Sorry it's taken so long to get the latest chapter out. I started reading a book (which is a pretty big deal for me at the moment, since I haven't read a book in a couple of months. I usually read a new book every two to three weeks but lately I'd been so focused on writing that reading wasn't an interest.) and forgot how to juggle reading and writing. But it's okay. It's here now.

Chapter 7

Carlos watched on his computer monitor as his wife struggled to maintain an upright position in the standing frame Bobby was making her use. She was all alone in the gym, even Bobby having stepped out for a moment. Sweat poured off her furrowed brow as she stared at the empty room in front of her and she appeared to be talking to herself. One of her pep-talks? He turned the sound up on this computer, but all the surveillance system was picking up was huffing and a slight, almost wordless murmur.

With a small frown on his face, he returned his attention to the file spread before him. Blue eyes stared blankly out from the brown haired profile picture. Carlos hadn't been able to put the photo aside as something in it kept calling to him. The eyes, probably, he decided, since they bore a striking resemblance to Stephanie's. There was something about the man that made the hairs on the back of Carlos's neck stand on end, but he couldn't classify the feeling as either innately good or innately bad. It was just suspicion.

He'd been checking the information Brodie had divulged at the cafe the previous day and discovered that as far as this initial background search was concerned, it was all true. There were no records of Brodie's birth, no indication that he existed until he was three months old, but which time he had apparently already been taken to Scotland. At no point in any of the records was there mention of his mother. Just a note saying that the woman was deceased and the Grandparents requested she not be acknowledged in relation to the child in anyway. Carlos stared hard at the note, observing how strange such an occurrence was. Grandparents were usually thrilled to know their grandkids, he'd witnessed this first hand. So why would these people cut all ties with a baby boy who was their own flesh and blood. Only one thought came to mind. Teen pregnancy.

A brief, efficient knock sounded at his office door and he called for the person to enter. Lester Santos wasted no time in entering and flopping into one of the two visitor's chairs positioned across the desk from where he sat. Carlos waited none too patiently for the man to explain his presence, when no such explanation was forth coming he simply raised an eyebrow in his direction, simultaneously switching the sound off on his monitor.

"There's something hinky about this Brodie guy," Lester said, waving a file folder half-heartedly in the air.

"Hinky?" Carlos questioned his choice of words. It sounded more like something Steph would sprout off than the kind of language his men used when discussing a case.

"I don't know if it's the eyes, the accent, or the birth record thing, but there is something off up in here.

"Agreed," Carlos granted. "Put a tail on him and do some more digging."

At this order, Lester sat up, leaning forward in the chair with his elbow on his knees. "You think Steph is in danger from this guy?" he asked his boss. A threat against Steph was as serious as they came in this company, because if Steph was in danger, the boys were in danger and no one could stand to see any of them hurt. There was only so much you could do to ensure Steph's safety and while they had the added advantage of the boys not being able to go off on their own, it was even harder to keep them safe from harm. People look poorly upon five year olds having body guards follow them to school.

"I can't say for sure at the moment," Carlos mentioned. "But I'm not taking any chances." At that moment his desk phone rang and Lester politely excused himself, pulling the door shut behind him. "Rangeman," he announced by way of greeting.

"Oh," said the voice on the other end. "I was after Stephanie, do I have the wrong number?"

Carlos suppressed a small smile, acknowledging that the voice he heard on the other end of the line was the same he had listened to the previous afternoon through his ear piece at the cafe and commending his wife once more for not listing her personal line on her business cards. They had discussed the issues of doing such a thing, given her stalker history and decided that it was best if she got a few different sets of business cards, each with a different Rangeman number. They had shuffled them together and she would give them out without fearing an ongoing phone stalker experience.

"Not the wrong number," Carlos confirmed. "But Stephanie is currently unreachable. If you could leave your name and number I'll have her call you back."

*o*

The boys were at Rangeman under the ever watchful care of Ella for the night, but I strongly suspected that the men would have convinced her to let them play with them for a while before bedtime. Mat and Edi would have been thrilled by the idea of spending some time with their uncles in an environment that allowed them to play actively in the evening and indoors without being yelled at for running in the house. We would pick them up tomorrow morning before heading out to visit their Abuela and Bisabuela for lunch. And by the look on Carlo's face right now, they would be getting a talking to and possible mat time when they finally got home tomorrow afternoon.

Carlos had taken an extra long time when he went to pick up the boys – a task he insisted on performing solo on this particular day. I'd been a little worried that they might have gotten into trouble at school and he had to stay back and try to straighten things out with the teacher, but when Matias and Eduardo bounded into the control room at four o'clock with their overnight backpacks strapped on their backs my mind was set at ease that they'd just stopped by home to get some things for their sleep over. They sat at their desks in the control room and did their homework while Carlos and I finished off some work then we said their goodbyes. I'd like to say they were sad to see us go, knowing that they wouldn't be seeing us until the next day, but I'd be lying if I did. They were ecstatic about their Rangeman sleepover. I don't know what the men and Ella did to the boys, but they were guaranteed exhausted the next day, which I was eternally thankful for.

When we arrived home, Carlos scooped me up out of the passenger seat of the car and carried me into the living room which was all set up for an indoor picnic, complete with plush blanket to sit on and candles for mood lighting (battery operated, just in case anything happened if you know what I mean). My darling husband had prepared a gourmet meal complete with Chocolate-Caramel cheesecake for dessert, which he was in the middle of feeding to me when we had first heard the noise.

