Ranger and I met Lester and Hal in the lobby at 4:36 AM. Lester looked like he wanted to say something about our late arrival, but he knew better than to say a word. I winked at him, and he cracked a half smile that Ranger either didn't see or didn't acknowledge. Hal looked half asleep. Evidently the Halosarus wasn't a morning dinosaur.

Ranger distributed ear buds to each of us, and we checked our gear before bugging out. I was dressed in Rangeman black, including cargo pants, black long sleeved stretchy v-neck t-shirt with 'Rangeman' pocket-style logo, black CAT boots, and a black Rangeman windbreaker. My untamed curly hair was pulled unceremoniously into a ponytail since my critical hair time had been interrupted by more enjoyable activities this morning. I was wearing a black leather belt with a concealed carry holster attached. I also had clipped pepper spray, a flashlight, handcuffs, flexi cuffs, and my cell phone to the belt. I looked like mini-Ranger, except I had accessorized my gear with a disposable coffee cup & muffin courtesy of Maria and a 'just got boffed' smirk courtesy of Batman himself.

We walked on foot several blocks to Centennial Park where event organizers and volunteers were setting up tables, barricades, refreshment stands, gear check table, and other various stations for the runners and supporters who would begin arriving soon. I saw other Rangeman teams on site coordinating efforts for security. I recognized some of the men, but others were unfamiliar. Some were assisting with the set-up of equipment, and others were completing random bag checks. Another team was checking bags at the gear check table.

"It will be about an hour before we can expect heavy activity," Ranger said. "Keep your eyes open for suspicious individuals or happenings. If something is going to go down today, this is the logical location. Lester and Hal, stick together. Stephanie will stay with me. Relay any suspicious activity through your ear bud. You may occasionally be asked to monitor potentially suspicious activity observed initially by video surveillance. Ximena's team has been monitoring video feeds through the night, and they'll report items for follow up to us. Questions?"

Hal, Lester, and I shook our heads no, and we parted ways.

An hour passed and by 6:40 AM, Centennial Park was beginning to buzz with activity. Runners and their families were arriving by car, on foot, and on the public transit called MARTA. I scanned the crowd for suspicious activities like Ranger had coached, but it felt like an impossible task. Over ten thousand runners had signed up for today's activities, and that number didn't begin to quantify all the friends, families, and community supporters present too. The morning was cool in Atlanta, and people were dressed in heavy layers of loose fitting clothing. Many people carried backpacks, and gear was left strung about carelessly by amped up runners ready to hit the road route. Not only was the flurry of activity impossible to navigate, I was bored out of my mind by the tedium of people-watching.

"Babe," said Ranger, placing his hand on the small of my back. "Your heavy sighing isn't going to make this happen any faster. You've only been here an hour. We're here until at least four."

I rolled my eyes so hard I think I saw my brain. "Excuse me? I didn't say a word."

"You didn't have to, Babe. May I remind you that you're the one who volunteered for this activity?"

I sighed audibly again. "I had no idea this would be such a mess. There is so much gear littering the park it would be impossible to find a potential threat. So many people are roaming the streets who could easily hide a gun under their clothes. It's got me on edge even if I am bored," I admitted.

"You're right. It's not an ideal situation," Ranger admitted. "Eric, the head of Rangeman Atlanta, tried to encourage race organizers to ban bags and backpacks from the event, but they didn't feel it was necessary. Many runners come with extra clothes and food, and a backpack enables them to check it in at the gear table," he said, pointing across the park to the gear check station. "Homeland security wanted to bring in x-ray scanners and set up stronger security checkpoints, but this location is a logistical nightmare. The race organizers refused to move the race. We're doing the best we can, babe. Keep your eyes open."

Runners were beginning to congregate at the starting line for the 7:00 AM marathon and half marathon start. Onlookers had lined the running route as far as I could see, and they had filtered into aluminum bleachers. The sea of people was thickening, and I was having a hard time sticking to Ranger in the heavy traffic.

"You stay here," Ranger directed, pointing to a spot three feet from the starting line. "I'm going to cross to the other side so we've got eyes on both sides of the lineup. If you need me, use the earbud. It will take about twenty minutes for the flights of runners to get out of here, then we'll regroup before the 5k and 10k groups depart. Notify everyone immediately if you see anything out of the ordinary."

