Disclaimer: The characters belonging to Janet Evanovich are used strictly for entertainment purposes.

A/N: I'm just barely making it before midnight on Saturday morning. I know! I'm so sorry. I've been having issues with this chapter and it's finally ready for you. I want to thank Rach for going above and beyond the call of duty tonight and helping me resolve issues I didn't know I had. What a long night! I'll have to reward you guys with an extra chapter this week for putting up with me being so late!

…

FromChapter12:

Ranger snapped his fingers, then opened his hand and held it out to Tank, palm up.

Tank slid the package into Ranger's hand and gulped audibly. My whole body began to shake. Something told me I did not want Ranger to see those photos of me, but I was powerless to stop him.

…

Chapter 13

Tank turned to leave and Ranger said, "Stay." Tank glanced at me and then sank into his chair, staring at the envelope in Ranger's hands. I didn't know whether to be grateful that Ranger had left me an ally in the room — not that he was my enemy right now, but things were so strained and the pictures made me nervous — or upset that he didn't want to be alone with me. Ranger pulled out the photos and flipped through each of them in silence. The rage I saw steadily building in his eyes spoke volumes. When he finished the stack, he fixed a dark look on Tank.

Tank closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to look at either of us. The enormity of what the pictures showed weighed so heavily on my shoulders I nearly buckled under it. A small tick started in my left eye and I blinked several times to hide it. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what trouble did I get myself into while I was living as someone else?

The muscle in Ranger's jaw worked furiously as he looked through the photos again, this time more slowly. As each new photo was revealed, he stared at it and then moved it to the back of the stack until he'd gone through them twice more.

With each pass of the photos, his expression grew darker and darker, but his eyes grew deader and deader. He gripped the stack in his hand for a moment, slowly breathing in and out, and then slid them back into the envelope. He gave the envelope to Tank and walked toward the door. He didn't flick so much as a glance at me, just merely said to Tank, "I'm going for a walk. Show her the pictures. I'll deal with this when I get back."

"Ranger," I said, my voice a strangled whisper.

He gave a slight shake of his head and continued out the door. Fuck. His obvious rejection had a stunning effect on my ability to breathe right then. The pain started low in my gut and moved its way up to my shoulders, hindering my thoughts and immobilizing my lungs. At that moment, I didn't care what was in the pictures, I wanted to take a baseball bat to whoever had kidnapped me and forced me into a life I didn't want to remember. Whoever it was had caused all of this hurt and screwed up everything.

I rubbed my chest as if I could soothe the spot that hurt. A small fissure had begun in my heart the second Ranger left and I felt myself bleed from it. The pictures had affected his trust in me. I looked at Tank and said in a dead voice, "Well? He left, Tank. The day can't get much worse, so why don't you show me the damn pictures now."

Tank sighed and handed the envelope to me. "I'm really sorry about this."

With shaking fingers, I opened the envelope and drew out the photos. The first picture showed me at an outdoor market, the same market from one of the other pictures. I was wearing khakis and a white long-sleeved blouse with an empire cut waist. I had gained weight and wrinkled my nose at seeing a picture of a pudgy me. In the next picture, I saw the reason I looked chunkier. "Oh my God!" I shouted, dropping the pictures onto the table and pressing my hands to my smooth, flat stomach.

I grabbed the stack and tore through the pictures again; each revealed me in various stages of pregnancy. I stared at the last photo for a long time. April 12, 2011. I was leaving a hospital in a wheelchair, a nurse with a pleasant expression pushing the chair. In my arms was a baby wrapped expertly in a blanket. The baby wasn't as much of a surprise as my expression: awe, happiness, love. I'd been happy to have that baby. Now I knew the universe had tipped onto its axis because merely the thought of having a baby gave me hives, let alone actually having one. I was certain my current expression didn't mirror the one in the photograph.

