Chapter 8: Memories

My huge thanks to Dog_in_the_Manger for her excellent beta-skills !

-o-o-

Les better not muck everything up, thought Ranger. He was looking through the tinted bullet-proof window of his office, and his mind wandered to what was happening in Miami. Once again, he considered whether he had any other options than sending Lester to Javier. It wasn't as if he could have gone himself or sent Tank. Both were too involved with the day-to day business at Haywood, not to mention operation Jellyfish, and Bobby couldn't leave for so long right now, being due in New York to train the new medic of the RangeMan branch. That only left Lester to look for Steph. And Javier. And god only knew what kind of trouble the two of them would find together. Last time had been epic, and he was quite certain both men were still banned from Minneapolis. And maybe from the entire state of Minnesota.

Standing there, looking at the people passing by on the street made him think. Going to Indianapolis had been a mistake, and he knew it. It had given the US Marshals Service his name and tied his hands. And if someone at the Service picked up an idea to poke through his file a little… Ranger was damn sure that it would raise enough red flags to get him a call from the Pentagon. Now, he had to rely on his brother and cousin to not kill each other, and on the capacity of Rangeman to bring down one of the biggest crime families on the East Coast. Why make things simple?

Ranger heard the familiar ping of an incoming email message, and turned to his wooden desk. The email commandeered all his attention as soon as he saw the name on the subject line. Enclosed, was a complete résumé of certain US Marshal. Ranger scanned the basic biographical information, the scholarships received and smirked noticing the major - who the hell minored in geology nowadays?)- but it was the single line that made Ranger frown.

1999-2001: Fort Bragg. 902nd Military Intelligence. Intelligence Analyst.

The memory came back to him in a rush. The reason the name Mann sounded familiar to Ranger. He remembered that small room, where he had been reprimanded by Major Gustavsson, and the lanky black-haired man, who'd turned his geeky nose up at a perfectly decent op and had the nerve to suggest using roosters, of all things. The craziest training operation ever orchestrated in his long military career.

Ranger grabbed the phone and pushed speed dial one. "My office. Now."

It would be a matter of seconds before Tank showed up.

-o-o-

Fort Bragg, 2001.

The music was not so loud that Carlos Manoso could not still hear the laughter of the officers drinking at the table in the back. Lifting his head, he signed to the bartender to pour another scotch, trying to block out the voices. "They are not laughing at me," he thought. "I need to stop being paranoid."

He felt somebody slide onto a stool next to his, but did not bother looking up, couldn't the fucker see that he was still brooding? Tonight, he wasn't in a generous mood. Earlier, he had had his butt kicked by a geek for no reason other than he'd opted not to use roosters as the kid wanted. Roosters! For fuck's sake! As he and his men went to through the exercise again, this time strictly following the directions given by Major Gustavsson, he'd had every intent to prove how bad the instructions were. He and his guys were über-trained Rangers - Special Forces – nothing to sneeze at, and they knew what real fieldwork was. They had been deployed in more conflict zones and had to face death more times than this geek had cups of coffee. And yet, today… Manoso sighed. Today, he had followed the instructions to the letter, trying with everything he had to prove the Lieutenant that his plan had been wrong, and instead had found himself and his team extracting the ambassador smoothly, without any casualties. The plan had worked out, and in a record time. And it irked him. The Great Manoso was shown up by some geek with no field experience.

"The sooner you'll get over it, the better you'll feel, you know." Commandant Cabret's voice boomed over the music. Without glancing at the captain, he took a pull from his beer. "Sometimes, admitting you were wrong takes more courage than going through the fire."

Manoso slowly turned his head to look at the man sitting next to him. The large man took another gulp of his beer, while placing a file on the bar's counter, his large hand preventing Manoso to open it.

"Face it, Mann came up with a workable plan to rescue thirteen hostages in Iraq." Cabret finally turned to look at the captain, sitting next to him. "The kid's brilliant, and even though his ideas are often farfetched, the Rangers will have a hell of a time replacing him, when he retires from active duty.."

"Which hostages? We had hostages in Iraq?" asked Manoso.

"If I were to tell you, I would have to kill you." Cabret took another pull before pushing a manila folder to the younger man.

Manoso looked at the file, and then at the commandant to catch his slight nod. Reaching out to open the folder, he asked, "Mann's leaving?"

"Yes." Cabret took another drink.

"And that's bad?"

The commandant turned to face Manoso, looking him straight in the eyes, then spoke patiently, as if dealing with an imbecile. "That's bad because we're going to lose the best analyst we ever had. The one who isn't put off by the possibility of being ridiculed for letting the craziest ideas into the ops, the one we only pair with the best teams. And it would have done you good, Captain, to listen and learn. We had high hopes for you, Manoso, but your little outburst with the Major wasn't lost on anyone. You should have been thrilled by the opportunity to work with him, instead of mocking him. Wipe that pout off your face, Manoso, and learn the damn lesson. "

Pulling a few bills from his pocket, Cabret put them on the bar, before turning and stalking out.

