Lyrics from the songs: Bad Blood, Afterglow, happiness, When Emma Falls in Love, and Mine by Taylor Swift.

When I shut the door to my bedroom, I leaned back against it, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. While personal drama had been a constant in my life in New Jersey, it was another thing I'd left behind. I hadn't actually realized it until today, nor had I properly appreciated its absence. Since I didn't hear gunshots, I figured it was safe to take a few minutes to myself and headed to the bathroom, stripped down, and into the shower. I didn't even look in the mirror, not wanting to face the reality of what had greeted Vaughn at the door.

I went through the motions of washing my face and body, shampooing and conditioning, but for the most part, I just zoned out. It had been an exhausting and confusing twenty-four hours. I just stood under the shower head, enjoying the hot water loosening the tight muscles of my back and neck. After a long while, the water started to cool and I figured I should get out before it was cold. The hot water in my apartment lasted a lot longer than the one back in New Jersey, but it wasn't endless. I opened my eyes to take stock of what else I needed to do before getting out. Looking down, I found my hands absent-mindedly caressing my flat stomach. Pregnant. The word echoed through my brain for the millionth time since our misunderstanding yesterday. I couldn't be, no, not possible. Could I be? Four months was early; I wouldn't necessarily be showing yet. Not with a first-time pregnancy. No, I wasn't. Did I want to be? Did Ranger want me to be? Shaking my head to clear it, I shut off the water, grabbed my towel, and decided to pick up a pregnancy test later just to put my mind at ease.

I ran my brush through my wet hair and added product before taking time to fix my face. I needed the confidence boost, not only for dealing with the two idiot men in my apartment, but it sounded like Ranger was going to tell me about Marco Ruiz, Sophia Mendes, and what he may know about her murder. I was still debating how much I really wanted to hear about their relationship. Some things were better left in the past. After pulling on a pair of yoga pants and my LA Sparks t-shirt that had been a Christmas gift from Kat, I decided to check out what the damage in the kitchen was, not sure if I'd find the two of them still staring at each other, arm wrestling, or using the tape measure. Just the idea sent a thrill through me. I may be in love with Ranger, but that didn't mean I couldn't appreciate a good-looking man. Of course with the mood Ranger was in, if he hadn't already shot Vaughn, my seeing his dick wouldn't help things.

Taking a deep breath and opening the door, I told myself it was fine, it would be fine. I hadn't heard any gunshots, and I didn't see any blood as I made my way to the kitchen. The two men weren't still locked in a stare-down; in fact, one of them was gone. Vaughn was nowhere in sight and Ranger was at the stove, Jessica Fletcher rubbing against his legs aggressively. My stomach rumbled at the wonderful aroma of what I hoped was breakfast. That was also what the cat was after. Ranger turned his head, looking at me over his shoulder.

"I'm guessing she's hungry, but I couldn't find her food." Noticing me, she trotted over, rubbed against me, then took a little bite of the skin at my ankle, chastising me. Glancing at the clock on the microwave, I saw that her breakfast was now nearly three hours late, no wonder she was so bitchy. Jessica and I were very similar with regard to our appetites; if we didn't eat on a regular schedule, we got hangry. I crossed the kitchen to her bowls, which sat on a little mat on the floor, and reached up to the top cabinet, pulling down a plastic container with her food in it. It was a special diet blend for overweight indoor cats, although I didn't tell her that; she'd be greatly offended. Besides, I didn't want to damage her self-image. Jessica Fletcher was extremely body-positive, possessing self-confidence I could never hope to attain. She was not bothered in the least by her flappy tummy that swung like a metronome when she ran and was quick to roll over to display said tummy with a look that said, look at my belly, rub it, love it, you know you want to. Watching me, Ranger quirked an eyebrow, questioning my storage choices. The lower cabinet next to her food dish was empty, and for good reason. Not only was my cat an attention whore, she was a glutton.

