Barely There

by Robot Zombie Pineapples

Ranger has had a lot going on in his life of late. Constant missions and family drama keeping him away from Steph and Trenton more than he would like, and causing him to lag behind in his usual fastidious monitoring of his company's activities. When he learns of a bodyguarding job Steph is heading up at a charity ball, he is compelled to insert himself into the operation. Oneshot.

This story is inspired by a dress posted in the Janet Evanovich Fan Fiction Facebook page (you should join if you like JE fanfic).

Barely There

I was on my way back to my office, coffee in hand and thoughts already on the system reports I needed to review this morning when I passed the conference room, noting that it was in use. Odd. The conference rooms were generally only used for client meetings and strategy sessions for more involved operations. And I wasn't aware of either occurring today or for the next week. I'd made a point of always knowing what was happening in the Trenton office, especially when there were risky jobs that required extensive planning. I was the best strategist in the company and I liked to at least run my eye over the plans to make sure the men hadn't missed anything.

Pulling up the room booking app on my phone, I stared at the name on the schedule for a full minute while I waged an internal battle. It was perfectly acceptable for Steph to book a conference room. In fact, she was one of the most frequent names on the schedule since she'd taken on a client relations role earlier this year. Unlike when Tank and I had been handling the meetings, Steph didn't have a private office to invite the clients to, so I'd had her work with Ella to spruce up the smaller conference room to make it more inviting for the visitors.

In an ideal world, I would have just given her an office, but the only one free was on the second floor, far removed from most of the daily operations she was involved in, and the clients would have to walk pass Hector's lab to get to it, which could be an off-putting experience for some of our more refined clientele. For the time being, the conference room would have to do.

So why was my gut instinct telling me to look into this meeting further? Was the client she was meeting with untrustworthy? Was she in danger? Neither option made sense. Steph usually had good instincts when it came to discerning good people from those who mean her harm.

Still glued to the spot in the hall outside the room, I pulled up the live security feed and my confusion deepened. There was no client. Seated around the table were Steph, Lester, Hal, Woody, Zip and Zero. And they appeared to be in serious discussion, gesturing to different papers and photos strewn on the table, and referring to computer and iPad screens.

My stomach clenched. Fear? Worry? What was going on? I needed answers. I needed to be in the loop. I didn't like not knowing in general, but the feeling was exponentially worse whenever Steph was involved.

Just then, Tank emerged from his office, geared up and looking ready to overthrow a small country, or terrorise Stark Street - he'd decide in the car, probably.

"Okay?" he asked in his truncated way. I wasn't one to mince words, but next to Tank I was practically a Chatty Cathy most of the time. What I would take three words to say, Tank could do in one. If I would only use one word, Tank could sum it up in a grunt and a facial expression. It had started off as a challenge we'd taken one summer, to use as few words as possible in a day and still function, but now it was just a habit. And unlike that summer, Tank was now willing to use extra words where he saw fit.

I hiked my thumb at the closed conference room door. "Do you know what Steph's meeting is about?"

Tank looked at his watch. "Probably the final strategy meeting for the Wingfield job," he provided easily, preparing to continue on with his day now that the question had been answered, but I held up a hand, halting his steps and moving to block his path.

"What Wingfield job?" Ranger demanded. This was the first I'd heard of it. Usually, any major operations had to be cleared through me, so I had at least a snapshot of everything that was happening in the Trenton office, the same way I got a cliffnotes report of all operations from the Miami and Boston branches once a month. I wasn't used to not knowing what the people I employed were talking about. I'd made a point of reading notes and files to be sure due diligence was being followed, and so I could accurately and appropriately respond to any queries or complaints that came my way both internally and externally. But right now, I felt like I'd been blindsided.

"Dylan Wingfield," Tank said, eyeing me cautiously. And apparently, having deemed this to be one of those times where more words were necessary, he continued, "He's that guy from that Bachelorette knock off show that almost made it to the finals. Bit of a local celebrity. We're bodyguarding him at the charity ball for children's cancer research tonight." He explained it all like I was already informed of the situation and this miniscule scrap of information was all the reminder I needed.

Incorrect.