Carlos Manoso looked at the Commandant leaving the officer's mess, noticing he had forgotten to take the folder he came with. He opened the file and started reading.

-o-o-

The courtyard at 221 Baker Street was filled with snow. As the children who lived in the building trudged through the slush for the school bus stop, the loud sound of guitar and drums blasted through the second floor window, left open, making the children stop in their tracks, distracted with the unfamiliar music.

The stereo sitting on the counter in a small kitchen was set to fill the entire apartment with old-school rock, so that the temporary resident of the apartment, who was finishing her morning routine in the bathroom, could sing along. Stephanie was belting out the lyrics of Joan Jett's I Love Rock and Roll while trying to apply a second coat of mascara to her lashes. Surprisingly enough, dancing in front of the mirror didn't help the task at hand, and neither did waving the brush in the air After a solo of air guitar, she finally finished her make-up, and started dressing. She was halfway through buttoning her white shirt when she heard an unfamiliar knock of the door.

Steph froze, hands in air. She rarely got visitors, and even more rarely unexpected ones. A thousand questions ran through her mind. Who was it? Should she worry? Should she call Mary? Moving as stealthy as she could manage, she made her way to the door and looked through the peep hole. At the sight of the tall lanky man standing outside, she felt her body relax. Marshall. Surely one of his surprise visits Mary had told her about.

"Hi Marshall," she greeted him, opening the door.

"Stephanie." He nodded, a small smile tipping up the corner of his lips. "Can I come in?"

"Oh! Yes, sure. Sorry. My mom would kill me for not inviting you in before. Come in. You want some coffee?"

"Only if you have it already made."

Stephanie smiled and headed for the kitchen counter where a coffee machine was standing proud, its carafe filled with her favorite blend.

"I can't survive without caffeine. So, if I'm home, coffee's ready. Cream? Sugar?"

"Black. Thanks, Steph." Marshall looked around the flat, taking in the organised mess that was Steph's signature. Chinese take away remains were still on the kitchen counter, and papers were scathered all across the couch.

She pulled two mugs from the cabinet above the sink, humming to the next song that came on before she lowered the volume, wondering what Marshall was doing at her apartment.

Stephanie set the mugs on the table, and sat down, facing the serious WitSec Inspector. She decided to skkip the small talk, wanting - no, needing - to know right away if something had gone bad – or very bad.

"What's wrong, Marshall? Should I start packing?"

He sighed, before taking a sip of his coffee."I don't know. Maybe. You tell me. What's your relationship with Carlos Manoso?"

The air stilled. At the mention of Ranger's name, Steph's heart started pounding a little quicker, a little harder too. Did something happen to him? Was he on his way to come and take her back to New Jersey? Would she have to leave again, and settle in another city?

"Why do you want to talk about Ranger?" Stephanie asked, trying to mask her surprise at Marshall's request. She picked up her coffee mug and sipped, carefully studying the man in front of her.

"I saw him listed as one of your employers, and I'd like to know a bit more about him, that's all. You don't strike me as a person who'd work for a security company." Marshall kept his tone light and his face blank, giving her no hint about what he was really looking for.

"Because I'm just the kind of person who'd work as a Bond Enforcement Agent?"

"Touche." A chuckle escaped from Marshall. " But I've seen your capture record. So I know you were very good at it. So, this… Ranger?"

There was something about the way he was asking that made Stephanie wonder what Marshall was really after. There was a touch of disdain in his tone that she wouldn't have noticed if hearing Ranger's name hadn't put her on guard. She decided that keeping her personal relationship with Ranger wasn't something she was willing to share with the marshal.

"I'm listed under entertainment in RangeMan's budget."

"What?" Marshall's eyes widened, as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. What the hell did she mean by that? What kind of entertainment? He'd known Manoso was a bastard, but this was low even for him. Marshall didn't bother hiding his shock. His expression was blatantly incredulous.

"Yes, because I blow things up, which tends to make the guys laugh." She rose from her chair , and turned away to close the opened windows.

Years of partnership with Mary Shannon had taught Marshall Mann one thing: to never spit your morning coffee on a freshly ironed shirt. Oh, Mary had tried – and even succeeded a few times -– to make him spill, but today, Marshall was thankful for her training, which spared his blue outfit.

Stephanie caught the bemused expression on his face, and faint blush creeping up his neck. She burst out laughing, realizing the unintentional double entendre of her words.

"I worked for RangeMan as an analyst. I did background checks and skip tracing for the guys. And as for the blowing things up, I was talking about the number of my cars that have gone to their maker while in my possession."

"Jeez, Steph. I'm sorry … It's just that… I shouldn't have assumed… "

"No harm done. I didn't realize how I sounded… why do you want to know?"

Marshall took the last sip of his coffee, choosing his words carefully. "I'll tell you in a bit. But we have to go to the office first. I have to talk to Stan and Mary."

"About Ranger?"

The marshal sighed before pushing from the table and heading to the door. He didn't turn to look at Stephanie when he spoke quietly.

"Among other things."

That's it for today :) If you liked, please hit the button – the more I get, the faster I write :)