Lyrics from: Timeless, Say Don't Go, I hate it Here, and Vigilante Shit. The dance is set to and inspired by Taylor's Eras tour performance of Vigilante Shit.

When I made my way back to my cubicle, I found Adam at his desk, his noise-canceling headphones in place while his fingers flew over the keyboard, the screen on his computer changing so quickly that it reminded me of a flashing strobe light. Knowing it was best not to disturb his process, I took my seat, grabbed my laptop from my bag, and plugged it into the docking station, which now gave me three additional monitors and a wireless keyboard and mouse. It made cross-referencing multiple documents or databases so much easier. When I decided to make Long Beach my home, I extended the feeling to my office as well. So now, instead of the basic steel gray of my original setup, my keyboard was a soft pink, with white, lavender, and aqua-colored keys which made that satisfying noise when I typed, like the old adding machine my dad used to use when he was paying bills. The mouse was pink too and sat on a mouse pad decorated with cartoon cats. My framed cross stitch 'per my last email' piece sat on my desk and pictures drawn by my nieces decorated the walls, along with photos of them, Tank's nephews, and Bobby's newborn daughter, who was unfortunately not named Stephanie. However, she did have a kick-ass middle name.

I still exchanged text messages with the two of them and with Hector. Tank and Bobby would send pictures and videos of the babies while I sent mostly funny memes and pictures of Jessica Fletcher. Hector and I mostly shared social media posts and videos featuring over-the-top baked goods. No one mentioned Ranger. Tank had never asked about the night at the bar, although I can't imagine Ranger going offline for three days went unnoticed. Currently, I'm working on a pair of crocheted hats with cat ears for Tank's nephews, Louis and Henry, and a baby blanket for Eloise Michelle Brown. A framed photo of Jessica Fletcher sat alongside my Wonder Woman Barbie on the shelf above my desk. It was the one my dad had given me for Christmas when I was ten. She was a little worse for wear, having been well-loved, but she'd been through a lot but had survived. And so had I.

Nick and Kat hadn't arrived yet, but that wasn't unusual. They tended to arrive later and work later than Adam and me. Pulling my earbuds from my desk drawer, I turned on my music as I waited for my computer to boot up. After logging in, I checked my email before sending a Google chat message to Adam. Even though he only sat a few yards away, this was his preferred method of interaction when he was actively working on something. It seemed odd to me at first, but I could see why he liked it. Questions and answers were brief and to the point, and there was little chance of getting off-topic and chatting about other things. Adam wasn't big on small talk. Social interactions seemed to stress him out, so I did my best to respect his boundaries.

Me: Anything good yet?

Adam: Maybe. Meet at 9:00?

Me: Sure

Adam was poring over new results from the CSI lab, looking for anything that pertained to a cold case. If a case hadn't been solved or had no new information in three years, it was considered cold. When there were new developments in the technology for testing evidence, samples that were still on hand from cold cases would be run. Or new DNA samples would be entered, either gathered on a new case or from an online genealogy website, which was happening more and more. People were trying to see where their ancestors came from and found out all sorts of family secrets, from adoption to affairs and the fact that there was a very good reason your parents told you to stay away from your creepy Uncle Mickey.

As for my search, I scanned through the results of the notifications on the flags in the system Adam had set up for me. I'd been through our log of potential cases multiple times. Last year, with no social life to speak of, I'd take my computer home and study cases in hopes of spotting something. I'd found great satisfaction in my job and without any other focus in my life, I kept at it off the clock in an effort to keep my mind busy and thoughts of Ranger at bay. While I knew I couldn't take on all the cases at once, there were people of interest that set off my Spidey Sense, or patterns I noticed that I'd look for in other cases I reviewed, hoping to make a connection. When Adam asked me what my full legal pad of notes was, I told him it was my hinky list and explained my process. Within minutes, he took the information I'd flagged and set up alerts on all the crime databases, as well as news outlets that would send me an alert if anything or anyone from my list made an appearance. He truly was a genius. So today, on Day Zero as we called it, was the day I pored over all of those notifications, searching for cases I'd propose to the team for us to take on next. Adam only agreed to set it up if I promised to stop going over cases in my free time; he was worried I was going to burn out or get bored, which is what happened to the last two analysts before me. I'd kept my promise and was very happy here, in California, at the FBI and as a member of the Cold Case Division.

