Ranger
The gorgeous brunette with enticing blue eyes removed my pants. Michelle didn't bat an eye after she noticed I wasn't wearing boxers or briefs. Her face turned an adorable shade of pink. It was easier and quicker to dress when you didn't consider underwear. Every second saved was a second available to survive. It was my motto during a mission. You never knew how much time you needed to escape.
Michelle helped me with the shorts. I clenched my jaw as she reset my broken leg. It wasn't too far from alignment, which, thankfully, only required a moderate adjustment. She sweetly smiled as she attached the wooden spoons to my leg. I found her amusing.
I sniffed her hair as she kissed my forehead. Her grimace indicated I was too hot to the touch. "Sweetie, you're running a fever. I have Tylenol for you to take. Should I get them?" she quietly asked. I wondered if she had a child. Her actions indicated it was more than probable.
She left the room to grab the pills. Michelle helped me sit up enough to take the Tylenol and drink water. I noticed she quickly checked the mark she had drawn on my stomach. She mumbled that the bruise hadn't expanded. Michelle exhaled, then said, "I'll be back in twenty minutes."
"Thanks, Babe," I replied. She reiterated her promise to return within twenty minutes before locking the door behind her.
I glanced around the living room when Michelle left. A picture frame containing a photograph of a young boy sat on the end table. I shifted to look at the image. There was no doubt in my mind - the boy belonged to Michelle. The child mostly resembled his mother in all ways. His eyebrows and eye shape reminded me of the arrogant cop in Trenton, New Jersey. He claimed to be married, but he didn't have any children. His wife had gone to help her sister in California. I knew it wasn't the truth, but I couldn't figure out how I knew it was the truth. My caregiver's name was Michelle, not Stephanie. I must have hit my head harder than I thought because I couldn't readily recall the details.
Snippets of my memories floated to the surface as I closed my eyes to picture the man. I remembered the arrogant cop's name was Joseph Morelli. My men caught Morelli in compromising positions on Stark Street. His wife could have tolerated his cheating ways like other women in Trenton. However, I know they got divorced. Morelli had lied about where his ex-wife, Stephanie, went. I was trying to pull that memory forward, but it evaded me. My gut said it had something to do with General Plum. I got a headache from trying to recall the details. It would eventually come back to me. I had to be patient.
The sound of tires driving over sand filtered into the house. I placed the photograph on the end table, ensuring I put it in that exact spot it sat before I touched it. Michelle furrowed her brows when she glanced at me.
After she shoved the coffee table aside, she got me to move to the floor. My ribs burned as I pushed off the couch. Michelle apologized and took some X-rays. She placed the board beneath my leg first. I smiled when Michelle claimed to have set it correctly. Michelle apologized again as she took X-rays of my ribs. After each time, she cleared the board and reviewed the film on her computer.
Michelle helped me settle onto the couch. She used her phone to text her friend, then excused herself briefly. "Where did you get the box?" I asked. A car had briefly stopped by the house while Michelle had reviewed the imagery on her computer.
"Oh. I already told you that my friend dropped off supplies. He gave me enough groceries to last a few weeks. I'd rather not have to leave you to shop," Michelle replied. Her following words surprised me. "I noticed you touched the photograph of my son."
"How did you know?" I asked, curious how she noticed.
Michelle leaned over to pick up the thread. "I put this overtop. It fell to the table when you looked at it," she replied.
"Where is he?" I asked. She wiped the tears off her face. "You don't have to answer. I'm sorry for your loss."
"I may as well tell you. It would stop you from trying to figure it out." Michelle took a deep breath. She sat on the floor and leaned against the sofa. Her hair brushed my arm. "Three years ago today, I gave birth to this wonderful, adorable little boy. My husband and I were excited to have our son." Michelle paused to blow her nose and wipe her eyes. "I had no idea it was the first day of living hell," she whispered. I knew she never intended for me to hear that comment.
Michelle looked at the ceiling, causing her hair to tickle my arm. I gently brushed the silky locks off my arm, then pushed them to the side to see her face. "Babe?" I whispered.
