A/N – and we hit the M rating here.

Under Pressure – Chapter 9

Tank took me home. We drove in silence. There wasn't really anything to say. When I got home I left the front door open and unlocked. I knew he would be coming and I figured he'd be mad enough to probably break the door. No sense in pissing him off further.

I sat on the couch and waited, trying to come up with some defense or explanation that didn't sound lame even to me.

It was about an hour later when I felt the stir in my body that could only mean one thing – one man. I turned and he was standing in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest.

I had expected the blank face, the zone face, but instead he just looked tired. When he spoke his voice was flat – no anger but no emotion or life, either. "I told you to stay at the safe house. I trusted your word that you would."

I stood up and held one hand out to him. "Ranger, please understand, it was my parents. I was afraid Brooks had gotten to them and I couldn't just wait around!"

He looked at my outstretched hand until I dropped it down by my side. "And what were you going to do if it was one of Brooks' men? You were alone and unarmed."

He walked in a few steps and shut the door, locking the dead bolt and sliding on the chain.

"I couldn't just let them get hurt! I was going to get them away.. I was going to.." Okay, so I hadn't thought it out completely. And he knew that.

He closed his eyes and turned away. "I can't do this anymore, Steph. I can't trust your word. I can't keep you from running head-first into trouble." His voice was cool, calm and very, very distant.

He was still standing with his back to me and I could see him flexing his right hand. Open. Closed. Open. Great. I was giving Ranger a nervous tic. No, make that an angry tic.

He turned back to look at me. "Why is it that you will fearlessly charge into a situation that can get you killed but yet you are afraid of me?"

I took a step closer to him. "I'm not afraid of you, Ranger."

"You are. You say you trust me but you can't, not completely."

He pulled up against him, hard, his breath warm on my face, and I felt a thrill skitter up my body, leaving goose bumps as I thought about what this man could do to me. He saw the shiver and let go of me, pushing me away, and turned his back to me.

I had to make him understand. I put my hand on his shoulder. "I do trust you.."

He spun around, his hands clamping around my neck and lifting me to pin me against the wall. He moved his thumb to press against the hollow of my throat and I felt my throat start to close. "Tell me now that you are not afraid of me." His eyes were dark, burning, very angry.

My feet dangled above the floor and the pressure of his hands on my throat was nearly painful. I had been startled by his speed and by his anger. And I was pretty close to angry at being tested like this. But I knew he wouldn't hurt me – of that I had no doubt. At least it wasn't a physical hurt from him that I was afraid of.

I kept my hands at my side and looked down into his eyes. "I'm not afraid of you, Ranger."

His eyes locked on to mine, pulling out the truth behind my words. Slowly his thumb moved away and he loosened his hands, sliding me back down the wall. He smoothed his fingers around my throat and neck, as close as he would ever get to an apology.

"Then what are you afraid of? What is it that puts fear in your eyes when I come close to you?"

"I'm afraid of us. Of how you make me feel. Of change and letting go."

He nodded. "Yes. Another reason we end this. Here and now."

"What do you mean "end"?"

"We don't see each other again." His eyes were cold and bleak, fixed on mine as he made sure his words were understood. "Not professionally. Not as friends. Not as .. anything else." He took a few steps away from me.

I blinked at him. Not see him again? "No," I said, shaking my head. "No. We work together. We're friends." Even Joe and I had stayed friends.

"I'll turn Vinnie's contract over to Tank. If you need backup, he'll help you. It's already arranged." He turned to go.

I grabbed his shirt. "No. Don't do this."

He looked at my hand on his shirt and brought up his hand, closing his fingers over my wrist. His thumb pushed on a point in my wrist, painfully, and my fingers fell open and his shirt dropped out of my hand. He moved my hand back down to my side and let go, his fingers gently brushing the place he had hurt.

"It's best for both of us, Steph. Not just you. Not just me. This is your world – where you are comfortable. Stay here."