Pictures back on the table and arms wrapped around my middle, I made a strangled noise and began to pace back and forth in front of the front door. "I had a baby?" My voice was barely more than a squeak. This could not be real. Explanations raced through my mind: the pictures were doctored, it was a doll, I'd been wearing a prosthetic belly. All very reasonable answers. I certainly didn't feel like I'd had a baby.

When I'd looked through the pictures, Tank had lowered his head slowly, inch by inch, until his chin was nearly resting on his chest. At my question, he raised his head and looked at me, his expression unsure. "It looks that way, Sweetness."

Horror filled every cell in my body and I fell forward in shock, hands out to steady myself on the table, but it seemed to move away from me the more I reached for it. The last thing I heard before I blacked out was Tank shouting my name.

…

I heard a car door slam and my heart thudded in my chest. I quickly put the bowl I was washing back into the sudsy water. He was here. He didn't like it when I wasn't there to greet him and I needed to get out there fast. The last thing I wanted was his anger. Yesterday's run-in with the mirror was bad enough and the cuts on my front still stung when I moved.

Quickly drying my hands on the towel, I darted out of the kitchen down the hall to the living room and made it barely a second before he walked in. I forced myself to breathe slowly through my nose and planted a smile on my face and he came over to stand in front of me. I hoped he didn't notice my cheeks were flushed. "How are you today, Camila?"

"I'm well, Adriano. May I interest you in a beverage?"

"Espresso. Make it the way I like it this time," he said with a cold smile.

"Yes, Adriano." That smile left no room for mistakes. He wanted perfection. I'd have to calm down my hands and concentrate even if I didn't believe for one moment that my actual expertise played a part in whether or not he was happy with me.

I went to the fridge and pulled out a fresh bottle of purified water and got a had a flash of déjà vu; except it was another refrigerator, loaded with bottles of water on the bottom shelf. Somehow, just seeing the fridge, I knew the contents, though all the drawers were closed: fruit, vegetables, lettuce, and lean deli meats, light cheeses, plain yogurt, a jar of peanut butter, a chocolate bar, and two cans of Coke. Instead of a narrow fridge shoved between two cabinets, this one was huge, stainless steel in a modern kitchen with black granite countertops, cherry wood cabinets, charcoal gray slate floor, and a matching island leading into a modern chrome and glass dining room.

Where had that come from? I shook my head and turned back to the espresso machine. I had to concentrate and do everything just right. Drawing in a deep breath, I began the process and completed the job with steady hands and determination. When it was finished, I poured the freshly brewed espresso into a small cup with a matching saucer, careful not to spill any, and carried it out to Adriano. I tried not to feel as if I were awaiting a death sentence, but it was hard not to feel that way.

He gave me the frigid smile again and took a sample sip. He lowered the cup and nodded once. "Perfect. Surprising given yesterday's performance."

"Thank you, Adriano. Yesterday certainly wasn't ideal." He said nothing and I waited patiently until he finished his espresso and then took his cup and saucer from him.

"Is there anything you wanted today, Camila?" He asked, adjusting his jacket, getting ready to leave. I was surprised. The man had never asked me if I 'wanted' anything even back when we were on good terms. I was also suspicious, but didn't dare lie.

"Yes, please, Adriano. I've done everything you asked today and you've been pleased. Would it be ... may I see him?" I asked.

He studied me for a moment and then he nodded. "Come, I will take you to him."

I smiled my gratitude. "Let me just take these to the kitchen." I indicated to the cup and saucer in my hands. I hurried to set them in the sink and returned to the living room to follow him out to his car. "Thank you, Adriano."

"It is my pleasure," he said, and for the brief moment in time, I think he meant it.

Five minutes later, we pulled into a long driveway. The house ahead was a single story with tall front windows and a wooden front door with a rounded top. It was quaint and beautiful. This was my son's home now, his prison away from my prison. Adriano had removed him from our home two days ago. It was my ultimate punishment for spending the night before in Luca's arms. The first and last I would ever have with the man I hadn't meant to fall in love with. I should have known Adriano would have me followed. He promised to kill Luca if I ever made contact again, and taking away my son would be the daily heartbreak he'd use to keep me in line.

