A/N: I wrote this somewhere around when Book 7 came out, so 20+ years ago. Song fics were popular at the time (they probably still are). I've put the lyrics at the end, instead of interspersing them in the text where they originally were. Judging by all the paragraphs that start with a pronoun, this was very early in my foray into writing fan fic. I like my Ranger on the more mysterious, harder side, and back when 7 came out, we didn't know much about him except he had an office on Cameron St and was engaged in some "questionably legal" things.

Stolen

The large white envelope was taped to the office door. One word was written in block letters across the front. His name. He exchanged a quick glance with the tall, broad, silent man at his side, who shook his head.

"Wasn't here this morning. Shall I get the kit?" Ranger nodded and Tank headed off to the equipment locker, bringing back a small box of tools and devices.

Tank pulled on the gloves in the box and quickly ran a set of tests. He shook his head. "Clean. No explosives residue, no fingerprints." He looked up at Ranger, who nodded again. Tank pulled the note off the door and ripped the envelope open, pulling out a short note.

I have stolen something valuable of yours.

You don't even know it's gone.

If you want it back, come and get it.

Alone. No tricks.

21 Rural Route 4

Ranger closed his eyes. He knew. Knew. Pulling out his cell phone, he hit autodial and listened. Her machine picked up and he heard eight beeps, signifying eight messages ahead of him. Probably her mother calling to scold her for breaking yet another unwritten and incomprehensible Burg rule.

He disconnected and dialed her cell number. It switched to voice mail immediately. He smiled in spite of himself. No help there. The cell could be turned off, the battery could be dead, the tape holding the battery onto the back of the phone could have come loose while rattling around in the bottom of the suitcase she called a purse – Steph and cell phones. Almost worse than Steph and expensive cars.

He tried the office next. "Yo, Connie. Stephanie been in today? Were you expecting her? You were. She have any active FTAs? No?" His voice hardened. "Call me if you hear from her."

He jogged out to his car and drove to her apartment, his mind carefully calm, but on full alert. He drove around her block a few times. No suspicious cars, no surveillance. Her car was parked in her usual spot by the dumpster. He walked up the stairs and slipped the lock on her apartment, noting wryly that he could probably do this in his sleep now.

Her apartment was in the usual well-lived-in state. Not exactly a mess, but her trademark jumble of things. The home of someone who threw herself into life whole-heartedly and without reservation. Sometimes without thought. She went head-first into messes and wasn't good at cleaning them up after. He pushed open her bedroom door, his eyes first going to the bed. It was unmade, the sheets rumpled, the pillows askew. Slept in by a single occupant, he noted. The scent of her, soft and pleasing to him, lingered lightly in the air. The alarm clock was on the floor, upside down. Her closet seemed as full as ever, clothes on hangers and on the floor and the drawers of her dresser all slightly open but mostly full. Her bathroom was the same controlled chaos as the rest of her house. He checked the bedroom window and the fire escape.

No signs forced entry, no sign of a struggle, no sign that she had planned to leave for any extended period. He checked the living room again. Her rodent was still here and his food and water were full.

But she wasn't here and she was overdue at the office. Reluctantly, he pulled out his cell and dialed another number.

It was answered with a snarl after two rings.

"Morelli."

"Yo, Morelli."

"Manoso. What do you want?"

"You seen Steph?"

Morelli laughed, an unpleasant thing. "That's fucking rich, coming from you. You sleep with my girlfriend, she breaks up with me, then you refuse to have a relationship with her and now you call me trying to find her? Have I got that right?"

"Steph's missing. Have you seen her in the last 48 hours?" Ranger said flatly, cutting him off.

"No. Fuck." Joe sighed. "Her mother called me this morning trying to find her, too. What psycho did she piss off now?"

"On my way to find out." He hung up and left the apartment, getting into his car and heading out of town.

Morelli had assumed this was her own mess, but it wasn't. The note had been addressed to him. Her own troubles were dangerous enough, but if someone was using her to set him up she could be in very serious trouble.

The address in the note was thirty minutes outside of town. He stopped the car outside visual range of the property and walked in, his Glock out and ready.

He did slow, circling reconnaissance of the property. No vehicles. No sentries. No traps. He let the next few circles take him closer and closer to the small house, every sense alert and focused on the perimeter. He thought he heard soft music coming from the house, but refused to let it distract him from his cautious approach. Whoever was behind this was not a professional. In some ways that made it all the more dangerous, since professionals were predictable. Amateur lunatics with grudges didn't behave rationally and couldn't be trusted to cooperate.

The sun had crossed behind a stand of trees and the early evening shadows were long. He crept closer and stood in a pool of darkness and looked in the big windows into the well-lit front room. He'd seen Stephanie cross the room a few times, but no one else.

Silently he slipped to the back of the house, frowning as the knob on the back door turned easily in his hand and the door opened. This was far too easy. He entered the dark kitchen and paused, listening carefully and scanning all of the shadows. Nothing.