He grabbed the front of my shirt, pulled me to him, and planted a kiss on my lips that traveled all the way to my doodah. In an instant, he was gone, the crowd swallowing him up.

I felt considerably more uneasy without Ranger by my side, but thought it best to forge ahead. I tried giving myself a pep talk.

You're a professional, Stephanie. You've been taking down bad guys for years. What's a friggin' security detail, anyway? Standing around, looking important wearing black. Pfft. You got this. You've helped Ranger countless times before. You're a Rangeman… sort of.

I put my hands on my hips and straightened my back in an effort to look taller and tougher. I continued watching the crowd, feeling claustrophobic smashed in the sea of bodies.

An announcement was made that the gun would officially start the race in two minutes, and the runners stood at the ready, doing fast shoe lace checks and slamming down last minute paper cups of water.

Something caught my attention to my right, so I turned to look. A small statured, thin man wearing tiny running shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt had Mr. Happy in his hand, and he was taking a leak on the concrete next to me. The urine was pooling around my feet. I felt a spark of fury ignite in my chest, and I could feel the angry Italian part of my heritage take hold.

"What in the hell are you doing?" I shrieked, waving my finger in his face.

He finished, tucked Mr. Happy back into his running shorts, and shrugged apologetically.

"Twenty six miles is a long run, lady. You try holding it that long!"

"Port-a-potties!" I shouted at him. "For Christ's sake, use the facilities!"

"Facilities are reserved for ladies, and sometimes for men who have to take a dump. It's marathon runners' courtesy. Besides, I've got a great spot up front here to start the race," he said before turning and walking away, the crowd sucking him in so he disappeared from view.

I heard Ranger in my earbud.

"Babe."

At least he sounded amused.

"He's mine," I announced to anyone who was listening on their earbuds.

I let out an exasperated sigh. I pulled a pair of flexicuffs from my belt and took off after the guy to detain him for indecent exposure. I was security. I could do that, right?

I took two steps into the crowd before an explosion rocked the park, knocking me and others around me onto their asses.

My head made contact with the concrete and searing pain raced through my head. My ears were ringing and my brain was foggy, panic curling low in my belly. I fought to get to my feet, as did others around me. Someone stepped on my hand as I pushed myself up, and I clutched it to my chest, pain shooting through it. I still couldn't hear, but the looks on people's faces were sheer terror. People were scattering in every direction from starting line.

I stood frozen in place, unsure where to go or how to proceed. Then one solitary, overwhelming thought hit me like a ton of bricks.

Ranger. I had to find Ranger. The explosion came from the direction Ranger had traveled. Fear pooled in my chest.

In my job as a bounty hunter, I've too many terrifying encounters. I've found that channeling blinding terror into something more constructive is necessary to survive situations like this. I took a deep breath, shook my head to try to clear the fog, and pushed against the stampeding crowd. I had to find Ranger.

The roaring in my ears was beginning to die down, and I could hear cries and shrieks of terror from the thinning crowd around me. I could see dozens of bodies on the ground ten yards from me, litter strewn about from destroyed barricades and signs. Some good Samaritan runners were trying to provide aid for the injured in the street, but first responders had not yet arrived on the scene. I saw a few guys I recognized as Feds shouting into radios. It had been less than sixty seconds since the blast, but it felt like an eternity. I didn't see any Rangemen.

I remembered the ear bud in my ear and ripped it out, holding it to my mouth. I couldn't hear a thing being transmitted through the device, but I hoped the control room could hear me.

"This is Stephanie," I shouted at the device. "Bomb at the starting line. I'm fine, but I can't get eyes on Ranger. I can't get eyes on Lester or Hal either, but I don't think they were in the area. I'm experiencing some hearing loss from the blast. I'm going in to find Ranger."

I shoved the device back into my ear, praying my hearing would improve sooner rather than later. I raced across the macadam, moving around injured runners. I tried not to see their faces and the fear. I tried to block out the blood. I didn't have time to be sick. I had to find my partner. I was responsible for his safety, just as he was responsible for mine.

