A/N: One of my pet peeves is when someone takes forever to write a story. I think you should never start a story unless you can finish it, and I fully intend on doing that. Sorry about the massive delay. I could make excuses about real life, and taking my time to develop new characters, but in the end I just want to say: Readers, thank you for hanging in there and your "Are you going to finish this?" reviews.

Chapter 8

As I drove to the FBI building, I tried to get into the zone. I reviewed everything in my mind. There was a mole in the FBI leaking information related to the cocaine drug ring, which led to the death of Ranger's friend, José, and the supposed death of Ranger. This person was under control of a female who is only known as the boss. She's orchestrating the whole operation, and was smart enough to use voice encryption and lethal enough to murder anyone who would jeopardize her operation. Unfortunately, I was on that list.

I was working for the FBI as a contractor on Karen O'Reilly's joint task force team with Morelli as my partner, who I was still mad at for being an insensitive jerk. I was also working with Ranger, while pretending he's still dead.

I needed to get rid of the hit out on me, find the cocaine boss, discover who the mole was, and help Ranger avenge his friend's death. I needed to get into the mindspace I call my inner Ranger. I needed to be a badass, crime-fighting, superhero. I hooked up my phone to the Rangeman SUV's sound system and cranked up Volbeat. By the time I parked underground and rode the elevator to the sixth floor, I was there.

I strode into the conference room and sat next to Morelli. I figured if one of the other people in the room was the mole in the FBI responsible for murder, I'd take the lesser of the two evils.

"Joe," I said to him coldly as a way of greeting.

"Steph", he replied. He had a big bandage covering his nose and his cheeks were an ugly shade of purple and green. He looked tired, like he spent all night in the hospital.

"Broken?" I asked him.

"Yep," he answered.

I would say I was sorry for punching him in the face, but I wasn't, so we sat in silence until Karen called the meeting to order.

"Good morning everyone," she said cheerfully, "Sorry to call everyone in on a Saturday, but as we all know, crime doesn't take weekend breaks."

Involuntarily, I rolled my eyes.

"Let's get started by going over those phone lists," Karen continued, "I need each set of partners to give me a full report."

There were twelve people on the joint task force team, divided into six pairs, including Morelli and myself. As each set of partners went over their list of names and what they found, I studied them to determine if they were leaking information to the cocaine boss. This person would be risking their career and probable jail-time so they would have to have strong motivation to do this: either for power, money, or sex.

I ruled out anyone who looked unambitious, happily married, or too patriotic. The mole would be someone who was living above their means, unhappy with the system, and corruptible.

This left three people as suspects. Pedro Hernandez was from the Camden police force, in his late 30s, and wasn't wearing a wedding band. He had pulled an all-nighter researching his phone list and gave an extensive review. He looked to be really devoted, but he was the only Hispanic on the task force, so that linked him to the murders.

Then there was Suzanne Moutis, from the Trenton FBI office. She was in her early 40s and the only female on the task force, other than myself. She had short, dirty blond hair and was wearing a badly-fitted suit. And by the way she looked at Karen O'Reilly with stars in her eyes, I think she might have been lesbian. But she looked like she had something to prove, so she couldn't be ruled out.

The last suspect was Richard Black, a sleazy-looking guy in his mid 40s, from the Newark Police Department. He had slicked back, greasy brown hair, pasty skin and was wearing a leather jacket over top of his button-down shirt which had one too many buttons undone. I wondered if he was living above his means and what type of car he drove. He caught me staring at him and winked at me.

Karen's voice interrupted my train of thought.

"And finally Morelli and Plum," she said. "What have you found?"

I looked at Morelli and he glanced at me. Other than plugging the ten names into a search engine, we hadn't done anything else to further the case.

"We're working on it," Morelli said to the group.

There was a pause. "I see," said Karen. "Do you have any progress you would like to share with the group?"

"Nothing yet," I confirmed.

"Alright people," Karen addressed the group. "We'll meet again on Tuesday. I need some results by then." She shot a sideways glance at me.

The meeting adjourned and I found myself walking to the elevator beside Morelli.

"You look different today," Morelli stated, "Perkier."

"It was nice sleeping in my own bed," I said. Sleeping with Ranger was even better.