I had no idea who Dylan Wingfield was. I was not aware of a charity ball being held. And I certainly wasn't aware of Rangeman providing a security detail.

But I didn't want to appear out of the loop any more than I already had by asking too many follow up questions. Tank had given me enough information to dig up the necessary reports and case notes so I could get myself up to speed. I just wished I was already there.

"Right." I nodded, like the information supplied had jogged my memory. "Who's the lead on that one again?"

The confused frown Tank sent me was like a scrunched up potato, but it quickly smoothed out as he obviously realised what was happening here. "Look," he said, lowering his voice. "You've barely been here lately. Between the back to back missions and the stuff with Julie, it was inevitable that some stuff would slip through the cracks. Steph's been handling Wingfield like a pro and Santos is acting as tactical lead. I had a progress meeting with them both yesterday and they seem to have it all well in hand."

"Why wasn't I involved in the progress meeting?" Is what I wanted to ask, but Tank had a point. I'd been away from the office more often than I was here of late. The government had been throwing missions at me left, right and centre, getting all the use out of me that they could before my contract was due to end at the end of the year.

I'd made it clear in a meeting back in February, when I'd come back from a mission that had caused me to miss the first Valentines day Steph and I would have had as a couple, that I was not planning to re-sign. Rangeman was growing, and my relationship with Steph had been blossoming. I didn't want to continually disappoint her by being called away at the last minute every time we made plans. She said she understood, and didn't and wouldn't hold it against me, but she deserved more than that. She deserved to know that when I said I was taking her away for a romantic weekend that the government wasn't going to step in and drag me away. She deserved to be able to get excited about our plans without the dread of a mission hanging over our heads.

We both did.

So I'd flat out told them I was done. In fact, I'd negotiated an end to my mission running by the end of this year, cutting out six months of potential active duty in exchange for a two-year remote consultative role. I'd had my lawyers look over the new contract with a fine-tooth comb to be sure no one could exploit vague wordings and force me into anything I wasn't willing to do before I signed. And now I was just a few short months away from having most of my freedom back, but the government was loath to let me go quietly.

Add to that the fact that Julie had gotten caught up with a group of older teens that had influenced increasingly erratic and rebellious behaviour until she landed in the hospital with alcohol poisoning.

I was fresh off my third mission in as many months, looking forward to going home to my own shower and my own bed - or possibly Steph's if she wasn't staying at my apartment in my absence - when I'd received the call from Ron. And once again, there went any opportunity I would have had to spend time with my girlfriend.

Steph had, of course, been completely understanding, because that's what she does. She insisted that I needed to go make sure Julie was okay and that she got the help and support she needed. She'd also assured me that she would, as she put it, hold down the fort at Rangeman, since she had apparently taken on extra duties to help Tank manage the Trenton branch in my absence, so I didn't have to stress about work at the same time.

I'd spent a month down in Miami, waiting until I was sure Julie was on the mend and committed to therapy and changing her ways now that she'd had a terrifying brush with death. I would have liked to nip the behaviour in the bud before it landed her in a hospital bed fighting for her life, but I understood more than most how secretive teenagers can be when they're getting into situations they have no business being around.

The last week since I'd returned had left me feeling constantly behind the eight ball as I caught up on everything that had been happening not only in Trenton, but the Miami and Boston branches as well. All while keeping on top of the daily running and current events. And just when I thought I'd filled all the gaps in my knowledge, something like the meeting happening in conference room two would happen and I'd be thrown for another loop, scouring reports for anything else that had slipped past while I was distracted.

Tank cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at me when I blinked and focused on him again and I realised I was still standing between the big man and the exit. Not only that, he was eyeing me with concern. I gave a short nod and stepped to the side, letting him pass with a murmured, "Thanks." But my mind was whirling in another direction now.

I could understand Steph not mentioning anything to me at work if she'd been reporting to Tank about the job while I was otherwise occupied. Probably, she assumed Tank was passing everything along to me and she didn't want to mess with the flow of information by doubling up. But Steph would usually ramble about everything going on in her day when we were hanging out at night, and the Wingfield job hadn't even crossed his radar until just now. Was she deliberately hiding things from me?

