. .oOo.

Chapter 8

Sitting in the gathering shadows, Stephanie was still enjoying the glow of her earlier connection with Ranger. Though it had only been through a few texts, a warmth had spread through her, and it was a feeling that she did not want to let go of. Closing her eyes, she conjured up images of his smile. Remembering the way he had been, hanging out at Pino's.

That night had felt like a turning point for both of them, another step forward toward the relationship that they seemed to have been avoiding for so long. A smile of her own spread across her face. She could not forget the way he had kept so close to her all night. Surreptitiously looking at her, touching her.

Nothing had ever felt so right. After all of these years of circling each other, Stephanie knew that the time had finally come for them to be together. Over the past several months, she had let herself believe that.

But it was more than a hope or a dream, she had changed everything about her life that had ever prevented their relationship from happening. And though he was not aware that she knew, so had Ranger. Among other things, she had, only recently, seen copies of the paperwork that he had put in to end his part in the government contracts held by RangeMan Inc.

As she, once again, contemplated the deep significance of that particular action, Stephanie's phone buzzed. She snatched it up quickly and was disappointed to see that it was not Ranger. In the back of her mind, she knew it wouldn't be, but the hope that it could be had been was there all the same. Trying to keep that letdown feeling out of her voice, she answered the call.

"Hey Mar, whats up?" she said as cheerfully as she could. There was a long pause on the other end of the line. If Stephanie had realized that it was after ten o'clock already, she would have been alarmed. Since, at this late hour, she knew that MaryLou would usually only be calling if there was something wrong. And, in that case, Stephanie would have been panicking for her. As it was, Stephanie was on alert anyway, as soon as her friend started talking.

"Did you see the news?" MaryLou finally said. "That chef, the one you told me about, did you know that he's dead?" she asked. Before Stephanie could answer, MaryLou started rambling, her words pouring out with any end in sight.

Stephanie knew MaryLou did that when she was nervous or upset, and right now she sounded both. Listening carefully, Stephanie was ready to be worried too, how much did her friend know?

"Lenny had the news on, and after finally getting the kids in bed, I walked in to see the report that said the white house chef's body had been found in the Grand Canyon. I wonder if he fell off of a cliff or something, they didn't say. And fortunately, they didn't show any pictures, I always think that they show way too much on the news, so at least we can all be glad that they exercised some restraint this time. You know I ordered one of those cookbooks, the reviews looked so good, and I knew that you were going to get one so I couldn't resist either. It came today. Oh Steph, it's so awful to know that he's dead." Finally she had to take a breath, so Stephanie spoke up quickly, happy to feel a bit of relief from the earlier worries.

"Yeah, I just found out," she said. "I don't know how it happened." Or why, she thought, but she wasn't going to share any of her speculations, it was very possible that she would never talk about what she knew about Chef Ben. Especially not to MaryLou, it would only be so upsetting to her. Besides, Stephanie reasoned, it was going to be hard enough on her friend to use the new cookbook. She always got so emotional over things like this.

After she ended the call. Stephanie stood to leave. No point in hanging around any longer, she might as well head home. Still, she hoped that she would hear from Ranger again soon. Slowly, she made her way down the hall. Holding the phone in her hand, she willed it to ring. But it didn't.

She'd known it wouldn't.

. .oOo.

Arizona, a year ago.

Looking over his shoulder, again, Ben Davron hurried back to the small cabin that he would be calling home from now on. He just wished that he could let himself relax. Ever since that unpleasant incident last week, he had not been able to shake the feeling that he was being watched. But that was crazy, no one knew where he was. And there was no way anyone could have followed him here. With a feeling of pride that he would never lose, he knew that he still had enough of his ranger skills to sneak away from prying eyes.

His early morning run usually helped to clear his head, but he still hadn't been able to shake the terror that had taken residence in his chest. He tried to tell himself that he was just being paranoid, but the feeling persisted. His fingers quickly punched in the numbers of his newly installed key pad, and he pushed the door open, just as soon as he heard the click that disengaged the lock, and slipped inside.

Just as quickly, he reprogrammed it as soon as he was inside, and just to be sure, he flipped the dead bolt and secured the other three locks that he'd placed on the door the moment he had moved in. His hand rested on the wall next to the last lock and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the door.

