A/N: All characters belong to Janet Evanovich. This story picks up at the end of Hard Eight. The story is almost cannon, exploring how Abruzzi dies. However, this story is written in the same universe as my completed story, Plum Sweet. If you haven't read it yet, it might help you digest this short story. However, mostly what you need to know about Plum Sweet is that, in the book, Ranger is unmentionable (like Diesel). The first pieces are almost verbatim Janet's writing, but I've changed the character voice to Ranger's point of view. It all belongs to her.

I drove the streets of Trenton alone in the Mercedes, Slipknot blaring through the speakers, the bass rattling my trunk. I'd tried classical, then jazz, then silence. None of those options seemed appropriate for my mood, so I'd settled on music as angry as I felt. Witnessing Abruzzi's cruelty first-hand had sent me over the edge, the image of Steph's burn seared into my memory.

We worked through the night, checking various tips and leads Rangeman had received about Abruzzi's possible movements. None of the leads had panned out, but I knew it was only a matter of time.

I could be patient.

Abruzzi was smart, but I was smarter.

Abruzzi could be deadly, but I was deadlier. My special talents were an insurance policy Abruzzi didn't carry.

By 2 AM, we had exhausted all our leads. I parked on the street half a mile away from Morelli's house, lights and music off. I wanted to be close by in case Abruzzi got any ideas. Even as I parked, thoughts of Stephanie persisted. The conversation we'd had on her couch several nights prior played in my mind.

"I was wondering if you were human?" Stephanie asked, knocking back her third glass of wine.

"What are the other choices?" I asked, playing along with her line of questioning.

"I didn't have anything else specifically in mind."

The irony of her words wasn't lost on me tonight, driving under the street lights. Sure, I was human.

I bled.

I felt, much to my dismay.

I was mortal.

But little did Stephanie know, I was more than human.

I was unmentionable.

I intended to keep this information from her, too. Indefinitely, if possible.

I've avoided using my abilities almost my entire adult life. If tonight went as planned, that was going to change.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

My cell rang over the hands-free after thirty minutes, and I answered on the second ring.

"Report."

"I've got eyes on him," Tank said, his voice betraying no emotion.

Tank had been assigned to watch the front of Morelli's house through the night to guarantee Stephanie's safety. Lester watched the back of the house from the alley. The thought of Stephanie in Morelli's bed made my blood boil, so I tried to block out the vision.

Of course, Morelli didn't know his house was being watched. But I didn't trust him to take the steps required to ensure Steph's safety.

I pulled onto Clinton, flipping my lights on. I disabled the GPS trackers on my cell phone & vehicle. No need to document my location.

"You still at Morelli's?"

"Yep. He did a drive-by. He's alone. I'm following him with lights off. I'm northbound on Slater. Eight-hundred block."

"He didn't try anything?" I asked.

"No. He saw me in the SUV out front."

"Good. I'm a minute out," I said. "Don't lose him. If he circles back around, ram him."

I drove as quickly as I could without drawing attention to myself. Abruzzi didn't need to know he had a tail. I intercepted him at the intersection of Roebling and Chambers, Tank following a block back.

"Head back to Rangeman," I told Tank over the hands-free. "I've got this covered."

"Don't you need backup for the apprehension?" Tank asked, his tone concerned.

"I'm not apprehending anybody," I said, my voice betraying no emotion. "This ends tonight."

"Ranger." A pregnant pause sat between us on the open line. "Don't ruin your life for some girl."

Tank was unaware of my unmentionable abilities. I wasn't planning to enlighten him tonight. Or ever, for that matter.

"She's not some girl," I said angrily. She's my woman, I thought. "And that was a direct order. Go back to Rangeman, Tank. I'm in the wind."

"Ranger, com'on man, I…"

I disconnected and shut off my phone, cutting off Tank mid-thought. The decision to finish Abruzzi was weighing on my conscience enough. I didn't need Tank's two cents.

I followed the sedan northwest on Chambers Street, struggling to decide where to send him. The pine barrens? Stark Street? I followed him onto State, which he took to Olden. As he crossed Route 1, I decided the best course of action was to end this soon. The sun was threatening to rise within the hour, and we were headed away from the obvious choices.

The farmers market, I thought. I knew the lot would be vacant at this hour, and it was far enough from the beaten path we were sure to remain undisturbed.

Plus, his body would be found before it had the chance to swell in the mid-day spring heat.

You want to go to the farmers market, I projected. Drive there now.

It was no surprise when the sedan turned onto Princeton, then to Spruce. I'd never met someone immune to my persuasive abilities.

Times like this, the sheer power of my abilities alarmed me. No human should possess this kind of power. I tried to squash the sick feeling that was stirring in my stomach by focusing on Steph. I reminded myself her safety was threatened by the evil man in the car in front of me.

Park in the lot. Shut off your car. Unlock your doors.

I parked behind the sedan, and I saw Abruzzi eyeing me curiously in his rear view. I drew my gun, climbing out of the Mercedes.

Put the gun in your lap. You won't shoot Manoso, I projected.

Abruzzi opened his door and moved to exit, recognition blooming on his face.