We looked at each other. I felt like I was seconds away from tears. My face was hot and I was starting to breathe in gaspy little jerks.

It wasn't possible to tell which of us moved first, but we wanted the same thing. The feel, the taste, the touch of the other. His hands and his lips were hungry, angry.

We had just finished discussing how there would be no us. I shouldn't do this. I shouldn't set myself up for more hurt.

This was insane. Really insane. Really really insanely arousing.

Neither of us were thinking about finesse. We were thinking about textures, about fitting together, about the heated rush of pleasure to come. I didn't even notice we were moving until we fell together on the bed, separating only long enough to remove key pieces of clothing.

And then we were both completely naked. His hands were rough, demanding and thorough. He bit down on my nipple and then sucked it into his mouth and I cried out with the pain and the pleasure and he thrust all of the way into me, filling and stretching me. His hands wrapped around my back and pulled against my ass, grinding the two of us together with every stroke. I felt like I had become only the most primitive element, that I existed only to be filled like this. His strokes came harder, faster, and then, as I felt close, my nerves screaming, he stopped and pulled back. I nearly screamed.

I opened my eyes and watched as he held himself still above me, his hands brushing across my face, across my neck, through my hair. His touch was slow, hypnotic and gentle as he followed my features and curves. He closed his eyes for a moment, his breath ragged. I reached up and slid my hands through his hair and he bent his head at my touch, allowing me to run my fingers in the silky length. I smiled up at him and traced the outline of his lips.

He opened his eyes and entered me again, stroking deeply and slowly, watching my face, looking into my eyes. There was something there in his eyes I hadn't seen before and couldn't name – whatever it was, it wasn't a happy thought.

"Say it, Steph." His voice was a hoarse growl.

I tried to whisper it but I couldn't form the words. Instead I arched my back, pushing my hips against him as he pushed deep inside. He thrust harder, the muscles in his arms and back straining with the effort of holding himself above me, with the effort to keep his pace slow, to keep himself from pounding into me like we both wanted.

"God damn you, SAY IT!"

"Ranger," I said, and then cried louder. "Oh, Ranger." His strokes were deep and slow, his arms pulled me tight against him so that we touched in every possible place, skin on skin, an exquisite slow sliding friction.

I opened my eyes and looked up into his, bringing my hands up to his face. I'd give him what he wanted. And mean every word of it. "Ranger, I lo…"

His mouth came down hard on mine, demanding, invading, taking the power of speech away to keep me from finishing those words. The words he had asked for. The words he wanted to know were there, but didn't want completely spoken.

Whether that was to protect him or me I didn't know.

His power and pace increased and there was nothing else at all but the sensation the we shared, each building on the other. I had already lost the power of speech and now I lost the ability to think, to do anything but move against him, my hands gripping his upper arms, my nails digging into his skin, my breath rasping into my lungs.

I felt his muscles under my hands lock, his full weight dropping down onto me. His hands moved under my back, sliding up to grip my shoulders, pulling me against him, bowing my back with every deep stroke. He pounded into me and began to let go, repeating my name in my ear, his voice a harsh groan, his breath hot on my neck.

And I screamed as my orgasm shattered over me, smashing into me like a mirror hit by a hammer, sharp bright shards splintering and scattering in the fall.

After, I was aware of his lips trailing over my body, his hands roaming gently, whispered words in soft, fluid Spanish against my skin, but I was so overwhelmed with the power and beauty of what we had just shared that I felt languor settle in and blanket my body, my limbs stilling and my mind shutting down.

-0- -0- -0- -0- -0- -0-

I woke up slowly, alone, and gasped as the memories from the night before flooded in. My skin was still sensitized and the brush of the sheets across my naked body made me shiver.

And in the memories, an image flashed in my head – the look in Ranger's eyes.

By the light of day, I knew what the look meant. I understood the slow, bittersweet quality of his touch. He had been saying goodbye. It was ended, just as he said.