As I released the two locking mechanisms on the lid, both of his eyebrows went up. I spoke to the queen herself but answered Ranger's unspoken question in a sing-songy voice people generally reserved for babies and pets. I cooed at her while scooping out the little nuggets. "You can't help yourself, can you Miss Piggy? You don't care what time it is, do you?" Jessica wasn't listening to me, she was too busy meowing and chittering with excitement. She nudged my hand away as soon as the kibble hit the bowl, needing to stick her whole face in the dish to fully enjoy her meal. "I had to move your food up high, didn't I? First, you ate through the bag, then you figured out how to flip the latch on the other container. Didn't you, smart girl?" Her happy crunches were her only response. I closed the lid, replaced the container, and turned to Ranger, a full-blown grin graced his gorgeous face and I blushed. I'd gotten in the habit of talking to Jessica Fletcher like she was a small person. Usually, it was just the two of us in the apartment, and I wasn't used to anyone witnessing it.

"Just like her owner, I take it?" He chuckled. I looked indignant at the comparison. While it was probably true, he didn't need to point it out.

I stuck my tongue out at him. "I have a lot of self-control!" I insisted. The doubtful look on his face made me correct myself. "Okay, fine, I have developed some self-control." He smiled, and I defended my cat, "She's just too smart for her own good. She can open the lower cabinets." I pointed to the one he'd probably expected to find her food in. "She's claimed that one for her own, pushing out any kitchenware I try to store in there. She goes in and naps during the day. Scared the shit out of me the first time I couldn't find her." His low chuckle sounded again, warming something inside me. It was such a beautiful sound, even more special since it was something I rarely heard. He turned back to the stove and plated half a veggie omelet for each of us. Both plates also had a helping of fresh fruit that I bought precut at the store. One plate also held a generous portion of rhubarb coffee cake. Yummy. I grabbed silverware and napkins and joined him at the bar. My coffee was waiting for me, and he'd grabbed another water from the fridge.

"I can make you some tea if you want, but I don't have a coffee pot." He looked surprised. I shrugged. "I get my coffee on the outside." I lifted my cup to demonstrate and took a long drink.

He shook his head slightly and nodded towards the water. "This is good." It was still quiet as we ate, but not awkward. Little happy, crunchy sounds came from the direction of Jessica Fletcher's bowl, and I may have made my own happy sounds. The omelet was delicious and the coffeecake divine.

Halfway through eating, I asked, "What'd you do with Vaughn?"

"Stuffed his body in the freezer," Ranger responded dryly. I paused initially before rolling my eyes at him. I studied Ranger for a minute, his face and hands, had no visible cuts or bruises. Obviously intimidated by my intense scrutiny, he added, "He left, walking on his own two legs, no damage done. Except maybe to his ego," he added after a beat. I followed his eyes and found the tape measure laid out in the dish rack.

My eyes got huge. "You didn't!" Seeing my reaction, Ranger tipped his head back and laughed, a full, warm, rich-sounding belly laugh. It was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. I sat gaping at him as his stomach muscles twitched and he tried to get himself back under control. He was laughing so hard, he had a few tears to wipe away. "Hahaha, funny man." I rolled my eyes again. It was funny, but funny wasn't something I generally associated with Ranger, usually only in those times we stole away from the real world, like Hawaii, Disney, and Christmases. I liked it.

Once he'd calmed himself, I continued with my questions. "Okay funny man, what happened after I left? Do you two know each other? What was all of that back-and-forth crap about?"

Ranger shrugged. "Not much happened; we talked for a few minutes and then he left."

Surprised, I asked, "That's it?"

He nodded. "That's it."

"Ehrm, what about?..." I eyed the tape measure.

Ranger smiled smugly. "He declined."

I was confused. "So why is it in the dish drainer?"

He smiled even bigger. "I thought you might want the data."

I rolled my eyes. "I could draw it in great detail from memory."

His eyebrow quirked up, and his smile turned wolfish. "Really?"

