immortals in a confined space. On top of that, he was feeling guilty for leaving unconscious Stephanie with Morgan after he'd gotten them to RangeMan, so he could make another appearance at the service for damage control, which turned out to be unnecessary. The 'Burgites chalked up the incident to the idiosyncrasy of Trenton's own Bombshell Bounty Hunter, and the rest of the service went off without a hitch. By the time Ranger returned to his apartment, there was another fire to put out, only now it didn't look that he'd be let off the hook quite as easily as at Rossini's.
An unexpected stab of pain seared through her when she entered the living room, seeing him rooted in the same place where he'd stood on the morning of their fight. It was then that Stephanie realized that another space where she'd once felt safe and content was no more. The Haywood penthouse had become the place where her heart had shattered, and the wound was still raw. Clinging to a shard of hope that this conversation would turn out differently than their last one here, she curbed her flight instinct and headed for the couch.
Hearing her light footfalls, Ranger turned from the window in time to see a brief look of hurt ghost over her features as their eyes met across the room. Glancing away, she settled in the corner of the couch, hugging her knees, waiting for him to speak. Making his way over, he sat down on the coffee table in front of her so he could watch her as they talked.
"A perk of being immortal, our inability to age can make life difficult at times. With the way I look, I have to change my identity every twenty-five years or so."
She nodded in agreement, urging him to continue.
"Eight years ago, before I came to Trenton, a young operative of Cuban descent from Newark, New Jersey was killed during a mission in Venezuela. A protégé of sorts, he had a troubled past: a sealed juvenile record, a recent divorce, and a child custody dispute. And since I was pushing the age limit of the identity I had at the time, I took the opportunity when it presented itself."
"So, you just took over his life? And no one questioned it?" Incredulous, she stared at him as if he'd sprouted a second head.
"I made sure no one did."
"And you don't see anything wrong with that?"
"You should know by now, I take my responsibility seriously, Stephanie." His voice dropped an octave. "When I became Ricardo Carlos Mañoso, I accepted all his obligations, including caring for his parents and daughter Julie. Back then, I didn't think it'd extend beyond financial, but over the years, I've stepped up in more ways than one."
"That's mighty big of you, Ranger," she said with sarcasm. "Getting shot for some misfit's kid."
"Carlos wasn't some misfit. His father is a descendant of my son. Which makes Julie my great granddaughter, many generations removed. My flesh and blood. You understand? Mine."
Oops, I rattled Batman, she thought, watching his jaw muscle twitch. He truly believed what he'd done made his family happier, and she had to wonder if there'd come a time, when she'd be cynical enough to consider identity theft to spare grief for her family.
Who am I to judge? Reminding herself about the contents of the envelope Hector had given her the other day, she questioned whether her choice had been the lesser of the two evils. As if there're many options?
"When Scrog took Julie…"
"I get it now, Ranger. Really, I do," she cut him off, "what I don't get is: why you lied to me after."
He studied her intently, and when he spoke, he kept his voice deliberately soft, yet measured. "What would you have me tell you? I couldn't very well say that my backup plans for the rescue had backup plans. That a top notch trauma surgeon from Mt. Sinai Hospital in the city was standing by on the helipad of Princeton-Plainsboro General as I was walking into your apartment so she could get to St. Francis in minutes if I were to get shot? And that when it actually happened, the clout of her name gave her access to an O.R. and ability to use her own team? That my recovery room was off limits to the regular hospital personnel because I was as good as new an hour after Carter had taken out the slugs? And when I was released from the hospital the dressings covered unbroken skin? Steph, if I had told you any of those things, what would you have thought? You tell me."
You could have told me that you'd be fine. That you'd love me forever, she thought to herself, but said quietly instead, "When I watched you drop to the floor…" Her bottom lip trembled. "There was so much blood, Ranger. Your blood," she released a shuddering breath, "I thought you were going to die."
Her whispered words triggered a memory: in his mind's eye he saw her body, lying in a pool of her own blood, sprawled on the blacktop in the empty parking lot by the abandoned warehouse. All too vividly, he remembered the searing pain he'd felt when he'd thought she'd been ripped from his life forever.
Before he knew it, his body had moved on its own. Falling to his knees, he reached for her and held her tight against his chest in reassurance she was real, breathing, and alive. The next thing he knew, his hands were tangled in her hair, and his mouth was slanted over hers as his tongue teased the seam of her trembling lips, seeking entry. Surrendering to the intensity of the kiss, she flung her arms around his neck and opened her mouth. He swept his tongue inside, sliding it against hers over and over, desperate to convey what he felt, but couldn't put into words without hedging. As if she understood, she matched his passion stroke for stroke until she shuddered in his arms, and he sensed her emotional withdrawal immediately. It didn't surprise him, though, their physical attraction alone had never been enough for her, and he had yet to say the words she'd longed to hear.
Repentant, he broke away, leaning his forehead against hers with his eyes still closed. "I'm sorry, Babe." His voice was rough, and he had to catch his breath to continue. "I couldn't tell you the truth."
He pressed his lips to her forehead, amazed by the ease, with which the word he considered foreign to his vocabulary rolled off his tongue, when he wanted to keep the trust of the one person he couldn't bear to lose. "I'm sorry for leaving as I did. For causing you pain."
Skimming along her spine, his arms encircled her waist. Tightening his hold around her, he stood up and brought her with him. "Forgive me?"
She pulled back, her hands sliding down to rest on his biceps as she looked up into his eyes. Moved by the depth of emotion she saw there, she rose to her tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.
"You did what you had to. There's nothing to forgive."
A/N: A few acknowledgements are in order, and from now on, these will always appear at the bottom of the chapter to avoid potential spoilers.
To Atlanta Babe, for the push to get the explanation of Julie/Scrog fiasco into this chapter, to masterb2, for encouraging me to include more about Hector, and to merciki for inspiration, a thank you.