I shook my head and turned back toward my office. It had been a long and stressful four months, I reminded myself. And not just for me. While I'd at least been able to call and talk with Steph over the last few weeks while I'd been down in Miami, I had to acknowledge that Steph would have wanted to keep the conversations light with me, not wanting to add to the mental load. She would have figured out alternative methods of voicing her rambling thoughts to have them interpreted and guided to the right solutions on the job, and I was glad she felt comfortable doing so with my men, even as a surge of jealousy roiled in my gut.

*o*

By early afternoon, I'd managed to get myself up to speed on the Wingfield job, and informed Lester in no uncertain terms that I would be joining the team for it, even if it was only on comms in the van. He hadn't argued, knowing that inserting myself into the case was always a possibility, especially given how integral Steph was to the whole operation, posing as the man's date to keep the security detail as low profile as possible.

That meant that while the men would be dressing in standard suits, Steph needed to glam it up more than if she was just joining us in the background, which was why Lester and I were now standing side by side in the living room of Ella and Louis's apartment, staring at the closed door of their spare bedroom.

Ordinarily, Steph would get ready at her own apartment, or mine, but hen I'd offered her the use of my space to do so this time, she'd blushed, and smiled, but ultimately declined. She'd already organised to get ready at Ella's because she would need the woman's help getting into the dress.

"Babe," I'd murmured, stepping further into her bubble. We were inches apart now. I could feel the warmth of her body, the air pressure shifting as her breathing sped up, her pupils dilating so her eyes seemed a darker shade of blue. I used the back of my hand to brush a curl away from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear, then leaned down to whisper there, "I can help you into your dress."

A needy little moan escaped her soft, parted lips. Lips I longed to kiss. But all too quickly, she blinked, shaking her head as though to clear her thoughts, and rested a staying hand on my chest. "Thanks for the offer," she said breathily, her eyes roving greedily over my face, lingering on my mouth before she managed to drag them up to meet my gaze. "But the dress is tricky, and Ella already knows how to secure it from the fitting a few days ago." She pulled the face that meant she was attempting to raise a single eyebrow at me, and added, "Besides, we both know your strengths actually lie in removing clothing, not putting it on."

I wanted to ask, "What about the wire?" Because even if she was fine to get dressed, she usually let me place the microphone on her body so it would be concealed. And if we both got a little breathless from my hands caressing adjacent body parts at the same time, then so be it. But I didn't want to sound like a needy, whiny baby, or a control freak. Steph and Ella were both perfectly capable of placing the mic where it would be hidden, but still pick up necessary conversations. They probably had it all figured out already and didn't need me putting my opinions in at the literal last minute.

But oh, the waiting was agony!

Steph looked good no matter what she wore. My body had the same reaction to her when she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt as when she was all glammed up. Hell, I'd even had to hide an embarrassing tightening of my cargos once or twice when she'd been covered in garbage after an incident.

It all had nothing on my reaction to her as she stepped out of the spare bedroom, though. For a fleeting moment, I thought she was naked and had to hold myself in place while my brain took a second to catch up to what my eyes were seeing. Even then, my instinct was to take off my suit jacket and drape it around her. Instead, I clenched my fists at my sides and sucked in as subtle a breath as I could while my heart tried to beat it's way out of my chest.

The dress - if you could even call it that - was made up of a sheer fabric, completely see through at the side but for a few thin strands of a shimmery greenish gold material passing over her hip. My breath caught as she turned to face me and I discovered that the front wasn't much better. The strands were denser, but it still left nothing to the imagination. The time I'd surprised her in the bathroom and she'd attempted to cover herself up with a hand towel had been less revealing. At least the towel hadn't given the impression that her nipples were going to peek through the blinds like the upper part of this dress did. And don't even get me started on the lower half!

Dios! I could see the crease where her thigh met her torso! And there wasn't a hint of underwear anywhere on the expanse of flesh on display through the almost invisible mesh. Not even the thin string of a thong.

Her soft laugh reached my ears and I managed to drag my gaze away from the decadent feast she'd presented me with to finally look at her face. In the process, I caught sight of Ella standing behind her shoulder and suddenly recalled who else was in the room.