I snorted. "Pretty sure you left enough of an imprint last night that they could use my vagina to pour a mold." He looked incredibly pleased with himself. We were getting off track, "You didn't answer the rest of my questions. Do you and Vaughn know each other?" It certainly seemed like there was plenty of animosity between them.

"Nope," was his simple reply.

I pressed, "Nope? That's it?"

Ranger kept eating and repeated, "No, I've never met the guy before."

"But he knew you?" I pushed.

Shrugging, he answered, "He knew of me."

Now we were getting somewhere. "Do lots of people know of you, people in the CIA?"

He shrugged again. "Some."

In a way, it was nice to see the return of Short Answer Ranger, but it was still annoying. "He didn't seem to like you very much." I pointed out.

"He did not," he said simply.

Not feeling that was a sufficient answer, I asked, "Why?"

Putting down his fork, Ranger turned to me. "Firstly, guys like him don't like guys like me. He's obviously a desk jockey, an analyst, a handler, but he wants more. He resents guys like me." He searched for the right word before continuing. "Specialists. We're brought in to work ops, with our own set of special skills. We're not company men, didn't come up through the ranks. Most of the time, guys like Vaughn have been involved in a case from the beginning, finding the intelligence, researching, and planning an operation, and then they bring in a guy like me." Shrugging, he finished his explanation, "I see it as doing the dirty work. He sees it as stealing his thunder." That made sense, and I guess that accounted for some of the hostility. Ranger added another reason. "And then there's you."

"Me?" What was he talking about?

He nodded. "Yes, you. There's something about you that makes men like us want to protect you."

The thought pleased and annoyed me in equal measure. I asked for clarification, "He thinks he needs to protect me from you?" Ranger nodded. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, could be in an overprotective big brother way, could be he's interested in you and sees me swooping in on his turf, just like a guy like me would on his case." He paused for a minute, like he was considering his next words carefully. "Are you two…" he trailed off, not wanting to ask the rest of the question. I gave him a dirty look. Did he really think I'd have spent the night with him if I was seeing someone else? I'd already told him twice that I wasn't dating anyone. Very calmly, he reasoned, "He showed up at your apartment on a Saturday morning. With your exact coffee order, which is pretty detailed." He looked at the sticky printout on the side of the cup, then nodded at my plate. "And one of your favorite baked goods."

Annoyed, I explained, "I met the man last November. He accosted me at my local coffee shop to tell me I was being too nosy and treading on some CIA territory in my research. He told me to stop looking into a company that didn't seem to exist."

Ranger grinned. "And how did that go for him?" He knew me all too well, how I felt about being told what to do, and how nosy I was.

I smiled at the memory. "I made him ask me. Nicely," I added. "Then I stopped."

Ranger's grin got wider, like my stubbornness amused him. "And then?"

"And then what?" I asked.

His look had changed, from amused to wary, and maybe a little possessive. "When did you see him again?"

Exasperated, I told him, "This morning, when he showed up at my door."

"That's it?" He sounded surprised.

"That's it," I told him. He looked skeptical. I decided to spell it out for him. "I don't think Vaugh's interested. He's known how to get a hold of me for six months and never tried to contact me." Ranger still looked doubtful, "I mean, he flirted with me at the coffee shop, but that's it. It seemed innocent enough; he didn't proposition me or anything." I thought I was making some headway. I should have been annoyed by his attitude, but I can't say I'd have felt any different if the roles were reversed. "The way he acted this morning wasn't like he was before. If it was, I don't think I'd have reached out."

Pressing for more information, Ranger clarified, "You reached out to him?"

"Yes, Tuesday." Hadn't he picked up on that when Vaughn was here? Or was he too busy peeing a circle around me?

He asked, "How did you know how to reach him? The Company doesn't exactly have a staff directory listed on their website."

Shrugging, I told him, "After he left the coffee shop, I found he'd tucked his card into my journal." A small look of surprise crossed his face at my mention of my journal. I'd never been one for writing, my thoughts usually coming too fast for my pen to keep up.