I reviewed my notifications and made a few adjustments to my running list of proposed cases, which I just tweaked each time Day Zero came around. Today we'd choose a new case and tomorrow would be Day One. We kept a tally of the number of days we worked on a case on the upper left corner of our whiteboard. It had a blank square that we would tally the number each morning in front of the words Days Since We Caught a Motherfucker Who Thought They'd Gotten Away With It. In our minds, the victims in our cases had waited long enough, and we wanted justice for them as quickly as possible. So even though our investigations weren't driven by the urgency that new cases were, we used the tally as motivation to keep us going when we struggled to find a new lead to pursue. There was a master spreadsheet with a rubric that assigned a score to each cold case in our system, such as witness statements, any persons of interest, and both old evidence and new test results. The ones with the highest scores mathematically held the highest probability of getting solved, so we voted on the top three. I'd just finished updating my numbers when Kat breezed in and pulled out my earbuds as she leaned over the partition between our cubicles.

She tilted her chin up in greeting like so many of the Merry Men, "What's up, bitch?" It was her standard morning greeting.

I smiled big. "It's Day Zero, asshole, and I'm winning today." We tended to be competitive and had a standing bet on which cases would get chosen next. The wager between the two of us was small but held bragging rights. The loser had to buy lunch, but she'd won the last two times, and I was looking to end my losing streak.

"Uh-huh," she answered with a grin.

"So, how was last night?" I asked her.

Her grin got bigger, and she waggled her eyebrows, "Lucky, in more ways than one." I laughed. Kat was dating a basketball player; her girlfriend Eva played for the L.A. Sparks and last night was the WNBA Draft. Their team had their hopes set on a rookie who had led her college team to the Final Four in the NCAA tournament for the first time, so there was a big watch party planned for the whole team. Eva had been playing overseas in the off-season and had only been stateside for a few weeks. Kat was ready to move things to the next level and was going to ask her to move in together after the party.

Before she could tell me more, Handsome Nick came through the door carrying a box of donuts, having lost a bet to Kat on the last case. The debt was to be paid in donuts on Day Zero. If I thought I was competitive, Kat was ten times as bad. She had nearly as many bets going as the whole of the Trenton Police Department. "Morning, assholes," Nick greeted us warmly, depositing the donuts on the conference table before heading to his desk. Kat's retort was cut short by everyone's phones, watches, and computers simultaneously vibrating or dinging with a notification.

Nick Harris: DROP EVERYTHING. MEETING IN 5. NEW CASE.

We all looked at each other. When I'd first arrived, we'd been assigned a case, a long-unsolved disappearance of Evelyn Peterson, a pregnant woman from Santa Monica. Her husband Stephen had been the primary suspect, but without a body and little evidence, the case had gone cold rather quickly. He'd been very vocal in the media about being unjustly targeted by the police and FBI. In the years since he'd used his notoriety to make the talk show and podcast circuit, then he entered the race for State Representative, his platform built squarely on his unjust treatment by law enforcement. This ticked off the higher ups and the case was pushed to the front of the line. An anonymous tip led us to a medical report from a free clinic in Thousand Oaks, where she'd been treated for injuries that the staff suspected were the results of domestic abuse, even though she'd denied it. An inquiry to a nearby women's shelter eventually led to an extensive search of Topanga State Park, where the remains of a mother and fetus were found. DNA testing proved it to be our victim, and evidence collected at the scene helped to build a strong case against the husband. He was currently on trial and the surprise testimony of his new wife, then mistress, had him begging for a plea bargain, but the District Attorney was so far uninterested.

At the time, Kat told me it was highly unusual to get assigned a case and explained the general process of choosing a new one. When we were all assembled, file folders were handed out. Nick Harris wasted no time in explaining, "New case, handed down from on high. Priority one." His tone was gruff, and he didn't attempt to hide his displeasure.

Kat asked, "High profile? Politician? Celebrity?"

Adam chimed in, "Is it from a podcast?" Mary Lou was a big fan of Dateline, and Forensic Files, and had just ventured into True-Crime podcasts. She tried to get me into it, but I'd experienced enough murder and mayhem in my previous career to last a lifetime. There were too many times that, if not for Ranger or my dumb luck, I could have easily been one of those stories. The popularity of murder podcasts had risen dramatically in the last few years, each one more salacious than the last, very few rooted in facts, but heavy on theories and wild speculation.