He paused with the latest gooey forkful about two inches from my lips. I thought he was teasing me again at first, but then I heard it too. A clatter coming from the other end of the house. Wasting no time, Carlos set the fork back down – much to my tongue's displeasure – and stood, grabbing his gun from the end table where he'd discarded his holster earlier in the evening. He checked the safety and reminded me to keep quiet before stalking barefoot from the room, only his cargo pants clinging to his body.

Alone and, I have to admit, just a little apprehensive, I grabbed Carlos's cell phone and second gun from the end table and dragged myself into the space at the other end of the sofa where I would be hidden. Ordinarily, I probably would have thrown Carlos's shirt over my bra and panties and followed him, but my wheelchair was still in the boot of the car outside. Logistical issues.

I listened carefully, trying to pick up any footsteps, but all I could hear was the movement coming from what sounded, to my trained ear, like my sons' room. What any stalker, thief or general miscreant would want in a disaster of a room such as that inhabited by my two five year olds I had no idea, but they were in for the shock of a lifetime when Carlos no doubt kicked the door in. I waited a moment and in a pause in the rustling, heard a door bang open and my husband shout. His words were cut off abruptly, however, making my breath catch in my throat. What I would have given for my legs to work at that moment so I could at least tip-toe to the doorway and peer out so see if he was alright. I was contemplating dragging myself from my hiding place to do just that anyway, unnerved by the sudden silence, when Carlos's footsteps slapped against the tiled floor of the hall.

Next thing I knew he was standing just inside the doorway with a kitten hanging by the scruff of its neck from his raised hand. There was a stormy look on his face that I couldn't help but laugh at. If looks could kill that cat wouldn't be squirming anymore.

"I don't think you can have a cat arrested for breaking and entering," I giggled, hauling myself out from behind the couch and attempting to heft my weight up onto it while still holding the gun and cell phone. After a couple of goes I gave up, in favour of leaning against the couch, but Carlos crossed the room and – still holding the cat in one hand – looped his other arm under both of mine and around my back, heaving me onto the soft cushions.

"He's not breaking and entering, Babe," he assured me, taking the gun and phone from my hands and placing them back on the end table. "The boys have been harbouring a fugitive. I found a bowl with a small amount of milk still in. Some food scraps and a bucket of sand they have obviously provided for his toilet requirements."

I couldn't help but notice that just below the anger that was simmering in clear view was the puffed chest of a proud father. He was impressed with how well the boys had tended to the little kitty's needs, making sure it had a place to do its business. How many five year olds did you know of that would think of getting a bucket of sand from the backyard for the kitten they were hiding from their parents? He'd never admit to being proud of such a thing, though. It would undermine his anger at the twins.

"Are you sure it's a boy?" I asked, holding my hands out in the direction of the feline fugitive. My husband got what I wanted and held the small cat toward me. I took it gently in both hands settled it in my lap, stroking its ears and scratching its back. I wanted to check and see if I could determine a gender, but I didn't want to just flip it over and startle the crap out of it. Probably, he or she had just had the life scared out of it by the big bad man with the gun that had barged into its sanctuary. It just needed a moment to calm down and realise I didn't mean it any harm and then I would lift it up and play I-spy with its privates.

Carlos stood his ground, obviously determined not to give the kitten any signals that could be misinterpreted as him giving a damn about it. "I don't care what gender he is," he announced. "It's a cat. And the boys have been hiding it from us."

I lifted the kitten into the air, turning it slightly so that the cute end was pointed at Carlos. Making an exaggerated cutesy face beside the kitten's head, I asked him, "How can you say you don't care about the kitty? It's so cute and fluffy! Everybody loves kittens."

His eyes narrowed on me. "You want to keep it, don't you?"

"We can't just get rid of it, Carlos!" I exclaimed, clutching the tiny furry form to my chest. "It's so small and helpless. And the boys would be devastated.

"Babe," he said, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "It's only going to be a kitten for a short time. Before you know it it'll be a full grown cat."

"But I'll still love it!" I whined. "I promise! Pleeeeeaaaaaasse can we keep it?"

He let out a small breath that was his equivalent of a sigh and gave a short nod before announcing that he should retrieve my wheelchair from the car. When he came back in, he took the chair straight to our bedroom. He then went to clean out the cat evidence from the twins' room and set up a cat area in the laundry – complete with a nest of old blankets, I later noted. Now he was standing in the doorway watching me tease the kitten, which I was pretty sure was a girl, but drumming my fingers along the front of the couch for it to chase and attack. I loved watching her little bottom waggling back and forth as she prepared to pounce.

"This isn't exactly how I envisioned this evening ending," Carlos assured me, his arms crossed over his bare chest. He'd barely set foot in the room since leaving to get my chair.

I smirked up at him. "You thought you'd be the one getting pussy tonight?" I joked, scratching the kitten's belly as she kicked at my palm with her back legs, her tiny fangs chomping down on my finger. "I wonder if they've named her yet," I mused.

"We'll find out tomorrow, Babe," he said, closing the distance between us. "It's time for bed." He carefully extricated my hand from the sharp claws and teeth of the kitten and gently picked her up – I noticed he didn't go for the scruff of the neck tactic this time. After depositing the fluff ball in the laundry for the night, he returned and proceeded to carry me to bed where a stroking of a whole new kind followed long into the night. I could tell he had mixed feelings about being the owner of a cat, but he wasn't going to deny me, because it made me happy and what made me happy always seemed to make him happy too.

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