Exuding patience, I waited in the car while Adriano pulled the perfect gentleman routine and opened my car door. I exited the car and put my hand through the crook in his arm. He led me up a cobblestone path and into the house. It was decorated in Italian Old World style with aged stone, rugs, handcrafted wooden and iron furniture with plush cushions and upholstery, handmade candles, and ornate decorations in iron, wood, and glass. My interest in this house didn't lie with the furnishings, I had only one purpose for being here.

After closing the door, he said, "Go. Down the hall, last door on the left. He's in the nursery. I will collect you when it is time to go."

"Thank you, Adriano." I gave him a perfunctory kiss on the mouth, and then walked back to the nursery with careful, unhurried steps. The urge to grab my son and run away with him was so strong that I dug my fingernails into my palms to stay focused. There was nowhere I could run and keep us safe.

His nanny, Maria, was holding him when I arrived. She looked at me and I thought I saw pity in her eyes. Until yesterday, we'd been a family of sorts. She'd cared for Carlo in my home, we'd talked and shared stories over cups of coffee. Now, we weren't allowed to see each other and we were deathly afraid to speak at all. I craved a friend, but it wasn't a realistic wish for me to have at this point in my life. "Hello, Camila. Here is your precious boy."

She stood and lowered him from her shoulder to cradle him in her arms. I walked over and took my son, bending to accommodate our differences in height. He was young, but so handsome already at nearly two months old. He had bright blue eyes and silky dark brown hair that was straight and neatly combed forward on his fragile scalp. My eyes and his father's hair.

Except his father, Teo, had curly brown hair, so where had that thought come from?

My heart ached when I thought of how unfair life was. Teo dying in the plane crash after we'd been engaged less than a month, before either of us even knew I was pregnant. The tumor erasing some of my memories of him, the first man I ever loved. The crucial misconception that marrying Adriano, a man I didn't love, would be better than raising a child without a father.

I sat in the rocking chair with him and stroked my fingertip over his cheek. Maria handed me a bottle and I fed him, listening to the sounds of his little gulps and watching his eyes droop lower and lower with each pull on the nipple. I kissed his smooth forehead and placed his tiny hand over my nose. His fingers closed around it and I kissed his wrist. How I loved this little boy.

This was the best time I'd had the whole week. Anytime I spent with Carlo was joy to me. Today it was bittersweet. Still a joyful experience, but heartbreaking because I knew I'd have to leave. He was everything to me and Adriano had taken him away and, too soon, I saw Adriano's lean body in the door frame. "It is time to tell Giancarlo good bye, Camila. You will see him again." I hated myself for doing it, but my heart clung to his promise in desperation only a mother would understand.

I was supposed to keep it together and not cry. I was supposed to maintain a neutral expression at all times because Adriano could not handle any show of emotion. But as soon as I handed my baby to Maria, my world crumbled. Someone else was to raise my child while I only got short, infrequent visits. It was more than my wounded spirit and battered pride could handle. There, in front of Adriano at the doorway, I broke down and wept.

In a flash, Adriano struck my cheek, sending me reeling. I reached out and caught the bookcase to steady myself so I wouldn't topple over. It was the first time he'd truly hit me and I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. "Shut up," he said through his teeth and then he grabbed my upper arm and yanked me out of the room, out of the house, and back to his car. He didn't need to say a word, I already knew I'd broken one of his rules and there would be punishment for it. I only prayed it wouldn't be worse than yesterday.

When we got to the house, he calmly told me to get out and go to the bedroom. I did, as quickly as possible. It was a while before I heard the front door shut and I wondered what had taken him so long. Was he dragging out the torture, making me wait, to see when he'd come in, to worry? It was working.

"Camila," he said as he entered the bedroom. "I watch you with that thing and it makes me sick. That child, a bastard…he was supposed to be mine!" He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, getting in my face as said, "Do you know how embarrassed I am that you did not put my name on his birth certificate? Hmm?"