Nick and I just kept our heads down, mouths full of donuts. I don't think he was quite awake yet, but my thoughts were spinning, my stomach churning and my Spidey Sense was in overdrive. This. This is what was coming. I don't know how I knew, I just did. We'd been handed a case last year, but this was different. With the Peterson case, we'd at least had a choice, and of course, we took it. The investigation and Stephen's crusade to paint himself as the victim had left a bad taste in everyone's mouth, and we were anxious to be the ones to prove his guilt. This was different. Harris's tone and his whole demeanor screamed pissed off. I know he regularly received requests or suggestions, but this sounded like we'd been given a case without having any input or right to refusal.

Harris grumbled, "No. No one famous, nothing political, no social media coverage."

Adam asked, "New evidence?" Okay, that could make sense.

The boss just shook his head. "Then what the fuck?" Kat had just finished skimming the cover page. "This is a ten-year-old drug cartel, gang-related murder. There must have been hundreds of these that year alone. Why this one? Why now?"

Harris's jaw tightened further; I swear I could hear him grinding his molars from across the table. "No idea."

Handsome Nick spoke up for the first time, "Who's asking? Must be someone with a lot of juice to push this case to the top of the list for no reason."

Harris barked at him, "Don't know. I asked and was told to mind my business and get to work, so now I'm telling you the same thing. This is top priority. They want it reopened and thoroughly investigated. Get to it."

At that, he turned and walked out. No one said anything else, the tension in the room was thick as we all returned to our desks to familiarize ourselves with our new assignment. Just because we didn't have a choice in the matter, didn't mean we weren't going to do everything in our power to see justice was served. I skimmed the paper file before turning to my computer and finding the digital files and links in the system. Adam was poring over evidence reports. I was scanning interviews and case notes. Kat and Handsome Nick were doing the same, Kat muttering incredibly creative combinations of swear words under her breath. Nick mumbling about secret societies, spooks, the CIA, and the Freemasons. He was our resident conspiracy theorist, believing that the entire world was controlled by invisible strings pulled by the richest and most powerful people in the world, working together behind the curtain. Pretty sure he was referring to whoever forced the case to priority one, not who committed the murder.

"Has this ever happened before?" I asked no one in particular, trying to keep my voice steady, but I was still spooked. From what I'd seen in the file so far, this case had almost no evidence, witnesses, or chance of being solved, the lone suspect had up and disappeared into thin air, and I was getting more anxious by the minute. What was it about the case that was setting me off?

Nick dropped his file on his desk and stood, choosing to pace. The movement generally helped him to calm down and think. "Nope. Never." He'd been on the team the longest, at six years, while Kat had been here for five. Adam was the newbie until I joined, with only three years. "Not without new evidence, a push from the media, or a political angle." He drained his coffee and tossed the to-go cup in the trash. "And nothing secretive and like this shit."

With that, we all got to work, a sense of unease hanging heavy in the air. I put my earbuds back in, tucked away my growing feelings of apprehension, and dug into the case. All morning our workspace was deathly quiet except for the sounds of keyboards, the clicking of mice, and the occasional rustling of paper. By noon, I was wrung out, starving, and needed a break. After grabbing Abigail's and my lunches from the break room, I headed to her office. She was just ending a phone call when I came through the door. She held up one finger, telling me she'd just be a minute, then nodded towards her door, indicating I should shut it. Ravenous, I plopped down in my chair and dug into my lunch while she finished up. She hung up the phone and started to rummage in her bag for her breast pump. She pulled out two white plastic domes that looked like oversized wireless computer mice and tucked them into her shirt and bra with practiced ease before joining me. She pulled out her phone, accessed the app that controlled the pump, and proceeded to multitask as only a mother can, pumping and eating. I'd seen my sister Valerie with her breast pump when Lisa was a baby. It was a contraption with cones, tubes, and a loud motor that made me think of the dairy industry and reconsider my love of ice cream.

Abigail eyed me over a bite of salad. "You look spooked, what's up?"

I'd tried to put aside my feelings and focus on the case, but so far had been unsuccessful. "Spidey Sense," I said after finishing chewing.

Abigail raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?" she asked.

I sighed. "Yeah. The new case, something's hinky." She gave me a look; hinky was what we did. I explained, "We didn't choose the case. It got handed to us from on high, and we don't know by whom or why. There's nothing new, it hasn't been touched in ten years. It was a dog then, and it's a dog now. There's literally nothing there. So why? Why now? Why us?"