I snapped my head around to my cousin to find him drinking in the view just as eagerly as I had been, but when he sensed my gaze boring into the side of his skull he smirked, his lips parting to make a comment I wasn't willing to let slip out of his mouth.

"Santos! Mats! Oh-five-hundred!" I barked, even as my fists itched to silence his thoughts right here, right now.

His mouth formed an 'o' shape, eyebrows rocketing to his hairline in surprise. "I didn't even say anything!" he protested.

"You didn't need to," I assured him. "It was written all over your face."

"Like you can talk?" Lester challenged. "I know that look in your eye, primo. And you might wanna clue Steph into your thoughts before you either toss her over your shoulder or wrap her in a bathrobe."

"Oh, his thoughts are pretty clear," Steph said, drawing my attention back to her to find a sultry smile curving her lips upward. A promise of what would come tonight if I behaved myself? "But we have a job to do, and this is the dress Dylan sent for me to wear, so Ranger's thoughts can become actions right now."

I blinked away the teasing thoughts of what I was going to do with her when I finally got her alone, focusing on her statement instead. "The client supplied the dress?"

Steph nodded, tugging delicately at the mesh while she looked down at herself. "Do you really think I would have chosen something like this for myself?"

She was a Jersey girl. She was comfortable showing large swathes of flesh in the name of fashion when she was going out for a night on the town, or distracting men into submitting to capture for my company. But this barely-there idea of a dress she was currently draped in was taking even that to the extreme. Still, I elected to keep my thoughts to myself, less I offend her choices.

While Steph smiled a little at my non-response, Lester decided he had a death wish.

"You did, didn't you?" he exclaimed, displaying his usual overexuberance as he turned to face me fully. This kind of behaviour was simultaneously comforting, because it was what I had grown up with from him, and disquieting, because it matched Steph's energy much better than my own did. They always had a lot of fun together, laughing, and joking. There was no question as to how the other was feeling, because when they were together, Lester tended to shut off his blank face unless there was an emergency. Something I had never figured out how to do.

Seeing them interact together always made my chest constrict. They were a perfect match. I didn't understand why Steph would choose my reserved self over Lester's puppy dog energy, but she had. And I had confirmation that she only viewed him as a friend from the one night I'd felt vulnerable enough about it to actually voice my concerns.

"He's just a friend, Carlos," she'd whispered emphatically. "I love him like the brother I never had. Yes, he matches my enthusiasm and encourages my antics, but that's not what I need from a partner. I need someone steady, and grounding, who'll be there for me no matter what. I need you."

That was before the first of the missions that had kept me away for weeks on end. I remember I'd growled something about calling my cousin to the mats if he was abandoning Steph at crucial moments, but she'd distracted me from my sentiments with a kiss that led into the kind of enthusiastic activities that I could get behind one hundred percent. And the next day I'd been called 'into the wind', as she liked to say, and had barely been home since.

Steph rolled her eyes and stepped forward, pushing on Lester's shoulder. There was barely any force behind it, but he allowed it to turn him around anyway. "Out," she commanded, shaking her head. "We need to get going or we'll be late."

Lester dutifully made his way to the door while Ella adjusted a couple of final details on Steph's hair and dress before handing her a tiny clutch and stepping away into the kitchen.

We were alone. Together. And I wasted no time in giving in to commands being barked inside my head. Careful not to ruffle the dress and undo the hard work she and Ella had put into her appearance, I stepped forward until we were toe to toe, eye to eye, her gold strappy stilettos bridging the difference in our heights perfectly. I held her gaze as I wrapped her in my arms, all but freefalling into the oceanic depths as our lips met. My groan was in harmony with her moan as she gave herself over to me. It felt like years since I had kissed her, even though I'd done so as much as possible in the days since I'd returned to Trenton.

We were both breathless when we finally parted, snapped back to reality by Lester's voice calling from the hall that if he held the elevator up much longer he risked Hector using some super secret override switch that shut off the function that caused the doors to spring back open if they detected a body in the way. And then we'd have two halves of a corpse to deal with.

"Later," I promised, staring deep into Steph's eyes.