Against the pressure of his hand, I shook my head 'no'.

He released me and stepped back. He walked slowly back and forth at the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and then the cuffs of his sleeves. "No, you don't know. Because you just put a dead man's name on it, without asking me how I felt about it. I married you to give him my damned name, Camila! So that we could be a family! And you spit on my love for you."

I stood my ground when he advanced on me and willed myself not to flinch when he lifted his hand to caress my cheek, then he grabbed my jaw and looked hard into my eyes. "I don't know why you are not pregnant with my child, yet, but you will be. After today." He leaned down and bit the top of my shoulder. I clenched my teeth against the pain and he raised his head, dark eyes narrowed. "If you are pregnant with Luca's bastard, Camila, I will kill you."

…

My eyes opened and met Tank's worried glance. My first realization was that I'd passed out and had another dream again. The second was that I knew I'd had a dream and didn't seem to be confused about who I was. Both good things, right?

I pushed myself up and Tank helped me into a chair. My next thought was of Carlo. My son. But who was his father? Born in April, he had to be Ranger's, right? Immediately, I started counting out the months in my head, ignoring the questions Tank fired at me, and batting away Walker's hands as he tried to look me over. I wanted to figure it all out before I got too distracted.

Tank spoke to Walker and Walker left the hotel room. I didn't have long before Ranger would be back, so I closed my eyes and calculated everything in my head. I'd gone missing in September, about two months after Ranger and I started dating. Our first date was only a couple of weeks after Morelli and I had broken up. Two weeks wasn't a huge window and I felt a little panicky.

"Shit!" I needed some air. I stood and charged toward the door and out of the suite into the hallway. I heard Tank yell for me, but I didn't stop. I tore down the stairs and out of the hotel, running for all I was worth, and bolted down the sidewalk, not seeing, not hearing, but trying to stop feeling.

Despite the fact that my raw skin ached and burned, I ran down several streets, turning this way and that, feeling the wind in my hair and suddenly glad for the loose clothing Lester had brought me this morning. I settled into a quick pace and ended up running down a long, straight road with multiple lanes of traffic. When I saw the Arc de Triomphe ahead, I remembered the street was called the Champs-Elysées. I'd seen pictures of this very scene before. I'd always wanted to visit Paris. How ironic.

Onward I ran, past the Arc, and down another side street. I slowed when my muscles tightened and began to cramp. I bent at the waist, braced my hands on my knees, and gulped air. The horror of what I'd done suddenly hit me somewhere around the middle of my forehead. Shit. Damn.

I'd run. Run away from Tank, and essentially from Ranger. I looked around. Here I was in Paris, with lots of people walking by me, some giving me strange looks, overheated in my long pants and long-sleeved shirt, and alone. Again. This time, I was smart enough to fear being alone. I'd been passing out, having strange dreams, and waking up not knowing myself. What a brilliant idea to take off for a run. Especially when the men I ran from were still recovering from my latest disappearance.

What had I done?

Overwhelmed, I sat on a bench and hot tears streamed down my face. I'm normally a private crier because if I really cry, it's ugly and violent. No one needs to see that. Ever. But here on a park bench not one-hundred yards from a famous Parisian landmark, I lost it and was having the ugly cry of the century. Heart-wrenching, gut-twisting sobs tore through my throat. I bent over my legs, arms wrapped around my calves, face pressed between my knees, and cried my heart out.

Guilt, anger, pain, confusion all melded into one big tight ball in my chest and I had no idea how to deal with any of them. Guilt made me eat. Anger made me hit. Pain made me lash out verbally. Confusion made me think harder. Together? Really, really big cry. I felt like a soap opera queen and even that thought couldn't stop me. Just great.

Someone sat beside me on the bench and I tensed. I tried to douse my cries, but ended up making a strange gagging, snorting noise that embarrassed me more than the crying had. All I needed to do was get to the hiccup-belch stage and my humiliation would be complete.