"Oh. I'm sorry. I stayed home while I nursed JJ. When he was three months old, he stopped breastfeeding. I asked the doctor about it. She said it sometimes happened when the children received supplemental food. It confused me because I was nursing exclusively. I was supposed to return to work in a month and leave my son with a close friend. My son, not nursing, made weaning him unnecessarily early. I had no choice but to feed him formula. My husband refused to let me use a breast pump to relieve the pressure. He wouldn't let me bind my breasts to force my milk to dry up, either. My breasts hurt."
I knew what would happen if the mother couldn't reduce the pressure of their milk production. A crying baby would make their breasts leak. I prayed her husband didn't take her out in public until her milk dried. "Tell me," I quietly requested.
Michelle scoffed, "My husband thought it would be amusing to take me shopping. I needed new bras. We entered the mall with our son. He placed JJ in the stroller, then I pushed it around the mall. As I was selecting bras, JJ started crying. It wasn't his usual hungry cry. I swear my husband pinched JJ, but I had no proof. His cries caused my milk to release. My shirt was soaked. I never knew your milk could squirt from your breasts through a t-shirt. You see, I didn't have any bras that fit. My husband had thrown the ill-fitting ones in the trash. I had to go shopping without wearing a bra."
I was livid. Michelle's husband was an asshole. What man would degrade their wife so publicly? He may not have said anything, but it was no less damaging. I gently touched Michelle's neck. My fingers tingled from the touch. The electric charge passed through my hand, up my arm then settled in my heart. "What happened?" I asked.
"JJ cried until I got forced to give him a bottle. The women in the mall judged me for not nursing my child when I obviously produced milk to feed him. My husband raised my shirt and licked my breast in public. He spat and said, "No wonder our son refused your milk. It tastes sour." I was so embarrassed. You would think it couldn't get worse, but it did. I got charged with public indecency. My mother heard about it and never let me live it down."
"I'm sorry, Babe," I whispered.
"Why? You had nothing to do with it," she snapped. I raised my hand, causing her to flinch. The asshole hit her.
"Was that when he started hitting you?" I asked.
"No. He never hit me back then. My husband forced me to quit my job to stay home with our son. I toed the line and followed the rules. It drove me crazy. Every day was the same. I would wake up at 5 am to make breakfast and feed the baby. My husband would shower and come downstairs for breakfast by 6 am. After I packed his lunch, he left for work. I had to watch the baby and clean the house. The chores were done by noon. I would visit my mother in the afternoon to prepare dinner for my husband. I'm a lousy cook. It took until JJ's first birthday to cook supper without burning it. I was excited when it was fall. The beaches were free of sunbathers and crowds. JJ was one when I took him to the beach for the first time. Watching him toddle across the sand was amusing. He held my hand as we walked to the water's edge. JJ would squeal in delight when the water washed over his bare feet. I loved watching him laugh and smile. I miss him," she sadly said.
"What happened that year?" I asked. I suspected Michelle was getting close to the time her child passed away.
"Nothing, at first. I took JJ to the beach whenever I could get away with it. Surprisingly, my husband didn't get upset that first year. I took JJ to the beach a few weeks after his second birthday. He loved running along the water. JJ was never out of my reach. I was closest to the water, and he ran on the damp sand. My son was never in danger. However, that was not what some psycho bitch told my husband. He was waiting for us when I got home. My husband yelled at me. He claimed I let our son run in the water unattended. I smarted off. He backhanded me, splitting my lip. I was furious," she replied.
Michelle was quiet for several minutes. I heard the occasional snuffle. "Babe?" I asked when she didn't start talking. She turned around to face me. I removed the picture frame I had seen her clutching. "Please, tell me."
"It was two weeks later when it happened. I packed my bags and shoved them into the trunk of my car. JJ's clothes were in my suitcases. My husband turned into a man I didn't recognize. I couldn't live with him anymore. When I put JJ in his car seat, my husband got home. He reeked of alcohol and cheap perfume. I cried when he punched me. My husband dragged me into the house and cuffed me to the oven door. I couldn't get to my screaming child. The car tires spun on the driveway. I could hear the gravel pelt against the garage door." Michelle's voice got quiet when she said, "My cousin's husband arrived two hours later. There was an accident involving my car. The firefighter cut the door open to grab my son. They couldn't rescue him in time. My son died alone in the car."