I glanced around frantically until my eyes landed on a figure clad in all black on the ground ten feet past the starting line. My heart skidded to a stop. I ran flat out towards the figure, tripping over a metal barricade that had been shredded and bent. I fell to my hands and knees. A foot was on the ground next to me, no body attached.

I fought back the bile in my throat. I pulled myself back to my feet and ran around the bodies in the street to the black-clad, face down figure on the ground. It was Ranger.

I ripped the ear bud out of my ear again and shouted into it. "Man down. Ranger is ten feet from the starting line. I need help now!"

I shoved the ear bud back into my ear and tried to get a handle on what I was seeing.

Ranger was laying on the ground face down, unconscious. A significant amount of blood was pooling below his lower body, and the lower portion of his left leg was bent in an unnatural way. I was afraid to move him, but I had to figure out where the blood was coming from. There was too much blood.

It took all of my strength to roll Ranger onto his back. I was quickly able to see where the blood was coming from. A large piece of metal was embedded in his upper leg, and he was bleeding heavily. Several smaller pieces were embedded in his legs, arms, and torso. I had to get the bleeding from his leg to stop, but I had no idea how. I did a quick assessment of the tools I had on my person and realized I could use my belt.

I pulled the cell phone, pepper spray, cuffs, and other tools off my belt, ripping it from the loops on my pants. I fed the leather end of the belt under Ranger's left leg just below his pelvis, and I pulled it through the buckle, yanking it as tight as I could to reduce blood flow. I held the belt tight with my right arm and reached to check for a pulse on his neck with my left hand. The pulse was there but weak.

"Ranger, stay with me," I said in a demanding tone, willing him to listen in his unconscious state. "I can't lose you."

I ripped the ear bud from my ear and shouted into it. "He's losing too much blood. Get someone here now!" I let the ear bud drop to the ground, and I two-handed the belt, praying for a miracle.

I was born and raised a good Catholic girl from the Burg, but now days, I mostly hit church on holidays. On my knees on the concrete with Ranger though, I made at least fifty promises to God. I'd go to church every Sunday. I'd stop swearing. I'd quit sleeping with two men out of wedlock. I'd put money in the collection plate in church. I told God I'd do almost anything if he would protect Ranger and pull us safely from this mess.

It seemed as though I'd been on the ground for an hour when I caught sight of Ximena and Hector sprinting to us, but it couldn't have been more than five minutes. They were running down the street that was littered with injured bodies, emergency personnel finally arriving to help them.

Ximena reached me and fell to her knees. "Carlos?" I heard her beg, lightly slapping his face in an effort to rouse him. She checked his pulse, then pulled his eyelids back to check his pupils. She did a quick body assessment before checking my makeshift tourniquet.

"We're going to have to move him," she shouted at me. "Hector, get him under the arms. I'll haul his legs. Stephanie, keep your belt as tight as you can. Ambulances are starting to line up one block west of here. Let's move!"

We began to lift Ranger when another blast rocked the park. The blast knocked us all to our knees. I held the belt tight and covered Ranger's body with my own. I felt a shower of small debris filter down onto us.

I felt a hand touch my shoulder, and I turned to face Ximena.

I couldn't hear what she said, but I could read her lips. "Move!"

Hector, Ximena and I stood, lifting Ranger's large, muscular frame. We moved carefully and quickly through the street, down the block. I could see the strobes from ambulances, and emergency personnel were running into the park. Ximena flagged down an EMT who had just angled out from the passenger door of an ambulance.

"This man needs to be transported now!" she shouted at the man. "Shrapnel injury to the leg. He's bleeding from his femoral artery. He's lost a considerable amount of blood. Possible head injury, pupils are unequal in size."

The man raced to the back door of the ambulance and wrenched open the door. Hector, Ximena, and I lifted Ranger into the back of the ambulance and onto a stretcher. The ambulance tech strapped him down.

"Stay with him, and hold that tight," Ximena said, gesturing to the belt. "I need to go back. People need help."

Ximena jumped from the back of the ambulance, and Hector followed.

"Be careful!" I shouted as the back doors to the ambulance were slammed closed and the ambulance sped into the street.