A gentle touch to my arm, a nudge, really, had me peeking over. I couldn't see anything through my tears, except a white blur close to my face. A tissue. Thank God. My yoga pants were soaked with tears and snot and whatever else had come out from me during the jag. Maybe blood from my bleeding heart? Who knew?

I nodded my thanks and began mopping up my face, sniffling heavily, shoulders getting into it. God, I was going to have a stuffed head after this. I hated crying worse than anything and the aftereffects really sucked.

The person, a man, nudged another tissue toward me. He was dressed in black. French Merry Man? It wasn't Ranger, no Bvlgari. And I wouldn't need it to identify him anyway, because his energy signature alone was enough to send every neuron in my body into a new dimension.

I accepted the tissue and blew my nose, then another and another, until I was practically snot free and the only moisture on my face were the few new tears that dribbled down from my no doubt red-rimmed eyes.

"Thank you," I said, finally able to see well enough to look at the person. Lester. I sagged against the back of the bench and shook my head, in relief and annoyance at the predictability. Of course someone followed me. "I'm glad you're here," I surprised myself by admitting to him.

It was a surprise to him, too. He raised a brow and handed me a fresh tissue. "Running wasn't a great idea, Blue."

Shaking my head, I managed a small laugh. "I know. Believe it or not, I just reacted. I needed air. Then I realized what I'd done and, well, you saw my reaction to that." Okay, so I hadn't been crying just about that, but it was too complicated to explain just now.

He looked at the street in silence, body rigid, jaw tight. "You can't do that shit, Stephanie."

If he'd dumped piles of burning coals on my head, I couldn't have felt worse. "I know, Les. It was just a shock. Trust me, you can't know how finding out something like that feels to a woman. Men, it happens to all the time, but they don't go through it, experience it, and then forget it. I can't imagine how I couldn't have known."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head turn slowly toward me. "What? Going missing and waking up to find out you missed a huge chunk of time? I don't think blacking out from a rough night with the guys is really comparable to this…"

It was my turn to slowly turn my head toward him. "Um, Tank didn't fill you in?"

He shrugged. "Didn't have time to chat with Tank. I was climbing out of a cab when I saw you bolt out of the hotel at mock speed. You ran so fast Tank couldn't catch you, he was a good thirty seconds behind. Damn, you can really run."

I shrugged. "Guess I have a new escape for when my world falls apart."

"Okay." His tone said 'I'm waiting' and the telltale twitch in his legs emphasized impatience. "And you were running from Tank because…"

"Lester. I had a baby. In April."

"Bullshit."

I shook my head. "No. A baby. A boy."

"Shut the fuck up!" He stood and took several steps down the sidewalk and then returned, plopped onto the bench, and stared at me with wide, disbelieving eyes.

I held up my hands in a defensive gesture. "Don't look at me. I didn't know until Tank showed me the pictures just … before I left."

His eyes traveled down to my breasts and then my stomach, then back up to my face. "I knew something was different, but it's been so long since I've seen you, who stops to analyze?"

"Shut the fuck up!" I mimicked him. "Where do you get off telling me my body looks different?"

Lester smirked. "Who are you talking to? I'd know if the sweet ass on the grocery store clerk where I buy my food changed in a heartbeat. I have a mental visual of every woman I've ever seen. And you, Blue Eyes, have changed. It's slight, but it's there."

I sent him a disgusted look. "You're still a pig."

"You still love me."

"Yeah."

"Is it Ranger's or Morelli's baby?"

God, I hated that I couldn't give him an answer. I closed my eyes and pictured my son, Giancarlo, really saw him. And then I remembered. There was no way he wasn't Ranger's son. After Joe and I broke up, I'd gotten an IUD inserted. In order to qualify for it, I couldn't be pregnant, so my doctor had done a pregnancy test. It was negative. Ranger was the only possible father for my baby.

"He's Ranger's"

"How do you know? Nine months back is July."

