A/N: Thanks for your support, dear readers!

"There's a mole in the agency," stated Karen O'Reilly.

Morelli and I had been called into her office at the FBI Building downtown. We were sitting in wooden chairs in front of Karen's mahogany desk. He was in black jeans and a navy button up shirt, and I settled for a blouse, a sensible skirt, and pantyhose that I was currently regretting. He and I glanced at each other.

"I need you two to help me find out who it is." Karen folded her fingers together on her desk.

"I know I can trust you," she continued. "Neither of you have the morals, motive, means, or opportunity needed to sell out."

"Um, thanks?" I said.

"What evidence do you have so far?" Morelli asked.

"We've been following this drug ring for 2 years, starting at the docks in Newark. The FBI closed in, getting a few middle players to confess in exchange for a plea bargain." Karen intertwined her fingers. "We raided several clubs, warehouses, and residences, but couldn't find the boss. The trail went cold until Camden 12 months ago."

"This particular drug ring is unique because it's anonymous and abnormally deadly," Karen continued. "With this many murders, it's due to usually gang rivalries, but no known group is claiming responsibility. In fact, most gangs stay out of the cocaine business in the tri-city area. Those that we've been able to track down are of Hispanic heritage."

"What makes the Caribbean cocaine so different than the other cocaine?" I asked.

"Its chemical signature contains 4x as much psychoactive ingredient, making it more addictive. It also lasts longer and doesn't have the crash of crack cocaine." Karen sipped her coffee. "These factors drive up the price so it's more profitable to dealers. It's estimated that over 13 million people worldwide are addicted to cocaine, with almost 2 million in the United States alone. Cocaine addiction affects almost 1% of the population and is a massive burden to the public health system and law enforcement."

"What leads do you have?" Morelli asked.

Karen let out a sigh. "As you know, we're out of leads in the joint taskforce. The cell phone contact list is a dead end. And many of the mid-level dealers are now dead. I've been at the FBI for 9 years and a drug bust has never taken this long. My superiors are sure someone on the inside is deliberately sabotaging this operation."

I thought about Suzanne and Richard. "Who do you think it is?"

"I have suspicions," Karen stated. "But I want you two to go in with fresh eyes. That's why I've given you new partners. Someone is keeping information buried. I want you two to find out who."

After the meeting, I turned on my phone to see that Connie had texted me. She had a new skip for me, so I made my way over to the Bonds' Office.

There were black curtains across the windows and the open sign was off. I opened my purse and put my hand over my gun.

Tank had taught me how to scan a room for threats. I opened the door, took a quick peek, backed out, and let the door swing closed. Clear. I tucked the gun back into my purse and walked inside.

There were stage lights in the corners of the room, aimed at Lula and Grandma seated on the couch. A green screen was set up behind them. Connie had her cell phone out, also pointed at Lula and Grandma.

"Cut!" Lula called out. "Steph here ruined our shot."

"Whaaa?" I asked.

"This is perfect!" Grandma said. She grabbed my hand and pulled me down on the couch between her and Lula. "Pretend you're buying a house. Or getting married. Connie, we need something to get rid of the shine."

"What's going on?" I asked, as Connie rushed over and started blotting my forehead with a makeup cloth.

"You're going to be in our next promo video for LEXlife," Lula explained. "We have the LEXlife weddings Tiktok channel and Insta, and LEXlife Realty to sell houses."

"LEXlife," Grandma pantomimed, waving her hand. "For all of life's changes."

"Hastag LEXlife weddings is for folks tying the knot," Lula carried on. "And if you need to buy a house, LEXlife Realty is your solution."

I only had one question, "Why?"

"How else are we going to pay for a 250-person wedding?"

"Lula got her Realtor license online," Connie explained, reviewing the camera footage on her phone.

