Disclaimer: I do not own Lester (the character) or the Stephanie Plum series. This short-story is only inspired by the Plum world, out of canon.

Today's chapter is another rushed order (unedited). I have a self-imposed deadline (learning self-discipline here), and I had to sacrifice the proofreading.

My apologies for having you wait so long. I'll try not to let it happen again, and I hope you enjoyable this chapter. Thanks for reading!

The Truth

In our living room, Lester and I had a picture of us on our wedding day, mounted on an antique frame. The golden and intricate setting was a gift from Lester's mother on our first anniversary. In the picture, Lester and I were engaged in an intimate exchange, looking into each other's eyes and smiling after realizing that we were going to be okay.

"What are you thinking?" I asked Stephanie, who sat staring at the photo. She took the Wonder Woman themed tissue box in my hands and dabbed her eyes. I offered a smile and sat next to her on the sofa.

"I'm sorry for crying," she whispered and looked at me with a guilty expression on her face.

"Why do we always do that?" I regarded her carefully, studying her puzzled response for a moment. "Why do we always apologize?"

"I don't understand," she said.

"Women," I clarified, mimicking her posture in a weak attempt to make her feel comfortable. "We apologize for walking in public, for having feelings, and for asking for help."

"Oh, I've never thought about it much." Stephanie's attention returned to the image on the wall. "How long have you and Lester been married?"

"We met twelve years ago," I said, forcing my pregnancy brain to remember the age of my marriage. "We have been married for nine years."

"I never imagined that one of the Merry Men could be married." Stephanie's expression became pensive. "Ranger makes it seem impossible."

"I told you, he's not human," I said, and made a mental note to ask Lester about the 'Merry men' comparison.

"I call him Batman," she said, with a warm smile.

"At least Batman was human," I said. Stephanie's small faltered at the sight of the pile of files I placed on the coffee table.

"Tell me, what happened?" I tried to make my voice softer and gentler, propping my weight against the back of the sofa to accommodate for my poor balance. "Why do you think you're responsible for the detective's death?"

"Sean Paul was alive when I arrived," she said, and a heavy silence descended on us. Stephanie clasped her shaking hands on her lap.

"The coroner's reports indicated that Sean Paul was dead before you arrived," I reminded her gently, digging into the pile of paperwork. "What did he look like?"

"He was tall, dark, and muscular," she said, her eyes glazing for a second.

"All right, he was handsome, but could you remember anything specific about him?" I asked, half of my focus directed to the report, the coroner's signature, and the passport-type picture clipped to the file. "Is this he?"

Stephanie inspected the image. The man in the photograph had an oval-shaped face with sharp edges, silky locks of hair, and "come hither" eyes. The report listed him as Asian, and his features suggested a mixed ancestry.

"Yes, that's Sean Paul," she said, with a light blush on her cheeks.

"Umm." Mark Pond, also known as Sean Paul, died due to severe wounds on his back. The pathologist counted sixteen knife wounds in total. It was the type of murder that suggested passion and rage. The person who killed this man, whose corpse was autopsied, was angry. "What happened when you arrived?"

"The house seemed empty." Stephanie let out a nervous laugh, which she covered with her hand. "I knocked on the door several times, but no one answered. So, I walked around the house looking for an open window."

"Did anyone see you come in?" The testimony Stephanie had given the feds conveniently left out the premeditated breaking and entering. She told the feds the entrance door was wide open when she arrived.

"No, I don't think so," she said. "I drove around the compound, climbed the privacy fence and used the back door."

"Did you find the detective in the house?" I asked.

"Yes, but I wasn't looking for him." Stephanie's hands stilled for a few seconds, and her gaze found mine once again. "I was looking for a petty thief by the name of Edward Bard, not for Sean Paul."

"Had you seen the detective before?" She nodded.

"He had popped up a couple of times while I searched for the thief. Sean kept trying to convince me to stop looking for Bard." She dropped and shook her head, seemingly recollecting her thoughts. "In the house, he showed me his badge and quickly explained that he was an undercover detective. Then, all the bad things happened."

I got the sense that whatever was to follow was a significant or traumatic experience for the woman next to me.

"I was drugged," Stephanie croaked, quickly wiping away a runaway tear, only to bury her face in her hands. "He was telling me all about this man, a dangerous drug dealer, when the door opened. It was Bard, and he looked angry. Sean Paul whispered for me to follow his league, and he engaged Bard in a conversation, but I couldn't follow the thread."

"Would you like me to call Ranger?" I asked. She shook her head, wiping away more tears. I pushed a glass of water in her hands and cajoled her to take a few sips.

"Sean held my hand and pretended that we were a couple." Stephanie took a deep breath, taking substantial chunks of air into her lungs. I kept quiet, never passing judgment or looking alarmed. When she finally looked up again, the woman appeared resolved. "We all walked to the kitchen, and Bard unzipped a backpack full of drugs. Sean reached in and picked a package, but I can't remember what exactly."

"Just tell me what you remember." I attempted to sound encouraging and to give her strength with my words, but my insecurities reigned. My deficiency in being a nurturing person with people other than Lester made me wish I could go back to handling grenades for military training. It was my biggest weakness as a lawyer, and the reason why I only worked for Ranger.