She chewed and thought, "That is weird. Do you think it has anything to do with your feeling of being watched?"

I hadn't considered that. "I don't know. I'm not even sure that's what it was. Why would someone follow me here? No one knows who I am. I'm nobody." At her slightly disapproving look, I added, "You know what I mean. I'm not in the news, not infamous here. I work in an office. Maybe it's just me being a shit magnet, and I've picked up a stalker because that's who I am." I was being pissy. I sounded like my mother, why didn't I just throw my hands in the air and ask why me?

She rolled her eyes, not interested in attending my pity party. "Whatever. Be careful, shit magnet or not. Keep me posted." Done with that conversation, she pivoted. "So, sex dreams, spill it."

My face pinked, and I choked a bit on my food, remembering last night's dream. I tried to get my blush under control, taking a drink of my soda to try and cover.

But my reaction didn't go unnoticed. Abigail smiled widely. "Oh, it must have been a good one. Spill."

While I hadn't shared any details or even acknowledged my relationship with Ranger to any of my friends back in Trenton, I'd told Abigail everything. EVERYTHING. I needed to. I had more than five years of secrets clogging up my brain and my heart. Plus, she didn't know Ranger, and would never meet him, so it didn't feel like a betrayal of his insane need for privacy. Telling her was a relief: she was able to validate my feelings, and telling her made it real, assuring me it wasn't all in my mind. I mean, it was still just one-sided, my point of view, but it was invaluable. Once I'd opened the door there was no closing it. Sometimes I couldn't believe the details I was willing to share, but she was like a pit bull, determined to drag it out of me sooner or later, and I might as well go with it. She told me she was living vicariously through my sex life, or more accurately, history. She and Tim had been together since their second year of college and while she loved him, he was no Ranger. Who am I kidding? There was only one Ranger. She told me my life was epic and someone should write a book about it. I'd just rolled my eyes at her.

I started to speak but blushed again. "Damn," she said, "It must be good for you to look like that." She studied me for a minute, then squealed, "Oh my god! It got you off, didn't it? Was it just the dream or did you have to take care of yourself after you woke up?" I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face, just the memory of it made me flush and go warm in places not appropriate for work. "Lucky bitch." She was jealous. I just nodded. Dreams may be the only action I was getting, but they were great dreams. "Soooooo…" she pressed.

Realizing there would be no more stalling, I started my story. "Do you remember me telling you about the case I worked with Rangeman and the FBI right before I left?"

She nodded, "Yeah, the one that got you this job, right? Bucky, Butchy, what's his name, the agent who offered to put you in touch with Harris." She took a bite of her lunch while waiting for my response.

"Bunchy," I corrected her before continuing, "Bert Bronfman. He and I'd crossed paths a couple of times when I was a BEA. Actually, I stumbled into a couple of his cases. I always thought I was a pain in his ass, so when Tank told me he'd requested I was a part of the team, I was floored. After we wrapped the case, Bunchy asked me if I was interested in making the move to the FBI. He told me that he'd always been impressed when working with me, and he'd followed other cases I'd worked on, Vlatko, Orin Hatch, Stiva." She nodded, following along, I'd given her the highlights of my BEA career. "He said he thought for a long time I'd be a good analyst, even without the degree, but he didn't think I'd leave Rangeman or Trenton." I shrugged, a little sad. "But he could see the tension between Ranger and me, and that things had changed. He and Harris were at Quantico together and had stayed in touch. Nick had complained to him about his last two analysts only lasting six months each, getting bored or burned out on the research and using the job as a stepping stone to be an agent. Bunchy thought I'd be a great fit."

"Thank god for Bunchy." She raised her drink in salute.

I did the same. "Thank god for Bunchy." I returned to the story, the background needed to understand the context of the dream. "Mid-October, Tank stopped me one day as I was leaving the bond's office. It was a little different, Ranger was usually the one who asked me to do a job, but we weren't speaking to each other at that point, not since the Whitehouse takedown a few weeks before. I guess my question had shown on my face or Tank's Rangeman ESP was working well because he told me Ranger had another project he was working on, and might be involved later on, but he was running this one. It was a relief to know I could do the job without having to answer to Ranger. I mean, I wasn't avoiding him, I refused to give him the satisfaction, but it was still painful to see him in public when he was so cold and distant." I stopped for a minute, my head spinning with the dichotomy of how coldly he'd treated me when I saw him at the bond's office or Rangeman and the intense, passionate need he showed me on those occasions he appeared in the late-night or early-morning hours in my bedroom.