"Did you know Realtors make thousands of dollars from just one sale?" Lula adjusted her glasses. "And your cell phone does all the advertising and contract work. That's smart. And if our LEXlife weddings channel takes off, I can quit working for Vinnie's scrawny ass."

"I can hear you!" Vinnie called from his office.

"LEXlife?"

"LEXlife is our new brand," said Grandma. "Lula and Edna Extreme. For all of life's changes."

"It's better than #NJGranny and #OldAndEngaged" Lula said. We're looking for capital investors to fund LEXlife nanny services and LEXlife funeral services. But I'm not running those, since babies and dead people give me diarrhea."

None of those life-changing situations were happening to me anytime soon, especially with the armor-piercing sniper out of the picture. I stood from the couch and Connie handed me a file.

"Jorge Mendez. Drug dealer in Newark, brother of Cruise Mendez," said Connie. "Last I checked, he was still alive."

"Newark?" I whined. The bounty had better cover the gas for the drive.

"Beggars can't be choosers!" Vinnie shouted from behind his office door.

I placed the file in my purse and turned to face Lula and Grandma. "I am not going to be in your video."

"Fine," Lula said. "Not sure if you're right for our brand. Gotta stay consistent across the platforms."

"Let me update you on Granny's wedding planning, "Lula continued. "We have a dress, bridesmaid dresses, and a photographer. We're still working on a venue, and we still need a cake and caterer."

Grandma's eyes went wide, "We need a theme for the wedding!"

I slowly backed out of the office when Lula and Grandma were tossing ideas at each other.

My mind swirled with thoughts of FBI moles, stakeouts in Newark, and the feasibility of entrepreneurship. My stomach growled and decided to pick up some pantry staples. After the grocery store, I parked the Cayenne in my apartment's parking lot in a spot away from Mrs. Fields' sedan. She tends to intentionally dent other vehicles with her car door when she's in a mood.

Ranger was at the kitchen table on a laptop. I put away the groceries and filled him in on Karen's suspicions.

"I have one more lead, Manuel Domingo," said Ranger. "His last whereabouts was Newark."

"Who is he?"

"A friend."

"How do I find him?" I asked.

"Take the Porsche 911 to my old neighborhood in Newark and drive around," Ranger answered.

"That's it?" I asked incredulously. "I'm supposed to just drive around and expect something to happen?"

Ranger just smiled. I rolled my eyes.

I was skeptical that I would find Manuel, but I didn't have anything better to do. I put some water, some Cheezie-Poofs and a bag of candy in my purse and switched out vehicles at Rangeman. In the Porsche 911, at least the 1-hour drive to Newark was exciting in a high-end sports car.

I swung by Jorge Mendez's neighborhood first and parked. He lived a block away from Cruise, within walking distance to the church where I found the bag of cocaine. I ate my snacks and drank my water. Failed CandyCrush level 456 enough times to make me consider uninstalling the stupid app. No Jorge. I briefly considered going into the church to check the confessional booth but was too chicken to risk seeing the priest I cussed at.

After 45 minutes, I drove around Ranger's childhood neighborhood, one street at a time. Modest houses lined the streets. I thought about Ranger as a preteen, with greasy hair and pimples. A quick laugh escaped me. Everyone has their beginnings, but I'm sure his confident attitude got him into trouble. He lived here until the age of 14 when he stole a car, spent some time in juvenile detention, and got shipped to Florida to live with his abuela.

My bladder ended my joyride and I stopped at a fast-food joint, used their restroom and bought myself a burger, fries, and a large Cola.

When I got back to the Porsche, a note was tucked under the windshield wiper.

'Meet me at La Rosa Restaurant at 7pm. -Manuel.'

I put my meal inside the car and fished out the flip-phone Ranger gave me and texted him, "It's annoying when you're right."

His reply was "Babe".

At 6:50pm, I pulled the Porsche up to a quaint and brightly colored restaurant on 7th Street.

