At 8:00 P.M., Ranger and I met Hal and Lester in the garage. I was freshly showered and wearing a clean Rangeman uniform. My hair was damp, so I had yanked it back into a ponytail. I didn't bother drying my hair. I knew the Georgia humidity wouldn't be kind to my unruly curls. Why bother, right?
I was shocked to find a shiny new black Porsche Cayenne S had materialized in the garage. Ranger motioned to the vehicle, walking to the driver's door. Lester and Hal chivalrously got in back, leaving shotgun for me. I slid into the seat and sucked in the new car smell. The car was sexy, and the interior was loaded with features. I relaxed into the leather seat, and I think I might have moaned a little.
"Babe," Ranger sighed.
"What?" I asked defensively.
He grinned, put the car into drive, and drove out of the garage. "As we discussed in the briefing, the marathon will begin and end at Centennial Olympic Park in downtown Atlanta. The park is four blocks from the Rangeman office, so we'll be able to run the majority of our surveillance operation easily from the Rangeman building. The runners will pass one block from the office, and will continue for twenty six miles, ending where they began at Centennial Olympic park."
The park came into view, and I studied the layout. It was an expansive green space lined with brick walkways, trees, and various a fountains. There was a Ferris wheel on one corner of the park, and people littered the walkways and green spaces.
"The park was built for the 1996 Olympic Games, and it has remained a popular destination for tourists and locals in downtown Atlanta. The park covers twenty one acres, and it is surrounded by popular tourist destinations like the Georgia Aquarium, the World of Coke, and Atlanta's CNN Headquarters. It's usually a busy place, but it will be so busy on Saturday that it will be inaccessible by car. That is why we will be covering the area on foot," Ranger explained. "The will call and check in will be located at the Hyatt Regency Atlanta, which is several blocks from here. We will have another team stationed there, and we'll have teams in cars stationed inside and outside the circular route."
"This is a logistical nightmare, boss," Hal said, studying the map he held in his hand. I looked back at Hal and saw his massive body was wedged uncomfortably in the back of the car. He really ought to be in the front seat, I thought. "It's too much turf. It's like finding a needle in a haystack. And we don't even know if it's a credible threat. How reliable is the intel?"
Ranger turned onto Marietta Drive NW heading east and glanced in the rear view mirror at Hal. "We're working on limited information from Homeland Security and the FBI. They're trying to keep the threat under wraps. They don't want to create panic. I have a contact in Homeland Security, but we're mostly in the dark. We were contracted by the race organizers, so we're working general security for the event. Homeland Security is doing the heavy lifting, and they've been coordinating some efforts with Eric here in Atlanta. The threat may not be credible, but we will work the event like it is."
We continued driving the route, Ranger sharing information along the way. We drove through Midtown, past Georgia State University 's campus, through the Little Five Points neighborhood, and into Decatur. By the time we cruised to mile thirteen of the twenty six mile route, I was so bored I was drifting off in my seat. We had been in the car for forty minutes in Atlanta traffic, and I wasn't feeling happy. I tried pinching myself, and I tried bouncing my leg up and down to get the blood pumping. I stretched my arms and my legs. I fixed my ponytail. I checked my lip gloss.
"Babe," Ranger exclaimed.
"What?" I asked, giving him my best Burg glare.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Trying to stay awake!" I exclaimed, trying to sound exasperated. "How the hell do people run this far? I'm going out of my mind, and I'm not running—we're driving."
Ranger looked like he was thinking about smiling, so I expelled a frustrated sigh and crossed my arms over my chest.
Lester chimed in. "Maybe you should try taking up running, beautiful. You might find out you like it. Plus, you could eat more doughnuts, French fries, Tastycakes, and Clucky burgers without committing to buying new pants. And it would give you more stamina," he finished, waggling his eyebrows up and down.
Hal and I laughed out loud, but Ranger stared daggers at Lester in the rear view mirror. That look would make most people wet themselves, but Lester seemed unaffected.
We continued driving, Ranger providing information about the route. We navigated through the North Decatur, Druid Hills, and Virginia Highland neighborhoods. As we drove, I ate a Snickers bar I found in the bottom of my messenger bag.
Ranger showed us where the water stations and refueling stations (which I learned meant snack stations) would be placed along the route. He indicated where the "cheer zones" would be placed, and told us which security teams would be stationed in them.
We dropped Lester and Hal off at the Hotel Indigo a little after 9:30 pm, and Ranger drove us back to Rangeman's Atlanta office. We parked in the reserved spot in the secure, underground garage and took the elevator to Ranger's on site apartment.
"I'm going to shower," Ranger said, heading for the bedroom. "Make yourself at home."
I took Ranger's words as an invitation to snoop through the drawers and closets. You know what's in your drawers and closets in your own home, right?
I began at the front door and started working my way back towards the bedroom. The coat closet was empty except for one black Rangeman windbreaker and a small vacuum. The kitchen drawers and cupboards were mostly bare, holding essentials like plates, bowls, glasses, silverware, and cooking utensils. One cupboard held a no-stick fry pan and a saucepan. Ranger's pantry was stocked with some basic food items, including plain granola, whole wheat crackers, a small tin of caviar, two cans of tuna, a packet of smoked salmon, honey, and raisins. The refrigerator held balsamic vinaigrette salad dressing, an apple, an orange, cream cheese, a small block of smoked gouda, a bag of plain bagels, a bag of baby spinach, a small tray of prepared vegetables, and a carton of unsweetened almond milk.