He stopped in the darkened doorway. She moved across the bright living room and he watched her. She didn't look alarmed or concerned as she moved about the room, adjusting the objects on the shelves. In fact, she looked more impatient than anything else. She shut off the radio and began to tap her foot on the wooden floor. As though she was waiting for something - or someone.

He saw the change in her the moment she felt his presence. The sense of connection between them always surprised him. As though they were attuned to each other, he always knew when she was nearby. She could feel it as well, but not as strongly, probably because she hadn't spent as many years honing survival instincts that used every edge and every bit of the senses possible.

Her head came up and she swung around to face him. Her hair was loose and long, curling down her back. She wore a simple cotton summer dress and her feet were bare. She looked carefree and very alive and what he wanted to do was step forward, tangle his hands in her hair and pull her hard up against him in his relief at finding her safe and well. Instead, he returned his gun to his back holster and silently crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb.

She smiled at him, tentatively. "You got my note."

Surprise jolted him, although he was careful not to show it. "Your note?" he asked, voice expressionless.

"Yes," she said, her luminous blue eyes locked on him as she took a step toward him. "I have something of yours."

She had set this up. Set him up. He felt a liquid pulse of anger course through him that she would do this to him. Or maybe it was because she could do this to him. His voice was cool and calm as he spoke, revealing none of this to her. "We playing games now, Babe?"

Her eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms. She studied him for a moment, taking in his posture. Her eyes began to darken and sparkle. She was furious with him. "I'm not playing any games," she spat at him. "I have something of yours, do you want it back or not?"

He looked at her steadily. He was not going to play whatever game this was.

His silence seemed to further enrage her and she took a step closer. "Fine. It's mine, then, and I'll keep it. I had to steal it from you, but it's mine now."

He couldn't keep all of the anger out of his voice. "What the fuck are you talking about, Stephanie? What have you stolen from me?"

She lay her hand on that spot on his chest and spoke, her tone still angry. "Your heart," she said. "Your love. It's mine. And you can't have it back."

He stepped away from her, the need to make a further restless, betraying gesture strong. He had no answer for her, had no idea what to say other than to deny it. Deny her.

"I don't understand," she whispered, "why you want to be so alone. You don't have to be. You have me. I have you."

"Nothing to do with what I want. It's what has to be." His voice was gentle, trying to soften his words for her. He knew it was a mistake. He should be rough. Brutal. Force her to finally accept it. He could see tears start in her eyes and knew that if he pushed hard now he could break her down. But he did not want to. He never wanted to see this woman broken and that was the problem.

"You keep saying that. What the hell does it mean? Tell me, exactly, why. We'd take work. We'd take change. For both of us. Do you think I don't know that? Or do you just think I can't do it?"

He looked down at her, and thought about his answer. He'd been through this in his mind countless times. She was reckless and thoughtless, by turn arrogant and insecure. She didn't listen to him worth a damn and her attitude could cause her to do exactly the opposite of what he wanted her to do. It could get her killed and it could get him killed. Or worse.

She had no idea of the changes he would have to make, how much he'd have to re-order his life to bring her completely in. The jobs he'd have to turn down, the connections he'd have to cut, the control he'd have to give up, the ugly truths he'd have to share with her. The fear for her he'd have to learn to wear like a weapon. He wondered if she really understood the changes she would have to make. Her easy, mostly carefree life would have to change and her family, the 'Burg, her friends – none of them would understand.

She'd been watching him and she had an idea of what his thoughts were. "I'm a big girl now, Ranger," she breathed, stepping close to him. "Of all the things in my life, it's you I want. We can work it all out. I swear, Ranger."

So naive and so fierce. Loyal, temperamental, caring. He felt his instincts screaming alarms at him. He wanted this and he wanted it too much. Anything that mattered this much would not end well. For either of them.

She moved even closer, sliding one hand up his arm, across his shoulder, to his neck. "Ranger," she whispered into his ear and he fought to keep from shivering. "Give me your hands. Put your arms around me. Feel how right this is."

He watched as his hands slid into her hair, they way he'd wanted them to since he had arrived. He bent his head down to her and waited as she reached up to put her arms around him and brought her lips to his. Soft, warm and alive under his. He pulled her against him and felt their bodies melt and fit in to each other, just as his resolve against this began to melt. She smiled up at him as she felt the change. Sure of herself and sure of him.

As she opened her mouth to his, he gave the ever-watchful part of his brain a new mission to plan: Make this work, he thought. It can't, but make this work.

Steal Your Love, Lucinda Williams.

Did you lay down a law and lock up your heart

I'm gonna have to steal your love

Some laws should be broken from the start

I'm gonna have to steal your heart

You ain't about to give it up for no one

I'm gonna have to steal your love

I don't need a knife, I don't need a gun

I know how to steal your love