Abigail's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "It's good to talk about him, you can't keep pretending you're over it, over him. Leaving him and walking away was huge for you. It was the right thing, but you can't just ignore the loss, you have to talk about it, grieve out loud." I nodded. I knew she was right.

"I know, but right now I need to keep telling you the story, or I'm not going to get to my dream before lunch is over. You still want to hear about the dream, don't you?" While I knew I needed to talk about Ranger, I was too keyed up right now with the anxiety over the new case and why I was so spooked. Morose thoughts about Ranger could wait, sexy thoughts about Ranger could not. After my morning, I could use the escape from reality. Besides, it had been a really good dream. Abigail made the motion of zipping her lips like a little kid would, turning an imaginary key in a pretend lock and pocketing it, waiting for me to continue.

"Okay. So the case was focused on a nightclub owner who was importing and selling luxury items illegally, cigars, liquors, things like that, and used his club to launder the profits. He ran a club modeled after a speakeasy, complete with a burlesque show and staff in costume and character. I was hired as a cigar girl and dancer. It was actually kind of fun, except for having to flirt with a criminal part, but that was something I'd gotten really good at." I sighed, that was a fucked up thing to say about your life, but luckily it was in the past. "Compared to the murderers and rapists I lured out of bars, this guy was considerably less slimy but no less dangerous. He had a lot more money at stake and could be ruthless, plus he had a history of beating up his girlfriends." I shuddered a bit, remembering nearly getting caught downloading files from his computer, and didn't want to think about what he'd have done to me. I was wired the whole job, but he had precautions in place. His office was insulated, so nothing could be transmitted in or out, no phones, wires, Wi-Fi, nothing, so it was a big risk; if I got myself in trouble, no one would hear me call for help. Of course, I had Jeanne Ellen to thank for the close call. Bitch.

I shook my head to clear it and focused on the positives. "The costumes were kick-ass, and so were the shoes, red bottom, platform Mary Janes encrusted with crystals. All the women wore bodysuits with the same type of crystals, kind of like what the Playboy Bunnies wore, but sparkly, full face make-up, bold brows, killer eyeliner, and full red lips." I smiled, with my pale skin and dark hair, I looked the part. The FBI had even paid for a keratin treatment, making my hair soft and sleek for more than two months. I had big soup can curls and looked almost exactly like my Great Grandma Oláh, Grandma Mazur's mother. "I'd been working out for a couple of months by then. I looked fabulous. With the shit going on with Ranger, my self-esteem had been at an all-time low, so the ego boost was amazing. I was a hot undercover asset, Diana fucking Prince."

Abigail lifted her drink again, and I picked up mine and touched it to hers like we were clinking champagne glasses in a toast. "So I started my short-lived, but glamorous career as a cigar girl and backup dancer the first week of November, drawing on my experience as a baton twirler in high school and the years of dance classes I'd endured as a little girl in the Burg; I was pretty convincing if I do say so myself." While I didn't miss the crazies from my old life, I'd enjoyed the undercover work, playing a role, being someone else, even if only for a little while. "While that was my cover, my job was to get friendly with the bar owner, Evan Williams." Abigail's eyebrows rose in surprise. She must have heard about the case, it had been a huge bust and received a lot of media coverage on the East Coast. Thankfully, my name had been left out of it, and although there were a couple of pictures of me in full costume that had been published, luckily my face hadn't been visible. "Lester had made sure Williams caught his girlfriend in a compromising position on Halloween, which opened up her former job for me to fill at the bar and allowed me to get close to him."

She interrupted to ask, "He's the manwhore?"

I shrugged. "I'd say more playboy than manwhore. He's always upfront about his intentions, so it's not like he's deceiving anyone, and I have no doubt he makes sure a good time is had by all." I loved Lester like a brother, but that didn't mean I couldn't appreciate how good-looking and charming he was. But as far as emotional maturity, he was worse than Ranger.

"So for a month, I worked at the club, flirted with Williams, and poked around as much as I could. It seemed the holiday rush that boosted legitimate retailers didn't apply to the black market, so nothing was happening on that side of the business. Up until then, I hadn't seen Ranger at the office or the club. That doesn't mean he wasn't there, because there were times I felt his eyes on me, but if Ranger didn't want you to see him, you didn't." I stopped for a minute, wondering if it could have been him watching me that I'd been feeling lately, but I didn't think so. My Spidey Sense tingle was different from my Ranger tingle. When my Spidey Sense was activated, a chill ran through me. When Ranger was near, the tingle started on the back of my neck and spread warmth throughout all places south, and my blood started humming. I don't know who was watching me, but it wasn't Ranger.