She scrunched up her nose in that endearing way she had and joked, "You mean we'll pick this up later?" she asked, using a finger to gesture between us, even with our chests still pressed together. "Or you'll let Hector use his super secret button on Lester later?"

I let a little chuckle past my defences and was rewarded by a full body shiver coursing through her, pressing her a little closer still. "The first one," I assured her. "But I'll decide on the other later. We need him for the job tonight."

Steph smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to my cheek. "Thank you for inserting yourself into the operation," she whispered, her eyes lowered. "I didn't want to burden you with more to worry about, but I always feel safer in these jobs when I know you're watching my back."

"You never have to worry about overburdening me," I told her solemnly. "I would give my dying breath if it meant you were safe."

Her nose screwed up again, but this time she was frowning. "I understand what you mean, but can you not talk like that before we head out on a job?"

I gave a tiny nod. "Of course. How's this? I would prefer to know you are safe and feel it than for you to not include me for fear that I already have too much on my plate." And because I could still sense her tension, I added, "You've seen the way I eat, Babe, there's never too much on my plate."

She smiled then, and I allowed her to pull away from me so we could start toward the door, her hand slipping into mine like the most natural thing in the world. But I stopped dead in my tracks as a thought occurred to me.

"Babe," I said, drawing her attention back to me. "Are you dressed?"

Her eyebrows quirked in that would-be single eyebrow raise again. "I thought we already established that this dress, as loose as the term may be, is what I've been requested to wear," she pointed out.

I shook my head. "No, I mean do you have a gun, a stun gun, something to defend yourself with if things go awry."

"Ah." The understanding dawned on her face, clearing away the confusion like the sun banishing clouds from the sky after the rain. Opening her clutch, she held it out for me to look inside.

*o*

"Babe," I growled into the mic, having pressed the button that allowed my voice to be projected to the earpiece Steph wore. "If that hand goes an inch lower I'll give Ram the go ahead to take a shot."

She didn't reply, because she was in conversation with another couple attending the ball, but I watched from across the room as she subtly reached behind herself and gripped Dylan Wingfield's hand, moving it from where it had drifted so that the tips of his fingers skimmed the top of her buttock to the waist where it belonged. Although even that had me clenching my teeth. It should be my hand on her waist, or drifting lower to cup her ass. My side she leaned into. My ear she whispered into when she spotted something.

This whole job was torture, my own personal hell, and I wondered, not for the first time, how Steph could stand to have another man's hands on her like that when I could tell from her face that she wanted to let Ram take the shot as much as I did. She hid her expression well. None of the general populace gathered here tonight would guess that she was silently wishing for it to be over, but I could tell. And no doubt my men could too, as evidenced by the chatter coming through the comms now.

"How much longer till they draw the raffle?" Hal asked. "Once they do the raffle, that's the end of the night, right? I'm sick of watching this guy grope Steph."

"Yeah, I'm starting to think this whole bodyguarding farce is just an elaborate ruse to get Bomber as his date," Woody added. "I haven't seen even a hint of this stalker Wingfield is worried about."

"Keep your eyes peeled and don't let your guard down," I intoned. "With how close he's keeping Steph any threat to Wingfield is a threat to her." But I had to agree with them. The longer I watched them together, the more the tense feeling in my gut tightened. Something was off, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

Everything seemed to be in order while I was reading through the file today. Wingfield was nothing special and the stalker was unidentified, but enough of a threat that they'd been able to plant a flash bomb in his apartment while my men had been babysitting him over the last week. No one was injured, but it legitimised Wingfield's claims. Even Steph's extensive background search had revealed nothing of significance. No enemies. He even seemed to be good friends with the men who had gone on to win and be runner up in the dating show that had launched his minor fame. If it weren't for the flashbomb, we might have dropped the case.

I kept my gaze trained on Steph and Wingfield as they finished up their conversation and he led her back toward the dance floor. While I was always aware of my surroundings - and tonight was no different - I was relying on my men to keep surveilling the crowds for signs of trouble in this instance as I approached a dejected looking woman nearby and asked her to dance so I'd have an excuse to stick close.

