Many thanks to midnightandahalf for the beta help. Thanks to those who have stuck with the story over the last two years and for those who have just started following. The only thing better than having ones story followed and favorited is getting a review from one of you amazing readers.
Enjoy!
Chapter 13
Trust. We're born with it. Being able to count on those around us is essential to the survival of our species. Mistrust we learn. When someone doesn't have your six. When those who are supposed to take care of you don't support you. When they inflict hurt. Some people learn these lessons hard and fast. Others never seem to learn them. And some people live the lessons over and over until they finally figure it out, but they don't become cynical and jaded.
I have to be able to trust every person on my team. Who is messing with our vehicles? Last night before leaving the accident scene, I ordered a complete inspection of all Rangeman vehicles. Nothing leaves the garage until Al or one of his mechanics gives it the green light. If possible, the patrol teams are not to leave a vehicle unattended. The garage is monitored, so it would be difficult for someone to tamper with the vehicles once inside. Unless the bastard works for Rangeman.
I contemplate this as I move through the quiet apartment, navigating through the darkness with ease. I don't bother to stop and leave a note this morning. I'll be back with The Cure before she stirs. First things first, though.
This morning I follow Tank through the gate into the Rangeman garage. Nothing is said as we move up to the third floor gym. I owe him for the stun gun and handcuffs, but I'm having a hard time working up any of the righteous anger I felt yesterday. If I'm being honest with myself, he had my six once again. Not only did he keep me from doing something that would have pissed her off, but he made sure Steph was still looked after.
The only sounds in the gym for the next half hour were the muffled thump of a wrapped fist connecting with a solid blow, the jarring thud of a large body hitting the mat, and the grunt of air being expelled that followed either. No trash talk today. We went through the motions, but it was obvious we both had other things on our minds.
"Enough," I say, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat from my face. "I'll meet you in my office in ten."
I take the stairs to seven, shower, dress and am at my desk nine minutes later. A minute later Tank walks in and drops a folder on my desk.
"All of the Rangeman vehicles have been inspected. Al's guy found one other vehicle with a nicked brake line. No way to tell how long ago it was done, but Al thinks it was probably recent. A compromised line won't last for long in a hydraulic system."
As Tank is talking I am looking at the photos of the sabotaged line. The picture was taken up close and behind the tire. Impossible to tell which unit was targeted.
"Which vehicle is this?" I ask.
"Unit 2," he responds.
Unit 2 is the patrol vehicle assigned to Tank. Whoever is doing this has now targeted my woman, my cousin and my second in command.
"Why not my vehicle?" I wonder aloud. "It's like he's targeting those I'm closest to."
"Nice to know you still care, Rangeman." Tank the comedian is back.
"He obviously doesn't know what a prick you are," I say and Tank chuckles. Guess we're good.
"So what next? How are we going to ferret out this weasel?" he asks.
"Next, I'm going to pick up a large fries and a Coke for Steph and once she is able to function, I'm going to bring her in and have her start digging. I've got Silvio working on it from Miami, but she has a unique way of looking at problems. Between the two of them, we'll find this guy." And when we do, I'll make him regret the day he decided to mess with mine.
All is quiet when I enter her apartment twenty minutes later. I pause to listen and hear a soft snoring sound coming from the bedroom. She's still asleep. I move silently through her apartment, the smell of still warm fries trailing in my wake. I place the icy Coke on her bedside table and smile as I take in her disheveled appearance. She's pulled the covers half over her face, probably an attempt to keep the weak sunlight filtering around the edges of her curtain out of her eyes. Her brown curls are peaking out around the edges of the blankets and falling over her face. She is on her side and has the pillow I slept on hugged against her chest.
I open the bag of grease, salt and potato and hold it under her nose. The snoring ends with a small snort and she tries unsuccessfully to pry open an eyelid. A hand snakes out from under the covers and wipes her mouth, afraid she had been drooling in her sleep. The same hand then reaches out to grab the familiar white bag with the golden arches printed on the front.
"Thanks, Carlos," she says in a voice husky and thick with sleep. My dick immediately comes to attention at hearing my name murmured in that low, sexy as hell tone.
She remains on her side with her eyes shut, blindly reaching into the bag. Fries are extracted two or three at a time and shoved unceremoniously into her mouth. After repeating the process five or six times her eyes open to slits and she rolls on to her back and slides herself into a half sitting position against the headboard.
She grabs the Coke from the nightstand, mindless of the condensation dripping down the side of the paper cup and falling onto the bedding. Two long pulls on the straw drain a quarter of the contents and is followed by a soft burp and a murmured "S'cuse me."
Her eyes are half open now as she alternates between fries and the Coke. As she takes the last slurp from the Coke she declares me a god among men and says she believes she will live. I can't help the small grin at her dramatics.
"Not that I don't appreciate that you took time out of your probably very busy morning to once again save my life, but I'm curious as to why you're here and not at work," she says as she uses the coarse white napkins from the now empty bag to wipe grease and salt from her fingers.
"I need your help, Babe. The accident last night wasn't an accident. Someone sabotaged the brake line on Lester's vehicle. Al's mechanic checked all of the Rangeman vehicles and found Tank's fleet vehicle had been tampered with as well. I suspect it was the same person who caused the oil leak in your car. The bastard is targeting those closest to me."
Her forehead furrows as she looks at me questioningly. "I can see targeting Lester, he's family. And Tank is your best friend. But me? We only just got together after my fleet vehicle went up in a cloud of smoke. That doesn't make sense."
"Everyone knows you've been important to me for a long time. It doesn't matter how we defined it. Scrog, Orin, Vlatko, they all saw how much I love you and targeted you because of it. This is just one more psychopath."
Her expression brightens at my words. She doesn't focus on the crazies who have tried to harm her because of me and hones in on the love part, reminding me that we are two very messed up individuals.