Entering, my nose lit up with the scent of chili, cilantro and cinnamon as soft Cuban music played. The restaurant was busy, and the sound of conversations carried across the air.

"I'm meeting someone here," I told the hostess. I scanned the room looking for threats. Couples and families were at the tables, laughing and having a good time.

I followed her to a table at the back of the room where a man my age was seated. He had dark brown hair and eyes and was tanned. Very handsome. He stood up and shook my hand.

"I'm Manuel. Nice to finally meet you in person." He looked me up and down. "You're not exactly Ranger's type."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I demanded, my hands on my hips.

"I take it back," he said with a chuckle. "You're exactly his type. Feisty."

He motioned for me to sit. I pulled out the chair and sat down.

"You've heard of me?" I asked.

"You helped Ranger bodyguard the singer Brenda when she was in town," he answered. "I'm the events manager for the stadium where she performed. She was a nightmare and Ranger owed me a favor."

"How did you know Ranger?" I asked.

"He and I were friends. We went to Rutgers together," Manuel answered. "We met our freshman year and bonded over our shared heritage and love of women. Studied, partied, that kind of thing. How did you meet Carlos?"

"Carlos?" I asked.

"I knew Ricardo Carlos Manoso before he entered the army," Manuel said. "Calling him Carlos is a habit."

He motioned to the menu in front of me. "I already ordered the sample platter, if you'd like to join me for dinner."

My stomach growled despite my burger, and my curiosity was burning with the need to know who Ranger was before he got his moniker. "Thank you, I'd like that."

I sipped my water. "Tell me about university."

"Carlos and I were both in the business program. He was very smart and let me copy his homework. It was 2 years in, and we were partying more than studying at that point," Manuel said, a reminiscent smile crossed his face. "Although it didn't make a difference to Carlos. He was acing his classes."

The sample platter arrived, a sumptuous plate of empanadas, papa rellena, sweet plantains, yuca fries, tostones, and plantain chips. I placed a tostone in my mouth and moaned at the taste. "This is delicious."

Manuel smiled. "I'll let my parents know. They own this place."

"Jose was the third musketeer in our group," Manuel continued as we ate. "His older brother got us the drugs. At first, we were just experimenting like college kids do. But it took the edge off other things we were dealing with, family pressure, midterms…"

"Ranger was dating this girl at the time, Jessica. They had been dating for 6 months, I think, and were getting serious. We were off-campus at someone's house party one night. We were high and didn't know how much she had taken. We also didn't know what other medications she was on and the serious side effects of mixing them." Manuel paused, swallowing long-held grief and guilt. "She was announced dead-on-arrival by the EMTs. She died in Carlos' arms. And the next thing I know, he's quit school and enlisted in the army."

"He blamed himself," I said, mostly to myself.

"We all blamed ourselves," Manuel stated. "He got clean. I got clean. Jose didn't. He quit school but got involved in dealing. Made a lot of money. Fast-forward years later, and next thing I know, I'm attending Jose's funeral after a warehouse explosion."

"But enough sad talk," Manuel threw a weak smile in my direction. "Tell me about you."

I told him about how I met Ranger when I decided to inadvertently change careers to bounty hunting. I told him about how he tried training me, which ended in me puking ham on the sidewalk by the high school track and one of my skips shooting him in the leg with his own gun. I told him about how proud I am of Rangeman, and how he was surrounded by co-workers and friends who respected him.

"When he died," I choked out. "I missed him so much."

"And you still do," Manuel said.

I nodded.

After we finished dinner, Manuel walked me to my car and gave me a gentle hug.

"It has been a pleasure," Manuel said. "It makes me happy to know that Carlos was so close to you."

"Thank you."

"Please let me know if you need anything at all," he offered.

An idea popped into my head. "Do your parents' restaurant cater to weddings?"

A/N: Inspiration is everywhere in life. I literally saw a realtor sign "LEX MAZUR" and took it as a sign from the universe that I needed to finish this story.