"Sleep would have been nice," he replied. "I spent all night waiting in the emergency room in the hospital for an X-ray. There was an apartment fire, a bunch of car accidents, and a lot of gunshot wounds. I've never seen it so crowded before."

We rode the elevator down to the parking lot.

"I'm going home to take a nap," Morelli said. "And Tylenol."

As I tried to see what type of car Richard Black drove, I found Morelli trailing after me.

"Are you still planning on going rogue?" He asked. I stopped dead in my tracks. I turned around with my hands on my hips.

"Yep," I replied.

Morelli sighed and stared at his shoes for a few beats. He looked up and had a bit of softness in his eyes. "I won't try to talk sense into you, because we all know you won't listen."

This was true.

"So I'll just say this," he continued, closing the gap between us, "You have a way of getting into trouble. You've been thrown off a bridge by my godfather, held hostage by crazies who sold body organs on the black market and I still don't know what happened in Atlantic City with Ranger, but you came back wearing clothing with monkeys all over it and a broken nose."

Morelli was right in front of me. He reached out a hand and caressed the side of my face. "You also have a knack of getting out of trouble. Just stay safe."

With that, he walked over to his Jeep Cherokee and drove off.

I still had the body receipt for my last skip, Isiah Malone, so I drove over to the bonds office to pick up my cheque before Connie headed home early since it was a Saturday. I parked at the back of the building, and after doing a thorough scan of the rooftops, I called the office.

"Plum bail bonds," Connie answered.

"It's Steph," I said. "Could you open the back door?"

"Sure," she said.

Once I saw Connie at the back door, I left my Rangeman SUV and quickly entered the bonds office. Connie shut the door and looked at me.

"What was that about?" She asked.

"There might be someone out to get me," I explained.

"Is it Morelli?" Lula's voice carried from the front of the office. "'Cuz I heard that you broke his nose."

"Oh my God, did he try to put it in the back door when you two were doing it and told you it slipped?" Connie asked.

"I hate it when guys do that," Lula said. "It's disrespectful. If a man wants to ride the train to brown town with Lula, all they gotta do is ask."

I paused to digest that statement. "No, there were no back door shenanigans involved."

"So I guess you two aren't engaged anymore," Connie said.

"We weren't to begin with," I said, "and no, we're still not."

I decided to change the subject. "I have the body receipt for Isiah Malone."

Connie wrote me out a cheque. "There's no new skips. Vinnie's been over the moon because no one is jumping bail."

When people show up for their court date, it means that Vinnie doesn't have to pay me ten percent of the bond to track them down. That was okay, I was busy enough already.

"Give me a call if anything comes in," I said.

Just then, my phone rang. The caller ID displayed it as Grandma's cell phone.

"Hello?" I said.

"Stephanie." It wasn't Grandma, it was my mother. "If you do not get down to Tina's bridal salon this minute, the next time you see me, I'm going to be in jail for murdering your Grandma."

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Your Grandma is trying on wedding dresses," she said. "We've been here for over an hour and I'm at my wit's end. I stole her cell phone so she'd stop taking selfies of herself and posting them on Facebook."

"I'll be right there," I told her.

I hung up and rolled my eyes. I had been trying to distance myself from Grandma's wedding fiasco.

"My Grandma's trying on wedding dresses and my Mom needs my help," I told Connie and Lula.

"This I gotta see," Lula said, standing up from the couch. "It's not every day you see an old lady dressed in white instead of black."

The bridal salon was located next to the Tasty Bakery and was owned and operated by Mary DeLorenzo, who didn't speak much English except the occasional "s'cuse-a me" when she accidently poked you in the boob with a sewing pin when doing dress alterations.

Lula and I were ushered into the back where the fitting rooms were. My mother was sitting on one of the couches in the hallway looking like she needed a scotch on the rocks. She looked up when she heard me.

"Thank God you're here," she said. "Mother insists on trying on every dress they have."

The dressing room door opened and Grandma stepped out in a fitted strapless dress reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn. It was a beautiful dress, but on Grandma it just looked…

"Damn, that's wrong" said Lula. "That dress so ain't right for you."

"What's wrong with this one?" demanded Grandma.

"I don't mean to be rude," Lula explained, "but if you raised your arms, you'd have a wardrobe malfunction."