I found it difficult to focus on Steph and Wingfield's quiet conversation filtering through my earpiece while the woman I'd picked up was lamenting about being stood up by her boyfriend, so I quickly abandoned her with a vague excuse. I wove my way through couples swaying all around the floor, dodging a clumsy dip as I went, until I was finally closing in on Steph and Wingfield, their words coming more clearly in my ear just as the tension in my body suddenly spiked.

I was being watched.

This was an obvious thought, of course. With the job and my men keeping an eye on Steph, my proximity to the pair would put me in their sights as well. But this was different. A new set of eyes had entered the fray and they weren't friendly. I said as much into my comms while I secured a new dance partner, immediately spinning her out and drawing her back to my chest before using the gentle, generic steps of the dance to turn inch by inch, casting my gaze over the crowd past the side of her head. Every time she started to speak, I spun her out again, cutting her off. I'd have to be careful, or I'd be doing more spinning than anything else.

And all the while, I was keeping half my attention on Steph and her ward.

"Primo, behind you. Five o'clock," Lester suddenly said, loud and clear in my ear. His tone sent chills through me, and even as I manoeuvred my dance partner so I could see in the direction my cousin had indicated, he continued to provide information. "That's Clinton Isles, Director March's junior assistant. He brought me a mediocre coffee last time I was called to DC."

The man was thin, and sharply dressed, with carefully coiffed brown hair, and a perpetually pinched face. He probably would have blended into the hoards of people surrounding him if it weren't for my cousin's ability to recall faces. I dipped my dance partner, staring across her ample breasts toward Isles.

"What the hell is he doing here?" I muttered, lifting the woman and spinning her away so she wouldn't hear my question.

"Something tells me he didn't come to support sick kids," Les commented,his voice devoid of it's usual humour as he slipped instantly into the role of serious soldier, one I knew he was good at. It was the reason I trusted him explicitly with Steph's safety. "Hal, Woody, Ram, stick with Steph. Zero, Zip, circle round. If Isles takes another step toward Steph I want him-"

"Wingfield pulled again," Woody interrupted, urgent and with a hint of panic that shot straight to my heart. I whipped my head around to confirm that while I'd been distracted, Dylan Wingfield had drawn a gun from somewhere on his person and was pressing it into Steph's stomach as he continued to hold her close, swaying slightly. To the untrained eye it would look like nothing more than an awkward couple that couldn't dance, but for me it was my worst nightmare.

With nothing but a layer of mesh and ribbon between her and the firearm, she wouldn't be in a good place if Wingfield decided to pull the trigger.

Shoving the woman I'd been dancing with away, I took a step toward the love of my life only to freeze when her shaky voice rang in my ear over the sound of the men organising a response. "Don't, Ranger," she pleaded, her fists curling tighter into the fabric of Wingfields jacket as he jerked the gun against her abdomen, simultaneously taking a step back. "If you get too close he'll shoot me. They don't care if I live or die, it's you they want."

I was awash in confusion for the second time today as I swung my head to catch Isles disengaging from his own dance partner. He gave me a generous glimpse of his weapon with a flick of his jacket and then he was stalking toward me.

"Me?" I asked, pressing the button to send my voice to Steph as I turned back to keep an eye on her, laying my other hand on the gun holstered under my jacket and trusting that Zero had kept to his assigned task and would be backing me up while the others worked on a way to free Steph.

"There is no stalker," she said, a little breathlessly as Wingfield continued to back them away, likely heading for the emergency exit a few yards beyond the dance floor. "They bribed Dylan to pretend to have a stalker to get me to be his date-slash-bodyguard and draw you out."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. How did she know this? Why wasn't it in the file? A chill ran down my spine. Was she working with them? "Babe?" I breathed.

"You'll have to excuse our methods," Isles said as he approached. "But since you refused to see reason during your last meeting and declined all further requests to discuss your contract, we had to take matters into our own hands."

"By threatening the life of an innocent woman?" I questioned, trying to keep calm. Steph and Wingfield were still inching toward the exit. Why hadn't my men taken him out already?

"She's far from innocent, Ranger," Isles sneered. "You know that. But it was the only way we could see to grab your attention and keep it long enough to convince you to re-sign your contract."

"I'm not re-signing."