I held Michelle as she cried. It took a while for her tears to subside. "Where was your husband?" I asked, wanting to know why he didn't grab the boy.
"He stumbled to his mother's house to sleep off the alcohol," she whispered. "At least, that's what the witness told the police."
"Your husband drove drunk and killed your son?" I asked, disgusted a man could do that to his child. Michelle nodded. "Are you still married?"
"No. I divorced my husband, then moved here to escape the constant reminders. It's enough about my life. Tell me something about you," she said.
I found myself telling her about my daughter, Julie. My story wasn't traumatic like hers. She cried when I mentioned relinquishing my rights. "Babe, don't cry. It would keep Julie safe from my enemies."
"Do you at least maintain contact with Julie?" Michelle asked.
"Whenever her mother permits. She doesn't owe me anything. My ex-wife, Rachel, promised to tell Julie about me if she asked. However, knowing me puts Julie's life in danger. I'm careful whenever I visit," I explained.
"Would you like to call her?" Michelle was curious if I would contact my daughter. I shook my head.
"It's too dangerous."
Michelle excused herself to grab a few items from the washroom. She set a bucket of hot water on the floor. "I'll be back," she whispered. Michelle leaned over to kiss my forehead. She smiled when she walked away. My fever must be gone.
I watched as Michelle soaked the washcloth, then applied soap. She gently washed my face and neck. It felt amazing. Michelle applied the perfect pressure to clean my skin. She worked her way from head to toe, washing in every nook. Michelle helped me remove the shorts to cleanse the remaining skin. Her face blushed pink as she washed my balls and penis. "Who do I thank for the shorts?" I asked, taking her mind off the task.
"My cousin, Vince. He left them behind." Michelle looked at me as fear crossed my face. "Carlos, you're safe. My cousin won't be here for at least another year. I doubt your recovery would take that long. He's on an undercover deployment with the Rangers."
Michelle misinterpreted why I was afraid. I only know one man named Vince with the Rangers special ops. Vince Rossi. He was General Plum's nephew. I hoped he wouldn't learn I was in Hawaii with his cousin.
It didn't take long to make the connection between what he knew as fact and what the arrogant cop, Morelli, claimed. All the memories flooded my mind. The truth of what happened to Stephanie Plum-Morelli was standing before me. Michelle was Stephanie Plum.
I remember hearing that General Frank Plum's daughter divorced Detective Joseph Morelli after the death of their child. She disappeared to parts unknown. Frank had hired Rangeman to search for his daughter, then called it off three months later. It was around the time Vince travelled to Hawaii on vacation. He returned looking more relaxed than I had ever seen him. Vince must have found Stephanie.
Rossi had recently asked for a one-year leave of absence from work. He got called to resume an undercover role from a mission several years earlier. It was too much of a coincidence for Vince Rossi and Stephanie not to be related. Stephanie Plum was the gorgeous woman tending to my wounds.
"You know who I am," Stephanie whispered as she gently dried my skin.
"I do. Nobody will learn your location from me," I said. I raised my hand, then gently stroked her damp cheek.
Stephanie leaned into my touch. I wondered how long it had been since she had felt a loving caress. "Carlos, I need to help you get dressed," Stephanie whispered. She reluctantly pulled away from me. Stephanie pulled the clean shorts up my legs. I groaned as I lifted my hips.
"What are you doing?" I asked when she gently moved me off the couch.
"Taking you to bed. The couch isn't comfortable. You can sleep in the guest room or my bedroom," Stephanie replied. I raised an eyebrow. "I have crutches for you or you can lean on me."
The bedroom wasn't far, so I leaned on Stephanie as we walked the short distance to her bedroom. "Where's the guest bedroom?" I asked.
Stephanie pointed down the long hallway. I was thankful she didn't make me walk that distance. She helped me climb onto her bed, then covered me with a thin sheet. "Where are you going?"
"To the other room." I was afraid my nightmares would keep her awake. "Carlos, do you want me to stay?"
"Yes."