"Because I had a pregnancy test after Morelli and it was negative, okay?"

"Glad to hear it."

I looked at Lester, watching as he studied the street and the pedestrians around us. He was in full work mode, my bodyguard. My friend. He had been Ranger's friend before this all happened.

"Les?"

"Yeah," he answered without looking away from our surroundings.

"What's up with you and Ranger?"

He flicked his eyes at me and then back to the street. "Not important."

"It is."

"Not."

"It is to me."

He huffed out a breath and pursed his lips and I knew he'd tell me.

"He won't be happy with me for telling you this," Lester said. His voice was quiet, somber.

I thought about it. If Lester told me something horrible, would I be able to keep my mouth shut about it? I didn't want to make their relationship worse. Then again, I didn't know where they stood so how could I avoid making it worse without knowing? "Tell me."

"For you to understand, you need to know a little history." He turned to the side and rested his arm along the back of the bench. "Ranger is two years older than me. We grew up in the same neighborhood. I followed his footsteps and joined the gang he was in when I was thirteen. He wasn't happy about it, but what could he say? He's always been the 'do what I say, not what I do' kind of guy. Still, we've always had each other's backs."

His tone was neutral, but I sensed the hurt that hovered just beneath the surface. It had been bad and he still hadn't forgiven Ranger. It made me sad to think Ranger had gotten to a place where he could hurt Lester so deeply … and that they hadn't resolved it.

"I dated his cousin, Rita, for four years, starting when we were both sixteen. They were close and Ranger was pissed. He worried that she'd get hurt. Well, she got pregnant when we were nineteen. Had a little girl. Total daddy's girl. Stopped crying whenever I spoke to her."

"Les…" I had to stop him. This was hard for him, I could tell.

He shook his head. "No, it's time you knew some things, Blue." His fingers began tapping the back of the bench, the only indication of his agitation. "Rita didn't like me being in the gang and she meant more to me, so I quit. They killed her. We were twenty. She was on the way home from her mother's house. They ran her off the road. She had Sofia with her." He stood and stared, unseeingly, at the Arc de Triomphe. "My little girl was three months old. Rita and I were engaged."

"Shit," I whispered.

Lester shrugged. "Hey, we were young. We'd probably be divorced by now. Statistics, right?" I didn't say anything and he sat back down on the edge of the bench. "When the evidence came back proving that body was you, Ranger lost it. I've never seen him like that. Went to see him one night, thought I'd try to talk to him. I lost Rita, I knew how he felt."

"But he didn't want to hear it?"

"I couldn't find him at first. On a hunch I went to your apartment. Found him kicking the hell out of the place. He'd destroyed everything that could be destroyed. Good thing Rex was long gone or he'd have been homeless."

Rex. He'd given up the ghost about six months before my breakup with Morelli. I'd been upset, but he'd had a long hamster life and he hadn't suffered. At least he hadn't been murdered or eaten by a cat.

Lester bent forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I had to restrain him. Told him I understood. He told me I didn't. Then he blamed me for Rita's death, that if I'd left her alone like he said…" He drew in a slow breath and said, "Blamed himself for yours. Looking back, I don't think he knew what he was saying, but it cut deep."

"I'm sure it did." I watched him clench and unclench his jaw for several minutes and then said, "You're waiting for him to apologize."

"I don't know what I want. Maybe him to acknowledge he was out of line. I couldn't stop myself from loving Rita, same way he couldn't keep from loving you. Sometimes love isn't a choice. Sometimes it's just too powerful to ignore." He shrugged and got to his feet. "Come on, let's get you back. Ranger's probably threatening to rip Tank a new asshole."

"Or already in the process," I said.

Lester and I jogged back to the hotel together. I was disturbed to find out I enjoyed the run. My life was so screwed up.

Just when we rounded the corner of the hotel, two strong hands grabbed my shoulders from behind. I yelped and Lester stopped, turned around, and then froze.

I knew that meant only one thing. Ranger.