I scrunched up my nose at the thought of drinking unsweetened almond milk. Where the heck was the full-fat, whole milk? Or the Tastycakes? Or the peanut butter with worthless white bread? And no olives? Beer? Wine? I was starting to regret staying in Batman's apartment. There had been a Dunkin' Doughnuts a block from Hotel Indigo.
I pulled a glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water, taking a drink before leaving it on the counter to snoop in the bedroom.
This bedroom was considerably smaller than the room he kept in Jersey. A queen sized bed filled most of the small room. It was made up in all-white, super soft sheets and covered in a white down comforter. Plate glass windows covered the wall behind the bed and on one side. Large, beige curtains were pulled to the sides, showcasing Atlanta's downtown skyline dotted with lights. The other two walls were soft white, and a variety of large, matted photographs were displayed on the walls. The photographs were outdoor shots of mountains, cotton fields, forests, a lake, and other outdoor images.
One wall had two dark wood doors. The bathroom door was closed, but the walk-in closet door was ajar. I pushed inside. The closet was much smaller than the closet in the New Jersey office, but Ranger had clothing stored here too. It was neatly folded or hung. There was a small chest with four drawers. The top drawer held socks. The next drawer held underwear—a pair of black silk boxers and two pairs of black boxer briefs. The next drawer held a pair of winter gloves, a black stocking hat, and a pair of black swim trunks. The bottom drawer was locked.
Guns, I thought.
I turned and was surprised to find my black Rangeman uniforms neatly pressed and hung alongside Ranger's. The clothes from the bag I packed at home had been unloaded and organized into two beige, fabric bins. They were neatly stacked into piles of underwear, socks, bras, and pajamas. I also had one casual outfit of jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie that was neatly folded on the shelf above my Rangeman uniforms.
I determined Ranger must have a housekeeper in Atlanta too, just like he has Ella in Jersey. Ranger wasn't domestic enough to unload my bags and hang my clothes.
I selected a pair of pink, fuzzy, fleece pajama pants with images of puppies on them and paired it with one of Ranger's black t-shirts. The pants had been a Christmas gift from Grandma Mazur last year. I wriggled out of my Rangeman uniform and dressed quickly. I yanked off my socks, leaving my feet bare, and I pulled the hair band out of my hair, letting it fluff out in every direction.
"Cute," I heard from behind me.
I jumped and put my hand to my heart. I hadn't heard Ranger come into the closet.
"Jeez Louise, you scared the crap out of me," I said. "Try announcing yourself next time."
Ranger grinned. He was naked except for the tan towel he had wrapped around his waist. Water droplets were dripping from his hair onto his shoulders, trailing down his perfectly toned chest and disappearing into the towel.
I felt my heart rate increasing, and I tried to focus on something else—anything to get my mind off the naked Cuban god standing before me. I broke eye contact with Ranger and played with the drawstrings on my fuzzy pants.
"Babe," Ranger said, sounding amused.
He closed the distance between us, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me into him. "I like the pants. But I'd like them better on the floor." His lips made contact with the skin beneath my ear, and I felt my entire body shiver as he trailed kisses down my neck and under the collar of his black shirt I was wearing. He placed his hands on my back under the shirt, and I closed my eyes at the contact, exhaling the breath I'd been holding. I could feel Ranger's excitement pressing through the towel against my stomach.
I could tell I was in trouble. My mind and my heart were in direct competition. My mind was playing the Catholic guilt game, shrieking, "You just broke it off with your long-time boyfriend. What the hell are you doing, slut?" My heart, on the other hand, was feeling like it might have been returned to its rightful spot in my body. The once cold, empty void that appeared when I told Joe goodbye was feeling significantly improved, and I could feel my body stirring against Ranger's.
Ranger held my body tight to his with his right arm, and he cupped my face with his left, raising my eyes to meet his. His eyes had dilated black, and his face looked soft and relaxed. His lips made contact with mine, and I felt electricity run from the top of my head to my toes.
I wrapped my arms around Ranger, placing my palms across his upper back and running them down his body. Ranger's tongue touched mine, and I moaned into his mouth. I skimmed my fingertips under Ranger's towel then continued to press down, loosening the towel around his waist. I placed my palms over his toned butt, cupping it and pulling him even more tightly into me.
Ranger's slow pace increased, his hands becoming more urgent and his breath picking up. He bent slightly, placing his forearm beneath my butt and lifting me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and I felt his towel slip away as he carried me into the bedroom. Our lips connected one last time before he placed me on the bed on my back. He was absolutely beautiful and flawless, with the exception of one scar on his stomach. I had once believed this was from a childhood appendectomy, but learned a few years ago the scar was from a scary encounter with a Russian agent named Vlatko. It gave me a new appreciation for the scar, and for Ranger too.
He tugged my pants and underwear off in one swift motion, leaving me in nothing but his t-shirt, which had ridden up to expose my stomach. "Beautiful," he murmured, bending for our lips to meet again. He trailed kisses down my neck, passing over the shirt to continue the trail of kisses down my stomach, across my belly button, across my pubic bone, and down to…. Oh boy.
I'd done the deed with my fair share of men. Morelli was a great lover. He was fun and warm, and I was never unsatisfied. Ranger, however, was magic.