Lula was right. Grandma wasn't fat, but she had a lot of skin. And gravity hadn't been kind to her skin. The bodice of the dress was barely hanging on to her boobs, which were already low enough.

"You think?" said Grandma, raising her arms.

Sure enough, the dress slipped right down to her hips, exposing her entire naked torso.

My mother gasped and covered her eyes.

"Well what do you know," Grandma said. "You were right."

"Of course I'm right," Lula said. "If I know anything, I know when clothes ain't gonna cover up your lady parts."

Grandma hitched up the dress and went back into the dressing room.

My mother turned to me.

"I will give you anything to get me out of planning this wedding," she said. "Desserts for life. Laundry and ironing. And I'll stop bugging you about getting married. Anything."

It was a tempting offer. I loved my mother's pineapple upside-down cake. And the way her fingernails were digging into my arm, I don't think I could say no.

"Ok, fine," I said.

"I can help," Lula said. "I'll plan the shit outta your Granny's wedding."

My Mother left Lula and I at the bridal salon and drove home. She probably made a bee-line to the kitchen cupboard where she kept her hooch.

After an hour, I was getting bored and really wanted to get back home to my laptop to do some research. Lula and Grandma hit it off and finally they chose a dress together. I dropped them both off at the bonds office so they could plan other wedding stuff and drove to my apartment building.

I parked as close as I could to the building, and after doing a thorough check for snipers, made a dash to the front door. I rode the elevator up to the second floor and opened my door.

After dumping my stuff at the front door, I took my laptop out of my bag and put it down on my dining room table.

I started it up and was just about to plug in Pedro Hernandez, Suzanne Moutis, and Richard Black's names into the search engine when a male voice spoke right beside my right ear.

"You shouldn't do that."

"Eeek!" I swung my right elbow behind me and caught the intruder in the face. I stood up from my chair, ready to defend myself.

"Ow." It was Ranger. "You need to stop hitting me in the face."

"Where did you come from?" I asked, my blood pressure dropping down from a stroke level.

"I was in the bathroom when you got home," he explained.

"Geez," I said. "Next time make some noise."

"You shouldn't do a background search on cops or FBI agents," Ranger said, pointing at the laptop screen. "It sets off red flags on your IP address."

"Good to know," I said.

"How was your day?" He asked.

"I didn't get shot at," I said. "But I'm now planning my Grandma's wedding, and if I ever have to go into another bridal salon, I'd rather take the bullet instead."

That got a 200-watt smile out of Ranger. He didn't smile very often, so it was nice to know I amused him.

"What about the FBI mole?" He asked.

"I've come up with three suspects on the joint task force," I told him. "Pedro Hernandez, Suzanne Moutis, and Richard Black."

"Pedro Hernandez is clean," he said.

"How do you know?"

"He's my cousin."

"Really?"

"I have a lot of cousins."

"So that leaves Suzanne and Richard," I said. "If I were a betting girl, I'd choose Richard."

"Why's that?" Ranger asked.

"He's sleazy."

"Follow both of them," he said. "See what they're up to. What about the cocaine boss' phone list?"

"I ran a basic search for all ten names that Karen gave me," I said. I turned to my computer and opened the file. There were over 300 results.

I grabbed two beers out of the fridge and Ranger and I took a seat at the dining table. We sifted through some of the results, but nothing stood out. It was if someone Googled 'top ten Hispanic names' and put them on our phone list. Each name had over thirty hits in the Newark, Trenton, and Camden area. Finally, Ranger stood up and stretched.

"Are you planning on having any visitors?" He asked.

"No," I replied. "Why?"

"I'm staying here tonight."

"I thought my apartment wasn't safe enough for you."

"Rangeman monitors your apartment entryway and your front door and I had shatterproof glass installed in your windows a few months ago."

I walked up to one of the windows. It looked the same as ever, with dirt marks and everything. "I didn't even notice."

"I'm sneaky."

I sauntered up to him. Having Ranger in my personal space was an aphrodisiac.

"What else can you do when I'm not looking?" I teased him, running my hand down his chest.

"Why don't you put on a blindfold and we can find out?" He replied. I should know by now that Ranger never backs down.

Oh, boy.