Many thanks to beta supreme, midnightandahalf. Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich. Anything you don't recognize is my wishful thinking.
A Ranger POV story
Chapter 1
I don't need the GPS to guide me to the scene of her latest car disaster. The black, billowing smoke can be seen for miles, rising above the Trenton skyline, adding more toxins and irritants to the haze that passes for summer air in New Jersey.
The control room alerted me when Steph's car went offline. The tracker in her messenger bag continues to transmit, meaning the bag wasn't in the car when it most likely went to car heaven, as she puts it. I follow the firetruck down South Broad Street and into the Chambersburg area of Trenton. My Babe's home turf. Not surprising, since many of the people Vinnie bonds out are from the 'Burg. And certainly not the first time one of her FTAs torched her car rather than accept her invitation to return to the courthouse to be rebonded.
The smoldering remains of the black Ford Escape sit off by themselves in the parking lot of the Stop 'N Bag. I can see Stephanie standing to the side talking to a uniformed police officer as the fire truck pulls alongside the charred remains that are already starting to burn themselves out. I park my Cayenne a safe distance from the fire and do a quick scan of the scene. There doesn't appear to be any obvious danger still lurking - no gangbangers with a rocket launcher; no evil villain holding a black box with a big red button; no coyote with an Acme detonator.
As I move toward her, I run my eyes over her, both to check for injuries and to reassure myself that she's okay. She is holding her left arm against her chest and has her right hand wrapped around her left wrist. Her hair is mussed, and there is a smudge of blood on her cheek. The knee of her jeans is ripped out and I can see she's skinned her knee. Doesn't look serious, but it will need to be cleaned thoroughly to get the gravel and dirt out.
Steph catches sight of me approaching and says something to the cop, and the uniform turns and glances my way. I'm glad to see it's Eddie Gazarra. He's a good friend to Steph and I know he made sure she was okay before doing the cop thing.
"You okay, Babe?" I ask when I reach them.
"Yeah, I'll live. Sorry about the car, though," she says with a grimace.
"It's just a car. What's wrong with your wrist?" I ask.
Steph looks down at her hands, as if she hasn't realized until now that she is holding it. "We were hurrying to get away from the car and I tripped. I put out my hands to break my fall and hurt my wrist," she says.
This meant there were probably cuts and scrapes on her palms that would need tending. I don't see any cuts on her face, so the smear of blood probably came from pushing her hair off her face after she fell. I add that piece of data to my mental catalogue of her injuries.
"Any indication of what caused the fire?" I ask. Contrary to what we see in the movies, cars don't just go around exploding. Even fires in cars are rare, and usually the result of a design flaw or poor maintenance. In the case of any POS Steph owns, it could be just about anything, but this had been a Rangeman fleet vehicle.
"Hard to tell. We'll know more after the fire marshal's office gets done with it," Gazarra says.
I look at Steph. "You have any ideas?"
"No. I was bringing Bobby Carolli in and, all of the sudden, smoke started pouring out from under the dash. My guess would be electrical fire. I haven't had any notes left on my windshield, no one has broken into my apartment, and no heavy breathing phone calls."
I contemplate that as I watch Morelli pull into the parking lot and park a short distance away. Steph has seen him pull in too, and lets out a weary sigh. As he walks over, he pulls a roll of antacids out of his pocket and tosses a couple into his mouth. Seems a little staged, but hell, what do I know?
"What happened? You okay? Do you know how many calls I got just driving over here? Jesus, Cupcake." He pops another antacid into his mouth before shoving the roll back into his pocket.
"Fire, yes, and no," Steph says succinctly.
Morelli looks pissed at the obvious sarcasm and I struggle to keep my face blank. I always enjoy watching her get her sass on when the cop gets in her face.
"What are you doing here, Joe? I thought I made it clear a month ago that I was no longer your problem." Guess the rumors of them being in the off-again stage were true.
Joe blows out a sigh. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you Cupcake. You're a freakin' disaster magnet, but you're not a problem."
"Gee, Joe, you really know how to make a girl feel special." Sarcasm, take two.
Steph looks at Gazarra, "Are we done here, Eddie?"
Gazarra nods and looks at me. "You gonna have your guy take care of the car? Hard to tell with Steph, but it doesn't appear to be a crime scene." Steph gives him a little squint eye.
"My guy is already on the way with a flat bed," I reply.
"C'mon, Cupcake. Get in. I'll give you a ride home." Joe says, turning to walk back toward his SUV. He obviously expects Steph to follow obediently behind him, and turns with another exasperated sigh when she doesn't move.
"Fine. Whatever. Good luck, Manoso. You're going to need it," he says, giving me a mock salute and walking away without a backward glance.
"Would you like a ride, Babe?" I ask, knowing better than to try to order her into my vehicle. She's still holding her wrist and it's obvious from her face that she's in some discomfort.
She nods and we walk back to the Cayenne. "Where would you like to go? Do you think you need x-rays?" I ask.
"No, it isn't broken. I just need to wrap it and take some ibuprofen."
I trust that she will tell me if she needs to go to the ER, so I buckle her in and point the Cayenne toward St. James Street. I park in the open spot near the door and Steph gives me a sideways glance. She thinks I have some weird parking karma, but I could have just as easily wound up parked near the dumpster. I know I shouldn't encourage the superhero persona she and Lula have created for me. Honestly it creates some seriously unrealistic expectations, but what man could resist being put on a pedestal by a woman like my Babe.