The difficulty he was having catching his breath could have been caused by the rigorous pace he'd kept up during his run, but he knew better than that. He was scared, pure and simple. A feeling that had become all too familiar to him during these past few years.

Ben pushed back from the door and headed into the bathroom. A hot shower would wash away the dirt from the trail, and would soothe his muscles, but it would do nothing to ease the guilt that he was feeling. That was something that he would live with for the rest of his life.

Maybe he should have thought about that. No, he answered, his immediate response always was that he'd had no choice. He had been helpless, a feeling that reduced him to doing things he would never have ever considered otherwise

Russians, Syrians, Nigerians, Iranians, they were all on the top of his list of people who might want him dead. And now he had to accept that it was his own fault. He knew it was.

Hot water pounded his shoulders and back. He stood motionless as the images of his extracurricular job filled his mind. He had never intended to do any of this. How had everything gotten so out of hand?

Impatient with himself, Davron turned the water off and got out of the shower. Images of Melissa came to his mind as he dried off and found some clothes to slip into. She had been everything to him, from the moment he had met her. He shook his head, he had given up everything for her. Everything, he thought, a tremor of anger shaking his body.

Making his way to the kitchen he forced himself to eat, but he was only going through the motions. Food no longer held any interest for him. He had given up more than just his job when he left. He wanted to erase the past, undo all of the stupid and reckless decisions that he'd made. For her, Ben reminded himself. All of it had been for her.

It always came back to that, and now she had thrown him away like a piece of garbage. That had really hurt. Though he tried to tell himself that it was not her fault, he was having a hard time believing it. Still, it was true that he had never told her about the threats. That was something that he'd kept to himself partly because he didn't want to scare her, and partly because of his ego that did not want to admit that he felt powerless to stop what was happening.

He would have told her. The moment he had been handed the divorce papers he had been tempted to, wondering if it would change things if she knew. He entertained those thoughts for weeks before deciding to disappear, but he knew the answer, he'd known it all along. He had just loved her so much he had not wanted to see the truth.

The realization that, no matter how hard he tried, he would never have been able to do enough to satisfy her, still hit him hard. But worse than that was finally understanding that she had never loved him. Melissa had been incapable of love. How had it taken him so long to finally let that sink into his head. Nothing that he could do, nothing he had ever done could change that one fact.

Now he was here in his self-imposed exile, hoping that he could figure out what to do next. All the money in the world could not help him now. His life meant nothing to the people who had been using him for years now. No matter how they had built him up, flattering him into believing that he was the most important, and the most indispensable part of their plans to save the world. What kind of fool believes that kind of talk from the people who, at the same time, are threatening him, promising to end his wife's life if he does not do what they want?

A desperate one, he answered. And he had been desperate. Ben had felt so alone, with no one to turn to. To please Melissa, he had willingly shut out his friends and family, all so that he could shower all of his attention on her, prove to her how much he loved her.

It had been what she wanted. But now it had left him with nothing when she, not so gently, invited him completely out of her life. Less than nothing, since he had destroyed his life to save hers.

Guilt, his close companion for the past three years, was tormenting him again. By leaving, disappearing without a trace, he had endangered Melissa's life, and no matter what he thought of her now, it was against his nature to put another human being in harms way. But isn't that exactly what he had done when he'd left?

It had come down to this one question; would he choose his life over hers? The answer was a hard one to take for a man trained to safe lives. No one would understand the struggle he had gone through before he had chosen his own life, fully expecting that these monsters he had been working for would follow through on their promise to kill her if he did not give them the information that they wanted.

What kind of man had he turned into? He had been asking himself that question for years now. And all during that time he had pushed away the very people that he had needed to help him find a way out of his hell. He wished that Ranger was here now. No matter what kind of trouble they had ever gotten into, Ranger had always found a way out. He could really use that right now. But if he tried to reach out to him, his friend, his mentor, could end up being in danger too.

He had already risked one life, he couldn't put another one in jeopardy. All he could do is leave things the way they were. Ranger would send his periodic e-mails to the same address he'd always had. There would be no response. Even though Ben read each and every one, he had never replied. But that never stopped Ranger from reaching out to him. A fact that added to the guilt that Ben felt.