"Sean sniffed it and passed it down to me." Stephanie paused, took another sip of water and sighed. "I'd never really done drugs before, but I mimicked his actions. After that, I can't remember anything. I woke up in a bedroom closet bathed in blood, and his body lied in a pool of blood in the living room.

"How did you get out?" The records didn't mention anything about Stephanie's clothes.

"I left the house through the back door," she said, her eyes steady and focused on the object in her mind's eye. "The house is in an isolated neighborhood. I hosed myself down in the backyard and changed into clean clothes. I carry an overnight bag in the car in case my apartment goes up in flames, and that's when I noticed that my gun was gone. I went back to the house to search for it, but the back door was shut, and I had to use the main door. Ranger told me a neighbor saw me come in."

"Were you examined by a doctor afterward?" I asked, struggling to read her mental and physical state. Stephanie wasn't fit, but she appeared physically healthy enough for an average civilian. A little bit of training would turn her into a promising bounty hunter. Mentally, however, she was a mystery.

"No," she answered with a shocked and tormented expression on her face. Stephanie did not mention any of these things to the police officers on call, and for the looks of it, her reputation and her police officer boyfriend had gotten her out of the situation quickly. "I… I don't know what happened while I was out."

"We can't jump to conclusions," I said. Drugs do not stay in the system for long, which ruled out blood tests. We could only guess from the method of consumption on the type of drug used, but it could have been a mixture of things. "Stephanie, I want you to undergo a physical examination."

-rs-

Ranger was quick in arranging for a medical provider's visit. Only hours after my conversation with Stephanie, a conservatively dressed woman with wise eyes greeted us at the infirmary. The physician, who asked us to call her Dr. Malley, and Stephanie disappeared into a pristine looking examination room. Ranger and I remained behind in the waiting room.

"Why does she need a doctor?" Ranger demanded when the door closed, his usually stoic expression shadowed by the worry in his eyes. I had spoken to Stephanie about what to tell him, and we had decided the best solution was honesty.

"Stephanie was drugged." I matched the intensity in his tone. "She remembers finding the detective and the drug dealer, the drugs, and waking up drenched in blood."

Ranger ran a hand through his hair and glared at the door separating him from the woman. Watching Ranger around Stephanie was interesting. He seemed to let out a more wild side of him, protective and mildly dangerous.

"On the list of medical requests, you ordered an evaluation for sexual assault," he said, and his words came out strained.

"It's routine," I said firmly, "you know it."

The man marched to the door of the infirmary room, ready to push it open, but halted. Instead, he walked back and dropped onto a chair. I sat next to him and studied the wooden floors over my bulging belly.

"Lester wants you to be our baby's godfather," I said. Ranger reached out to rub my stomach, seemingly relaxing. The baby wiggled under his touch. "I have yet to agree."

"I'm just happy for the two of you," Ranger said, giving me a minuscule smile. "It means a lot to me that you're happy."

"Why aren't you and Stephanie an item?" I asked.

"It's complicated."

"When isn't it complicated?" I snorted, knowing the man long enough to guess on the complexities of his life. Carlos had been forged in pain and become the man he is today, Ranger. "If you're not going to be with Stephanie, then I suggest you cut it clean and let her be happy with someone else."

"Stephanie is not tethered to me in any way, and she's aware that life with me would put her in danger." Ranger was good at hiding his emotions from the rest of the world, but it was harder to hide his past from those that lived through it with him.

"You can continue to believe your own lie." I scanned his face for a sign, anything at all, that would give him away.

"I can't give her what she needs," he said, avoiding my eyes, his hands fisted on his thighs. "Life with me would put her in danger."

"Carlos, you're not responsible for what happened to me," I said, and my words came out as a plea. "Why can't you get it through your thick skull?"

"Emma." The concern in his voice echoed in my brain. We rose. I was breathless, and he had a rabid look in his eyes. He grabbed my arm, not forcefully, but tight enough to hurt. "It's not just you. My daughter and Stephanie were both hurt because of me, and it's not happening again."

"My rape wasn't your fault, and you know it." I freed my arm from his grip, and ran, half wobbling, out of the infirmary.

"I was their commanding officer," he spat, following me closely. I could feel him gauging my balance. "It was my responsibility to send them home before their inappropriate behavior escalated, but I dismissed the problem, and you paid for it."

I found Lester was waiting for me in the hallway, and like always, his arms were wide open. I fell into his embrace like a fish out of water. He glowered at Ranger, murmured sweet nothings into my ear, and ushered me into the elevator lift. I didn't shed any tears, although my eyes were hurt and swollen.

-rs-

Important Note:

If you are a victim of rape or sexual assault seeking help, contact RAINN: Call 800. (4673)

About Rape in the Military:

In the United States, our current laws regarding rape in the military determine that commanding officers are responsible for the rape or sexual assault of anyone under their command.

If a person is sexually assaulted or raped, that person needs to report the crime to his or her assigned commanding officer (who could also be the perpetrator).

Then, it is up to the commander to determine whether the charge can go to court for a fair trial. However, commanding officers could be punished, together with the team and the victim, for the assault.

Commanding officers can also stop a court trial or punish the officer for reporting the crime without permission. These are the reason why many of our militaries do not report their sexual assault or rape.

More information: www . pbs wgbh / frontline / article / why-the-military-has-a-rape-problem /