Stay there. Stay in the car.

He did as I asked, but his smart mouth was not under my control. Not yet, anyway.

"So, we meet again, Manoso," Abruzzi growled. "Yet another battle to be fought in war."

"I warned you to stay away from Ms. Plum," I said calmly. "You don't listen very well."

He laughed a vicious, insane laugh.

"You don't listen so well yourself," he said, going for his gun again.

"You're not going to shoot me tonight," I said, persuasion dripping from every word.

Before I'd finished the thought, he'd set the gun in his lap once more.

I longed to cause him physical pain, like the kind he'd caused Stephanie only hours earlier. I knew better than to give into the urge, though. It would cause suspicion when the body was found. Damaging him the way I wanted would indicate possible foul play. I didn't have time to be a suspect in a murder investigation.

"Did you forget? I told you last night, the war is lost. You should have moved on when you had the chance."

"The General never gives up on…" Abruzzi began, but I cut him off before he could finish the thought.

"Tonight, you're going to shoot yourself. But first, I need you to write a note. Find something to write on."

As if in a trance, Abruzzi reached into his briefcase, extracting a legal pad and an Aspinal of London fountain pen.

"Write that you're depressed about some bad business deals. Write that you had to end your life," I instructed.

I watched as he scrawled my sentiments onto the legal pad, signing his name beneath them. His face was confused, but he did as he'd been told.

"Very good," I said. "Set the pad in the windshield and return the pen to your briefcase. Close your door and sit quietly."

He did as I'd instructed, and I returned to the Mercedes, sliding into the luxurious leather seat. I turned the key, bringing the engine to life. I backed out of the spot and drove toward the lot's entrance.

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew what came next. It didn't mean I liked to do it. I took a calming breath and focused, pushing away the endless self-loathing I felt.

Pick up your gun. Hold it to your temple. Say goodnight, Abruzzi. Pull the trigger.

I heard the muffled gun shot as I turned onto Spruce, pointing the Mercedes toward Haywood.

The first pink streaks of dawn were creeping across the sky as I pulled into the underground garage to park. I beeped the car locked and crossed to the elevator, where Tank waited for me.

"It's done," I stated simply, pushing the button for the seventh floor.

Tank pushed the button for the fifth floor and nodded once, standing straight.

"Anything I can do, boss?" he asked.

I read between the lines. He was really asking, Anything I need to clean up?

"No. He ended his own life."

Tank gave me a disbelieving look. "Should I call it in?"

"He'll be found. Get some sleep. I'm offline."

The doors opened to the fifth floor. Tank moved to exit the elevator but paused in the doorway.

"I'm really sorry it came to this, man," Tank said.

"Me too," I said in a barely perceptible whisper.

Tank gave me a solemn look, then left me alone with my burden.

You traded your soul for hers, I accused the monster staring back at me in the bathroom mirror of my penthouse apartment. You're a fuck-up.

Yes, but the creature you killed had no soul, my subconscious argued.

I rubbed my hands over my face. Worry lines creased the corners of my eyes and mouth, and dark circles rimmed my eyes. I'd been staring at myself in the mirror for over an hour, struggling to come to terms with my actions. After significant soul-searching, I was shocked to find that killing the bastard wasn't what bothered me the most. It was the means I'd used to do it.

Jett's words from long ago echoed through my head.

"Unmentionables are an anomaly, something that cannot be explained by science or nature. We shouldn't exist, yet we do. It's our responsibility to use our abilities for good, and good alone."

Can I ever be good? Do good? Can I ever repair the wrong I've done?

I stripped out of my clothes, throwing them haphazardly on the floor. I turned the shower on to its hottest setting and climbed in, letting the water wash away any shits I may have given. I dried myself, then wrapped the towel around my waist.

Despite mental and physical exhaustion, I knew sleep would never find me. I'd kept the monster inside buried for years. Tonight's events had been a painful reminder of the soulless, cruel person I was.

A person undeserving of love. A man who could never deserve a woman like Stephanie Plum.

I dug around in my medicine chest, finding a bottle of Ambien. I swallowed a dose, washing them down with water from the bathroom sink.

I stood in front of the mirror, hating myself. Scorning myself.

For good measure, I swallowed three Vicodin.

I hadn't abused pills in years, but it seemed like now was the time to break the rules. God knows I'd broken the rest of the rules in the past twenty-four hours.

When I wake up, I'll keep fighting to be the man she deserves, I thought. For now, I will loathe myself.

Old habits die hard.

I brushed my teeth and hung my towel on a rod to dry. I exited to the bedroom, slipping between the luxurious sheets my housekeeper had insisted I needed to become a civilized person.

I had to admit, they were nice. Too nice.

I stared at the ceiling, the early morning light softly filtering in from around the curtains to illuminate it. I felt the pull of the pills easing my nerves, beckoning me away from the worries of the world. Tendrils of blackness swirled in my head, consuming painful thoughts before they could further destroy the thin veil of sanity I'd managed to wear.

As I drifted off to sleep, my last thought was of a woman… a curly brown-haired, blue eyed beauty from Jersey. My woman.