A/N: I recommend reading this after Starting Over Chapter 33 but before Starting Over Chapter 34.

Chapter Six

Ranger POV (during Starting Over Chapter 33 / before Chapter 34)

I was stuck at my desk doing paperwork all day on Saturday. It sucked. Fucking paperwork. The constant interruptions on weekdays were not conducive to getting shit done, so I often spent Saturdays catching up.

On this particular Saturday, my mind kept wandering to a certain curly-haired brunette with mesmerizing blue eyes. I wondered what she and Zoë were up to in New York and if they missed living there. If her husband went to jail, would she decide to stay in their apartment there after all? Would she leave Rangeman for the familiar?

I forced myself to stop thinking about her and refocused on the paperwork. If I had known owning my own business would require this much documentation, I might have thought twice about it.

Several hours later, muscles aching from sitting so long, I decided to go for a run. I went upstairs to my penthouse, changed into my gym gear, and descended the stairs to the lobby. I prefer running outdoors whenever possible, and the weather wasn't yet bad enough to keep me inside on the treadmill.

Eight miles later, I was taking the stairs back to my apartment two at a time. I had successfully exorcised Steph from my mind, and all I needed right now was a hot shower. Hmm. What's this? Ella's been shopping again. I opened the new shower gel and sniffed it. Smells good. A bit citrusy. Bulgari.

Walking into the kitchen afterward, I saw Ella had been by to drop off dinner. I took the cover off the plate and found grilled chicken and veggies with rice. I ate at the kitchen breakfast bar and wondered what Steph ate for dinner tonight. She'd already let slip that she wasn't the best cook and didn't enjoy it, but Zoë was not a fan of the junk food she liked. She probably ordered in. Finally, unable to stop thinking about her, I texted her. We flirted a little, but I backed off when she did. I'd have plenty of time after her divorce to flirt with her. I had a couple of numbers I could call if I needed some release, no strings attached, but somehow that idea had lost its appeal.

The next morning, I was in the gym at my usual six o'clock start time. Today I was sparring with Tank, who was just coming off his first overnight shift. After we were done here, he'd be going home to crash.

We didn't talk much; we never did. We'd been friends so long that our conversations were now primarily non-verbal, but we understood each other perfectly.

I beat him, but as always, it was a close call. I tried never to let him know just how close, however.

After showering, I ate the breakfast Ella had left for me, and I felt a weird, unsettled feeling in my gut. It wasn't the meal; that was as perfect as always. But something felt off, like a coil of danger snaking toward me.

That black hole of menacing awareness in my gut only grew in the next hour until I finally couldn't ignore it. I had honed my instincts until I was as reliant on them as I was on my eyesight. It would be folly to ignore them now. Everything at Rangeman was normal. I knew I'd hear from my family if anything had happened there. There was the possibility of something with Julie, so I whipped out my phone and called Rachel. She assured me everything was fine, and she knew better by now than to question my reason for asking. We hung up, and I thought a moment more.

I called Steph. She was the only person I could think of who could trip my danger meter without anyone knowing it. There was no answer on her cell. I thought about calling down to the control room, but instead, I took the stairs to check on her vehicle tracker. The Ford Explorer she was currently driving was in front of an apartment building in New York, and after I consulted her personnel file, I confirmed it was her New York address. I redialed her cell. Still no answer. Come on, Steph. You said you were staying near your apartment today.

I called Tank. He'd know if there was a landline. We didn't have any other numbers for the apartment, so I had no idea if she had one. She wouldn't have thought to put it down since she didn't live there anymore. Hopefully, if there was one, it hadn't been disconnected.

"What?" Tank answered.

"Does Steph's apartment in New York have a landline?"

"What?" he asked, sounding slightly more awake and less pissed off.

"Landline, yes or no?"

"Yes. One moment." I heard him put the phone down, and he returned seconds later. "212-555-9005"

I hung up and dialled her landline. Still no answer. I called Tank back and said, "something's wrong," as soon as he answered again.

"Why?" I knew he wanted to know why I thought so, so I expounded.

"She's not answering either phone. She said she was staying close to the apartment today. Gut instinct. Something's wrong."

"Pick me up, we'll go check." He hung up now, and I didn't waste any time returning to my apartment to get dressed, donning the guns I usually wore and the knife my dad gave me.

Fifteen minutes later, I was in front of Tank's house, and he was sliding into the passenger seat of my Porsche Cayenne. He looked tired but said nothing. I noted the familiar bulges of his weapons holsters and peeled out of his driveway.

We said nothing for most of the drive to New York, each content in the silent zone we used to focus on our goals. Finally, he cleared his throat. "What's going on with you two?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. I like her."

"She's not one of your hit-it-and-quit-it women?"

I shook my head. "No. We have not, I mean…that hasn't happened."

He looked at me like I suddenly gained an additional head. I didn't stammer, so I could guess the likely cause of his surprise.

"If you're not serious about her, you need to leave her alone. She's vulnerable, and you know her husband has done her dirty. She doesn't need someone sniffing around her panties only to leave afterward," he said seriously.

"My word, man," I promised. And I was serious too. If there was ever a woman who could make me want to give up anyone else, it was Steph. And if I decided my lifestyle couldn't accommodate a permanent woman, I'd keep her at arm's length and strictly friendly.

We made good time getting to New York, and the GPS directed me to Steph's building. Everything looked quiet, and the Rangeman Explorer Steph had been driving was still out front. We exited my vehicle, and no words needed to be exchanged. She lived in an old brownstone without a lock on the front door, so we walked in and up the stairs to her apartment. We listened intently, and I thought I could hear something but couldn't determine what it was. My instinct was still screaming at me, and it had gotten louder. As did Tank, I pulled my weapon and rapped sharply on the door.