"I know that's what you said, but I'm sure I can change your mind." Isles gestured with one hand toward a table at the edge of the dance floor and I had to tamp down the rage that boiled inside me at the sight of Director March, nonchalantly sipping a cocktail as he took in what he probably thought was a brilliant piece of entertainment.

They knew Steph was my weakness, and they weren't above exploiting it to get what they wanted, but it wasn't going to happen. They may hold her fate in their hands, but I would never let them win.

"If you'll just step this way," Isles continued when all I did was growl, a low, menacing, unintentional sound drifting up from the very depths of my soul. "We don't want to keep the Director waiting, do we?"

I didn't give a fuck what the Director wanted. He couldn't have Steph and he couldn't have me. I cut my eyes from Steph to the table to Steph again. My heart was racing as Wingfield got her to open the door and they stepped through out of sight. It was barely closed behind them when a shot rang out from beyond and my heart stopped dead in my chest.

All hell broke loose. Panicked civilians running this way and that, screaming senselessly all around me as I tore across the room, practically knocking the door off its hinges in my need to get to my Babe, to make sure she was all right. We hadn't planned to back up this exit. But when I burst through into the warm summer air, I had to re-analyse what I'd read in the file and the plans, because before me was a most unexpected scene. Tank, with his boot to Wingfield's neck, gun trained at his face while a gunshot wound oozed blood from the man's shoulder. Hector and Steph off to one side, talking quietly, but urgently as he forcefully wrapped a coat around her shoulders, concealing her revealing dress from view while she tried to gesticulate with her urgency.

"Babe!" I called, hoping to calm her distress, but it must have had the opposite effect as her eyes widened and she called my name in return just a second before my world went black.

*o*

When I waded back to consciousness some time later, I knew instantly that I was in the infirmary at Rangeman, and that despite the cot I was laid out on barely being big enough for me alone, Steph was plastered to my side, her arm and leg wrapped over my body like when she was trying to keep me from getting up in the morning. I smiled slightly at that, and turned my head enough to press a kiss to the top of her head, noting the stab of pain the action caused in the back of my own with a grimace.

"Good, you're awake," Bobby's relieved voice reached me from the end of the bed, and I narrowed my eyes at him through the gloom. "I was starting to think I should have taken you to the hospital after all."

"What happened?" I asked, ignoring his comments about the hospital. As much as Steph was averse to being admitted to the sterile, haunting medical facilities, it was nothing on my own disdain and distrust for them. I'd have fought Bobby on it from the second I woke up until he conceded to sign me out, against medical advice if necessary.

"You were stuck with a tranq," he explained, pulling up a chair beside the bed and sitting down. "Knocked your head pretty good on the way down. You've been out for a few hours."

"Is Steph-"

"She's fine," he assured me quickly. "Not a scratch on her."

A relieved sigh fell from my lips as my entire body relaxed. It was short-lived, though, as the memories of the night flashed vividly through my mind. "They used her as bait to try to convince me to re-up my contract," I said, more for myself to hear out loud than for Bobby's benefit. "The Wingfield thing was just a plot to draw me out in the open."

"Yup," he confirmed. "If Steph hadn't figured it out ahead of time you might be locked up somewhere in DC or dead right now. From what I understand, Director March had taken a bit of a do or die attitude toward you."

I frowned at him. "She figured it out ahead of time?" Then why go ahead with the bodyguarding farce?

"If we didn't stop them now, they'd just keep trying," Steph yawned, answering my unspoken question as she stretched against my side. "It's pretty clear from the amount of missions they've thrown at you since you told them you're quitting that they weren't gonna let you out without a fight."

I'd figured that out for myself, but that didn't explain how Steph knew who Director March and his junior lackey were, let alone that they would be at the function tonight, nor how she figured out that Wingfield's stalker was a lie in a larger web meant to draw me out. "How did you-"

"I uncovered some really annoying deadends when looking into some of the leads I dug up," she explained, shifting against me again so that she could meet my gaze more easily as she spoke. "When I took them to Tank, he used his higher clearance to get me the information I needed to fill in the blanks. We figured out that Clinton Isles, an ambitious junior assistant to Jeffrey March, the director of-"

"I know who they are, Babe." I shook my head, biting back a hiss when the action caused a surge of pain, but soldiering on nonetheless. "But there was nothing in the file to suggest they were even tangentially involved."