So now I'm back to where I was five days ago – Ranger's avoiding me. Except that now I'm avoiding him, too. That's progress for you.

Under Pressure – Chapter 10

I was at the station, dropping off my latest skip, when I heard the news. One of Ranger's high-profile take-downs had gone bad – very bad. The bond had been issued by a New York agency and involved a drug-running gang leader who had such a violent history that he had gotten bail only under diplomatic pressure brought by his father. The gang leader had skipped his court hearing and Ranger and his team had caught him as he was leaving his high-rise penthouse. Unfortunately for Ranger, a rival gang had decided to handle the problem themselves and Ranger and his team had been caught between the two gangs.

As always, the cop shop retelling focused on the gore aspect – two of Ranger's team had been shot and several of the gang members were dead, shot in the melee between the three groups. The details were sketchy, but I managed to find out that Lester and Bobby had been wounded badly enough to be taken to the hospital. That was enough for me. I picked up my body receipt and headed for St. Francis.

I tried the emergency room first – no large men in black. I asked at the desk, giving a quick description of Ranger, and I didn't have to use more than three descriptive adjectives before the receptionist knew who I was talking about and sent me to the emergency surgery waiting room on the third floor.

I took the elevator up and saw Tank and another man I didn't recognize but who was clearly one of Ranger's men standing guard outside the door. Tank lifted an eyebrow at me as I walked toward them, but then he smiled and moved aside.

"Ms. Plum," he rumbled in greeting. "Good to see you again."

"How are they?"

"Lester just has a couple of cracked ribs – he took his hits in the vest. Should be out of here tomorrow. Bobby," he paused a second before continuing. "Bobby went into surgery a little while ago and it'll be a couple of hours yet."

"How bad is it?"

"The shots were fired up the stairwell at him – bullets went in at a low angle under the vest. Doc says they've got a lot of patching up to do. He lost a lot of blood. Looked bad, there."

I shivered, trying not to picture the scene. Medical trauma was not my forte. "And the rest of you?"

"Bumps and bruises, mostly." Tank cocked his head and looked down at me. "It's the waiting that's tough. And Ranger always takes it hard when a plan comes apart. Doesn't happen often." Tank smiled. "Although you seem to have that effect on him. I remember about six months ago when he had us open the safe house for you three times and you never came. First time I ever saw that happen. Usually when Ranger tells us he's bringing someone in, they come in." Then Tank scowled down at me. "And then they STAY in."

I knew what he meant. During the Ramos mess Ranger had come twice to haul me off into a safe house, pretty much against my will – once I threatened him with defense spray and the second time I convinced him that I needed to help a friend and, although he said it was against his better judgment, he'd let me go and given me to the next morning to solve my friend's problems. He did come for me the next day, arriving in time to watch Ramos shoot me. After he'd stunned Ramos, though, there was no need for me to go to a safe house, so I didn't really think it was fair to count the third time against me.

But it was true that I seemed to be able to throw Ranger's well-organized, carefully planned life into chaos. One of the first times he had helped me take down an FTA, he'd been shot with the gun the FTA had taken away from me. When we'd gone to Virginia to rescue Dougie and Mooner, he'd been shot. Even I could sense the pattern developing here.

Tank pointed a thumb inside the waiting room. "Good luck," he said, in a voice that told me that he meant it and that I'd need it. I peeked in.

Ranger was standing with his back against the far wall, staring out the window thinking about God only knew what. As I walked in he turned to look at me.

He certainly didn't look happy to see me. "Steph," he said, "what are you doing here?"

Not happy at all. I took a deep breath. "I heard about Lester and Bobby at the station. I was worried. About all of you." His face was expressionless, but he raised one eyebrow slightly, questioning me. "This is what friends do, Ranger. Worry. Watch each other's backs. Give support when someone is hurt. Stand by each other."

He locked eyes with me for a moment and then turned and paced a few steps, back and forth. I'd thought once that Ranger looked like a big cat when he relaxed, and the resemblance was even stronger when he paced. "Skip the lecture. And we talked about this."