"Anyway, it felt like we were at a standstill until the first week of December and Ranger appeared at our Monday morning meeting. It had been decided that we needed to give Williams an offer he couldn't refuse." I sighed. "Enter Marc Pardo, second-generation Cuban-American importer of all things, including illegal Cuban cigars and top-shelf rum. William's former supplier was unfortunately being detained by US Customs Agents and hadn't been able to deliver on his last shipment." For weeks, I'd been so busy picking up skips during the day, or researching Evan Williams at Rangeman, then working undercover at night, that I'd been relatively successful at putting thoughts of Ranger out of my mind. I should have known it wouldn't last. "So while I'd mentally prepared myself to see the ultra-suave, drop-dead gorgeous Marc Pardo walk into the club, the shock came from seeing his chosen accessories. I'd expected the 2-carat diamond studs, the Rolex, the designer clothes, and Junior, his muscled and well-armed bodyguard. What caught me by surprise was the leggy blonde that hung all over him." I made a face.

Abigail scowled, "Jeanne Ellen." It wasn't even a question. I nodded. "Bitch," she muttered. This time I raised my glass. There was no better quality in a friend than someone who hated the same people you did, even if they'd never met them.

I admitted, "I'd have been kidding myself if I thought I'd have been okay if he'd walked in with any other woman. Of course, I would have hated it, but her," I growled, "I fucking hate her, the air of superiority she radiates, not just around me, but everyone, the Rangemen and the FBI included. She was devious and underhanded when we'd crossed paths before, and she did anything she could to embarrass me and make me look bad." Taking a deep breath, I confessed, "Seeing her with Ranger makes me feel inferior, she's his equal in nearly every way. No matter what he said, I feel like there's a history there, although I'd never had the nerve to ask." My brain skipped back to Christmas when I saw them together in the bar, the impression I got from the other guys about her, and the weird non-explanation Ranger gave me.

"So after the meet and greet, they set up a business meeting where the sale would take place. Williams was even more paranoid about security and privacy than Ranger; I'd tried several times to get into his office to access his computer, but either the door was locked or his computer had been locked away. We knew the way he did business he'd need for the meeting. The plan dictated I was going to up the stakes, get him alone in his private space, and have one of the guys create an issue in the club that would demand his attention and buy me a little time alone." I shuddered. I'd made a lot of headway with him, letting him know I was interested. He'd been pursuing me in a completely over-the-top way. Connie and Lula called it Love Bombing; there were flowers, gifts, expensive gifts, ridiculously expensive gifts. To this point, I'd been able to play hard to get, acting like I was making him work for it. I was just hoping we could finish the job soon before my time and his patience ran out.

"So the night of the meeting, Serena, the dancer who headlined the burlesque show, was gone. She'd had an audition for an off-Broadway show scheduled for the following week, but at the last minute, it got moved up. I'd seen her show every night, and we'd been rehearsing for a couple of weeks for me to replace her, but it wasn't supposed to be that night." I hadn't found out about the change in plans until I'd arrived for work, and I was nearly ill when Evan told me. I liked the dancing and the performing, but I wasn't wild about being center stage in front of the FBI and Rangeman, especially Ranger.

When he'd been in the club a week before, he'd been a complete dick. Honestly, he hadn't done anything different than he had the last few months when we saw each other in public, acting cold, distant, and wholly uninterested in speaking to me. When he looked at me, his eyes were flat, distant. The thing that made it worse now was he had Jeanne Ellen draped all over him. It took everything in me to not go over and pull her off him by the hair. After the shit she'd pulled with my skips and the last distraction, I wanted to claw her eyes out, but no way was I going to give Ranger any indication that it bothered me.