Papers were scattered all over the kitchen table. Ben pushed his plate aside and picked up the one on top of the pile. An unfinished letter to the one person who had always had his back, the one person that he had never wanted to let down. But he had. Even if Ranger didn't know it yet, Ben knew that he had not only betrayed his country by sharing its secrets. He had also betrayed the first person who had ever believed in him.

All he could do is stare at the words on the paper. Words that he knew would never be able to explain what he had done, what he had become. He could not feel worse, and with a defeated sigh he dropped the page back onto the table. He knew he would never send it anyway.

How did you tell your mentor, your friend that, even though you felt forced into it, you had sold your integrity for a few dollars. Almost laughing at himself, he corrected that last figure. Millions of dollars had come his way, but their worth was nothing, not compared to what he had lost in return.

At least Melissa would never get her hands on any of it. He had seen to that. Immediately after seeing those stupid divorce papers. Scraping his chair across the floor, Ben impatiently left the unfinished letters behind and made his way to the far side of the room where he stopped in front of the fireplace. The coals were dying, so he busied himself with building up the fire again. He had needed the warmth when the sun went down. Nights got cold up here in the desert mountains. But right now, though it was not necessary, it was just a comforting thing to do.

The motions were automatic, mindless, but soon a fire blazed and Ben sat back on his heels staring at the glow. Why couldn't he quiet the voices in his head? For so long he had only listened her voice in there. Melissa had occupied every part of him. He had loved that, once. Now it left him hollow, and the other voices echoed in the emptiness, asking him the questions that he had been trying to avoid. Because there were no good answers.

. .oOo.

No one had looked at a clock in a long time, or they would be aware that it was approaching morning and it was nearly time for the sun to rise over in the east end of the canyon. Ranger and the rest of the team were tireless and relentless in their efforts to uncover what had happened to their teammate.

"It's time to go over what we have found out about Chef." Ranger was saying. On the wall next to a map identical to the one in the Operations building, a couple of poster boards had been hung to serve as a whiteboard. With a marker in hand, he turned and wrote one word at a time discussing each in turn.

It was easy now, at this point, to separate the clues they had discussed and place them in two categories accordingly. Personal, involving Melissa, and business, that had to do with both his career as a chef, and the connection with terrorist groups.

Once they were done, the picture started taking shape. The men were all silent as they digested the information and came to their conclusions.

Standing to the side, General Kinkaid listened intently. The men were right to concentrate on what had happened to Chef. His own initial research supported the conclusion that they had come to. He would let them follow the clues about Ben. In his own mind however, he was fitting more of the pieces together and he was not liking what he was seeing.

The book fiasco with Melissa Davron, was a vendetta, he was sure of it now. But by whom? As the men had already stated, Melissa may have been stupid, or greedy enough to go along with it, but she was not the one who had come up with the plan to write it. She probably didn't even know enough about it to know who it could hurt.

He listened to the discussion, but his mind would not stop its own line of questioning. It could be anyone, he thought. God knows that he had made enough enemies along the way. Somehow he had to narrow it down to who it was that hated him enough to expose him, and his best team. Who would be willing to destroy Chef while they were at it? While he desperately went through names, eliminating some, highlighting others, the guys continued to identify and label all of the facts that they had found.

Suddenly, the crackling static from Wallace's ancient CB radio startled everyone in the room. It took only a moment for the Ranger to reach the equipment. All of the men watched as he started adjusting a few knobs to narrow down the frequency of the incoming message.

"Wallace, sorry it's so early man, but you should check your email for the information that just came in from the PD in Arizona. Tell Kinkaid that the feds are heading over here later today. Thought he might want to know." More squawking and static filled the silence in the room before they heard the parting words, "Gielen out"

It was not until that moment that a few of the guys looked at their watches. It was 0505 in the morning, they had been working through the night. Their attention was drawn back to the ranger as he turned on his computer. As expected, Kinkaid, Ranger and Tank moved over to stand behind Wallace.

"The blood that was found at the Arizona residence of Ben Davron has been tested and lab results are back," Wallace said, reading excerpts from the report that Gielen had sent him. "More than one type was detected, but only Davron's has been positively identified," he added. "Someone else may have been hit at the same time."

In the silence that followed that statement, puzzlement and worry could be felt. As of yet, there was no known connection of anyone who might have been with Chef. As they contemplated whose blood might be there with his, a shaft of light streamed in through the tall windows, reflecting brilliantly around the room.