"That's because if we let you read the full file you never would have let Steph go in, and she needed to be in place in order for us to gain the upper hand," Tank said, stepping around the curtain that surrounded my bed with Lester right behind.

"Upper hand?" I hadn't felt this out of the loop since the time my sisters had tried to keep the fact that my pet goldfish had died. "If I'd known what they were up to I could have taken them out myself."

"Yeah, but then you'd be behind bars for murder, primo," Lester pointed out, giving me a lopsided grin as he teased. He knew that I could have gotten away with it. "As soon as Tank and Steph figured out what was going on, they got the feds involved. March and Isles have now been stood down and are facing a thorough inquiry into the last decade of private missions that have been run and the personnel lost. This way, we have a hope of a better future for the next generation. No way they'll be allowed to pick right back up with the same tricks."

I tightened my arms around Steph, at once grateful for what she was willing to go through for my own safety and freedom and the wellbeing of men she'd never even met, and confused as to how they all could have slipped this straight under my nose.

As though she'd suddenly gained the ability to read my mind, Steph leaned up and kissed my chin. "This is one instance where you barely being here the last few months worked to our advantage," she explained. "While you were distracted with catching up, it was easy enough to draw your attention to the part of the plan we wanted you to see, while Tank organised the B team to deal with March and Isles. I know you like to know what I'm up to, so by not mentioning it to you and then scheduling the last meeting when I knew you'd be in and out of your office I knew it'd catch your attention."

"And the choice of dress ensured you'd keep your eyes glued to her while we scoped March and Isles out," Lester added, grinning even wider now. The smug bastard.

"Don't forget your appointment on the mats tomorrow," I reminded him, my tone threatening, but Bobby let out a tutting noise.

"You're barely cleared for bedrest at this point, Ranger," he admonished. "You step in that ring and I'll pull your weapon and order a psych eval."

I sat up, dragging Steph with me and ignoring the slight dizzy spell to narrow my eyes at the medic. "You wouldn't dare." The only reply I got was a single raised eyebrow. He would absolutely dare. Defeated again, I leaned back against the wall. "Fine," I conceded. "But as soon as I'm cleared, you're eating mat, Santos. Not to mention the rest of you."

"Great!" Les agreed. "That gives me some time to bask in the glory of pulling the wool over your eyes for once. You've been impossible to surprise since we were in high school and you almost ruined your own surprise birthday party."

"Okay, that's enough," Steph yawned. "Bobby, if you don't mind, I'm going to take Ranger upstairs to get some real sleep."

Bobby lifted that eyebrow again. "So long as you actually sleep," he warned.

I waved him off as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. "Yeah, yeah." I pushed to my feet and wrapped my arm around Steph's waist when she did the same. "I'll be down in the morning for the obligatory check up."

And with that, I left my traitorous, yet caring core team behind, making a show of walking confidently despite the fatigue weighing me down. After effects of the tranquiliser, no doubt. But as soon as we were inside the elevator, I leaned against the wall, letting out a long, slow breath. "As much as I really want to defy Bobby's orders and have you put that dress back on so I can take it off of you, I think it'll have to wait a day or so until I'm properly up to the task," I said into Steph's curls.

She hugged me tighter as the numbers climbed. "You're not mad about us going behind your back?"

"Furious," I assured her with no heat to the word, mentally kicking myself when she tensed and tried to pull away. I tugged her back to me, tucking her head under my chin as I sighed yet again. "But only because I didn't figure it out. You did good, Babe. I'm proud of you."

Her body hummed happily against mine and I thought that while I didn't have the energy to do the dress justice, I could probably manage a suitable display of just how much I loved her for wanting to protect not just me but others who would have been victimised by March and Isles in the same way. By the time the elevator doors pinged open on seven, I knew exactly what I wanted to do to her, and we were barely inside the apartment before I was tearing her yoga pants off her and setting her on the side table next to the key dish. For the next few hours I ensured that we were both fully in the moment.

I had a lot of barely there months - if not years - to make up for.