"Anyway, that's how I found myself up on stage, dancing and doing extremely sexy things with an empty chair, finding inspiration in the bass beat and lyrics about men who lie, dressing for revenge, and vigilante shit. I was just glad that while I was miked for this job, I wasn't wearing an earpiece. I couldn't have done it with the hooting and hollering I would have heard from the Merry Men in my ear." It was bad enough when I was flirting and dancing with a skip on a distraction job; what I was doing was the classier ancestor of exotic dancing. "By the end of my performance, Ranger's jaw looked like it was carved out of granite, Jeanne Ellen looked like she was contemplating the ways she could dispose of my body, and Evan Williams was more than happy to let me cool down in his private space. Just as he was getting a little too handsy behind the locked door of his office, the intercom buzzed. Rodriguez was out front, complaining loudly that the large quantity of Havana Club Unión rum and Montecristo No2 cigars he'd bought from Williams were fakes. Hoping to contain the situation, he hurried out, promising me he'd be back to finish what we'd started. Ick." I'd had to take a long hot shower that night to get rid of the cooties. He played a nice guy well, but once the door to his office had closed, he had more hands than an octopus and wasn't hearing my requests to slow things down.

"Anyway, I found out later Jeanne Ellen decided that she should create her own diversion, dissatisfied with her role as arm candy on the op, and had come onto him. She threw a fit, yelling at her boyfriend Marc, complaining he'd been too interested in the trashy whore who'd been dancing on stage. I don't even know what she'd hope to accomplish. Maybe she thought Williams would be interested in a dick-swinging contest with Ranger, proving he could best him by forcing a better price for the merchandise and stealing his woman? Instead, Evan was disgusted and didn't hold back when he rejected her advances, telling her exactly what he thought of her attempt to emasculate her boyfriend in public while he was doing business." I didn't get to hear the exchange in real-time, but Lester let me listen afterward. I just wish there had been a video, so I could have seen the look on her face. "Williams called off the meeting, telling Ranger to get his house in order and that a man who made such poor decisions with the people he let get close to him couldn't be trusted to make good business decisions."

I shuddered at the memory, "Evan stormed off, back to his office, telling his second-in-command to take care of Rodriguez. Not expecting him back so soon, I'd barely had time to stuff the USB drive I'd used to download the files from his laptop down the front of my cleavage before he burst in. He was more than ready to pick up where we left off. I tried to tell him the mood was gone and make a hasty exit, but he wasn't having it. So the FBI and Rangmen got to listen to his groping and dirty talk for a full five minutes while I forced myself to play along, only able to escape when, in an overly enthusiastic attempt at changing positions, I accidentally squashed his balls." Abigail snorted. I shrugged. "Oops, clumsy me." I hurried out of his office, grabbed my things, and hightailed it to my car, praying there was enough evidence to arrest him. He was a man used to getting what he wanted, and if I had to see him again, I was sure he wouldn't take no for an answer. We all met up at Rangeman to debrief and for me to hand over the drive. While the FBI agents were psyched, the Rangemen were tense. Ranger was downright hostile towards me, and Jeanne Ellen was still plastered to his side, looking smug. When he turned up later that night at my apartment, what transpired between us made what happened in that parking lot look mild in comparison. I was a wreck for days after, until Bunchy showed up at my door, offering me a job. I jumped at the chance, determined to end whatever it was between Ranger and me. I ran away and left it all behind. If I stayed, the cycle would continue; he'd come to me, whisper in the dark just to leave me in the night, walk away, and leave me wounded and bleeding.

I was lost in my thoughts. Abigail finally prompted me, "And the dream?" Oh, right, that's what started this trip down memory lane.

"So the dream started like a replay of that night at the club, I was on stage, the performance just starting. I came out from behind the curtain, dragging a lightweight chair with me, and strutting down the runway, only stopping when I reached the end, using more force than necessary to set the chair down before I started the dance. It was sexy as hell." I remembered the distinct, heavy beat of the music as it fueled my body's movements, my hips swaying as my hands traveled up and down my body, raising my hair off my neck before I tipped my head back, one hand trailing down over my throat, between my breasts and then lower, past my waist, resting low on my abdomen, fingers pointing down, hinting at where I genuinely want them, between my legs, rubbing, pressing against myself to relieve the ache brought on by the music, my movements. "The way I danced, looked, and felt was amazing, the entire audience's eyes were on me. I got to the part where I straddled the chair before holding on and tipping my head backward, arching my back, and swinging in a slow semicircle, surveying the audience. Until then, I hadn't seen anyone, the lights were too bright, but with the new angle, I saw him, clear as day, Ranger sitting right next to the stage, getting an eyeful." I shuddered at the memory, his eyes anything but the flat black they'd been, they were hot, dark pools, so intense it sent a thrill through my whole body. I snorted at the memory of who my eyes landed on next. "Jeanne Ellen was sitting next to him, well, maybe not next to, but at the same table. When they'd been in before, she was all over him, plastered to his side, but now she looked like she'd rather be anywhere else than sitting with him."