Everyone turned to watch as the sun began rising slowly above the red cliffs. "My favorite time of day," Wallace quietly spoke. Heads nodded in agreement. None of them had expected to see a sight such as this. They would never forget it.

. .oOo.

Mitch Gielen replaced his phone in its cradle and slumped back into his chair. He had been on the phones since he got here this morning, fielding calls from the Police Department in Arizona, the FBI, and from General Kinkaid. His head was starting to pound and he could use a cup of hot, black coffee to keep him going.

Just before he pushed himself out of his chair to go find some, the wafting scent of java reached his nose, and he looked up in the direction it was coming from. There was Nia, his angel of mercy holding out a steaming mug for him.

"Thought you could use a break about now," Nia said with a kind smile.

"Oh, yes!" Mitch exclaimed as he reached out to take the mug from her hands. "You are my lifesaver again, don't rightly know what I'm going to do without you," he said.

Nia laughed and winked at him before she turned to leave. She wasn't ready to think about that at the moment. Instead she got back to work. She had come in to work the early shift with him today, and it had not slowed down since the moment they had arrived.

As she reached her desk, she took a moment to look around the cramped office. It would only be another week or so before her summer experiment would be over and she would have to go home.

Again, she didn't want to think about that, so she pulled her chair out and sat down and tackled the mountain of paperwork on the desk. Being a ranger, it turned out, was as much about red tape and forms as it was about the park itself. There was always something that needed to be done, and truly she was grateful for the experiences that she had had here.

"Oh, Nia," Mitch called from his office. "I need some help, we've got a job to do."

Nia stood and walked to the door of his office and looked in at Mitch who still had his coffee cup in his hands. He looked up at her and laughed out loud when she held out the coffee pot and moved forward to refill the mug.

"You know me too well." he said, taking a sip and setting the mug on his desk. "Sit," he said motioning to the chair opposite his.

"So," Nia said, "What is this job?"

That was just like her, ready and willing to do anything that needed to be done around here. Mitch knew that he was right to wonder what he was going to do when she went back to her home and her new assignment on the east coast. But he did not want to think of that, not yet.

"Do you remember the Boy Scout bunkhouse up near Jacobs Lake?" he asked. He could only think of one time that she would have had any reason to go up there, and that was months ago. He tilted his head to one side as he waited for her answer.

It was an odd question, she thought, but Nia shrugged. "Sure, we had to clear out those porcupine that had made themselves at home under the steps."

"That's right," Mitch said, "Well, now we need to turn it into a temporary motel for Kinkaids men."

Mitch did not notice the slight intake of breath, or the widening of her eyes. Nia tried to keep her cool as her thoughts turned to a certain very tall, very big man. One that she had only seen once. But that had definitely been enough to get her attention. She blinked a few times as she cleared her thoughts.

"What do we already have up there?" she asked, ready to get started. "I seem to remember seeing the place filled with old army cots. Is that what we are using?"

Within two hours, Nia had orchestrated the quick cleaning of the bunk room and all of the cots, and had arrived with foam pads, bedding and pillows to make it as comfortable as possible. When she arrived and walked in, the sun was shining through all of the windows. For a moment she watched the dust swirl and dance in the bright rays. Then it occurred to her that no one could sleep with all of this light and she rushed back out of the building.

The windows were blacked out, covered in layers of aluminum foil, Nia finished the job just ten minutes before the men arrived. She was packing her supplies into her truck when the vans pulled up. Frozen in place when she noticed Tank, she watched as they all filed into the bunk house and closed the door.

Her heart went out to them, they all looked bone weary and a little bit disheartened. The man she was most particularly worried about was one of the last to wearily climb the wooden steps and disappear through the door. She had not been able to take her eyes off of him, and a part of her was disappointed that he had not seen her, even though he seemed to be scanning the area.

The urge to tuck him into bed all safe and sound came out of nowhere and surprised her with its intensity. As much as she wanted to linger and keep that thought there for a while, she had work to do, so she gently closed the back hatch and drove back to the operations building for her next assignment.

But there was nothing she could do about the train of thought that ran through her mind, or the image of Tank that she held there. Nothing she could do about the yearning she suddenly felt to be wrapped in his huge arms. She tried to scold herself for having these wild ideas, but it did no good.

. .oOo.