"No, we didn't talk, you simply told me what you wanted to happen. And I can't do that, either, Ranger. I can't shut things off like that. 'Today we're friends, tomorrow we're not'. It doesn't work that way. I don't work that way." I walked over to stand in front of him and put my hand on his arm. "You were my friend yesterday, and you will be tomorrow, too. That's how it is. In the last two years you've been one of the best, most supportive friends I've ever had, and I don't want to lose that."

He shook his head "I told you that I am an opportunist. I saw a desirable woman who was vulnerable. And I took that advantage to get close."

"The way you took advantage of me when I was handcuffed in the shower? The way you took advantage of me when you were with me at my apartment and I was drunk? Or in the hotel in Virginia?" All incidences that, if he had pushed me, would have had a very different outcome. An opportunist would have pushed. Ranger hadn't.

He frowned at me. I stepped in closer to him to press my point. When in doubt, go for shock value. "You know, two years of hard work to get laid twice seems a little extreme, Ranger. Maybe you should re-think your strategy as an opportunist."

He looked down at me and finally shook his head in a slight, negative, gesture.

I threw my hands in the air. "So simple for you. I made you angry. I disappointed you. End of story for you. " I was the one who turned away. This was wrong. This was not the time or place. "Look, I'm sorry. This is not why I came. I came because my friends are hurt."

His arms were still folded, his face still expressionless, but when he spoke his voice was soft. "You've never disappointed, Babe. You've made me angry. You've even made me afraid for you. But you never disappoint."

He was standing close enough that I felt it again – the pull of Ranger's personal force field. And now I knew enough about him to know what that force field was – it was compounded of the intensity of his personality, the power of his will and the focus of his attention and it bound me by my own attraction to him. I had to take a step back to get away, to break the pull or I'd throw my arms around his neck and refuse to let go.

He saw me move to get away from him and his face closed and he turned and stepped toward the window. If I had been standing closer to the wall I would have banged my head on it to try and clear it. With Joe I had been angry, happy, sad, in lust – but those emotions had a simple, basic quality to them. Easy to define, easy to quantify. But this was a maelstrom of powerful, complex emotions, some of which I'm not even sure had a name.

So this was what completely loving someone was like. It kinda sucked, especially when you were in love by yourself. I stared at his back. We were both silent and several minutes ticked by.

There was a knock on the door frame. A nurse had come to tell Ranger that Lester was awake and that Ranger could see him for a few minutes. He nodded to the nurse and then looked at me. I looked back. He shrugged and followed the nurse out.

I blew out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Well, he hadn't ordered me to leave, which had always been a possibility. And if he had, I would have done what he told me to do. Left the hospital and admitted defeat.

Tank moved into the room and stood next to me and we looked out the window together. "You know," he said slowly, "if I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't've believed it. Two bright people. So stubborn. So stupid."

I snorted. "Where did you learn motivational speaking, Tank?"

Tank opened his mouth, probably to give me more helpful advice, but stopped when a very tired-looking doctor entered the room. "Mr. Brown's family?"

Tank straightened up and cleared his throat. "We're here for him." Though there was no outward sign, I could feel how tense Tank was.

The doctor nodded. "It went better than expected. Minor liver damage, but it's repaired now. Really surprising that so little organ damage occurred. Your friend is very lucky. Probably four or five days in the hospital and then he'll be ready to go."

Tank's relief was palpable. He hugged me, hard, lifting me off my feet. I hugged him back, glad for the chance to be happy. Tank took out his cell phone and made several calls.

I took a couple of steps away. It was time for me to leave. I walked to the elevator and pressed the button. When the elevator came I walked in and held the door for a staff worker with a small cart.

I felt I was being watched and looked up to see Ranger, standing just outside the waiting room door. Our eyes held. The woman standing next to me cleared her throat and I let go of the elevator door, watching Ranger until the doors closed.