Abigail laughed, "Whore." I nodded in agreement. "Then what?" she pressed.

"Seeing that I'd pissed her off while turning him on fueled something inside me. I stepped it up, my movements fueled by the lyrics in the song, Vigilante Shit."

You did some bad things, but I'm the worst of them

Sometimes I wonder which one will be your last lie

They say looks can kill and I might try

I laughed, "I was not so subtly aiming looks at their table, attempting to hide my smile when I saw Ranger's reaction. He was completely turned on, but pissed at me, at the words." It had been priceless. "I was really getting into it, picking out the Rangemen or FBI agents in the audience, giving them nods, winks, and hot looks."

I don't dress for women

I don't dress for men

Lately I've been dressing for revenge

I don't start shit but I can tell you how it ends

Don't get sad, get even

"I avoided looking at Williams, knowing the act was going to up his expectations when we were alone. The FBI guys were grinning, while the Rangemen kept darting to where Ranger was sitting, afraid he was going to beat them to a pulp." Abigail laughed. "I gave Ranger a hard look before I turned my back on him for the next part of the song."

Ladies always rise above

Ladies know what people want

Someone sweet and kind and fun

The lady simply had enough

I stopped and squirmed, "So that's where it changed from a memory to a dream." She raised an eyebrow and made the go-on motion, her mouth full. "Are you sure? It's pretty intense. Are you ready for it?" She just glared, and I continued, "I turn back to the chair to put my foot up on it, then drag my hands up from my ankle to my torso. Only when I spin around and pull my foot up, I find Ranger sitting in the chair and my foot lands on the seat between his legs." I shivered and Abigail let out a little squeal before I got lost in the memory, so caught up in it that I barely registered that I was sharing all the details. "I was stunned as he took over, grabbing my ankle before slowly moving his hands up my calf, my thigh, before reaching my waist and holding tight, pulling me down to straddle him. The look in his eyes commanded me to continue, so I moved against him, rubbing our bodies together. He held my waist as I dropped back again, rolling my body as I took in the audience watching us. Jeanne Ellen was fuming, a quick glance at Evan told me he was none too thrilled either. Everyone else was whole focused on the two of us and the show we were putting on, eager to see what was coming next."

Abigail interrupted, "I hope you're both coming next!"

I laughed at my choice of words, "Well, you won't be disappointed." I felt my whole body flush as I continued, "He pulled me back up and kissed me hard, rolling his hips, his hands on my waist, moving me against him. I pulled away, continuing the dance, raising myself off of his lap a few inches, closing my eyes, and running my hands up to pull my hair off my neck before dropping down hard on his lap." I shivered. "Somehow he'd managed to get his pants undone and unhooked the snaps at the crotch of my bodysuit, so when I landed, it was on him, forcing him inside me, all the way in one move." I let out a little moan, the image burned into the inside of my eyelids, so vivid, I'd swear it had happened just like that.

Abigail was fanning herself. "Any thoughts of the dance were gone as the song kept playing; I moved my hips to the beat as I rode him on the stage, under the spotlights. It was hot. Knowing people were watching made me crazy, that part shocked me. I'd never been an exhibitionist, or even thought about it." At her raised eyebrow, I added with a grin, "Well other than the night with Ranger in the parking lot." I don't think that counted. I hadn't even thought about or noticed our surroundings at the time. We'd been fueled by emotion, consumed by fear, anger, frustration, and need. He could make me forget everything, but the feel of his hands and mouth on me.

"The best part was I was the one in charge, I controlled the pace, how deep he went, kissed him when I wanted to. By the end I had him begging, pleading, swearing in a mix of English and Spanish." It had been so real, logically I knew it had been almost four months since I'd seen him, felt him move against me, inside me. My body remembered his, and I was experiencing phantom aches and pains that were all too reminiscent of a morning after a night in bed with Ranger, an all too familiar pang of emptiness radiated from my center, desperate to have him again. I didn't know what I would do if my mind kept feeding me these lucid dreams like electricity, the current flies through me. How would I survive, much less ever be able to move on?

Abigail voiced what I was thinking, "Holy Shit." Holy Shit indeed.