"So you called him to ask about me?" He was back to investigator mode.

I sighed. "No. I called to ask for any information he had on Marco Ruiz. I'd hit a dead end, and didn't know who else to ask." I was very proud of myself that I hadn't asked about Ranger, but didn't say that, still smarting from his comments last night.

"But you suspected I was Ruiz." He kept up with his questions.

"Yes." I could do one-word answers too.

"Did you tell him that?" He tried to sound neutral, but wasn't completely successful, his secretive side showing through.

Exasperated, I answered, "No!"

I felt like I was being interrogated and I didn't like it. He ignored my tone, pressing for details, "Did you mention my name?"

I took a deep breath and reminded myself he was trying to get to the bottom of who was coming after him. "No, but he knew we were connected. When I first met him, he already knew all about me, my job at the FBI, and my life in New Jersey." Ranger waited for further explanation, and I shrugged. "He said it was impressive, that I came out of nowhere, without the schooling most FBI analysts have. He brought up my job history as a lingerie buyer, BEA, and Rangeman."

Wanting more, Ranger asked, "Did he mention my name?"

"No," I huffed out. I was getting peeved. I felt like I was being treated like a suspect. "Can you just get to the point and ask me what you really want to know?" I got pissy. "Did I, what were the words you used last night? Use my job at the FBI to find out about your past?" I'd had enough. Pushing back from the counter, I grabbed my plate and emptied it into the sink, enjoying the grinding noise of the garbage disposal. I thought about putting it in the dishwasher, but I remembered it was full of clean dishes, so I just put it in the dish rack with the stupid measuring tape. I'd normally take the time to empty it, but in the mood I was in, I'd probably break every one of them, and I really liked my dishes. Turning to storm off into the other room, I found my path blocked. Ranger still hadn't bothered to put a shirt on, so I ran headfirst into his muscled chest. I tried to push past him but wasn't surprised when I was unsuccessful.

"Steph." His voice was soft. I winced at his use of my name, and kept my eyes down. "Babe," he pleaded. "Look at me." I took a deep breath and raised my eyes to meet his. He wasn't trying to hide the regret in them. "I'm sorry. What I said was inexcusable. I was wrong. I was shocked and hurt and I wanted you to hurt, too." I looked away, focusing on a point on the wall above his left shoulder. I blinked hard, trying to keep the tears away, still feeling the sting of his accusation. He added, "I know I'm sorry doesn't fix it and I'm not trying to make excuses for what I said, but I didn't mean it."

I brought my eyes back to his again. "Are you sure about that?" I asked him.

He nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. I love your nosy nature. You've used it to solve so many cases, and it even got you a new job, one you're great at." He paused, "You even saved Rangeman with it." Now it was his turn to look away. "I know you, the way you were raised, the way you think, your insecurities. I know how you doubt yourself. I knew how much my words would hurt you. That's why I said them. I know I can't take them back, or change how they made you feel, I just want you to know I didn't mean them." He turned his eyes back to mine. I just swallowed back the tears and nodded. I needed to apologize to him as well, that I didn't mean it, I was sorry, I couldn't see facts through all of my fury. But before I could, Ranger's phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and then back at me, apologetic.

Needing a minute to collect myself and knowing the call was probably important, I told him, "Why don't you answer that, and you can shower and get dressed while I clean up breakfast?" He studied me for a minute before nodding and walking out of the kitchen. I emptied the dishwasher and reloaded it with the dishes from breakfast. I thought about what he'd said. His apology was sincere and I accepted his explanation. I knew it had been difficult for him to say, which made it mean even more. I let it go and wiped down the counters, thinking of how nice it had been to find him in my kitchen making me breakfast.

Once that was done, I picked up the tape measure, winding it around my hand, I smiled, appreciating that he'd gone to the effort to make me laugh. For a second I believed him before I got the joke. He'd been joking–right? A thrill went through me at the idea that he hadn't been. I couldn't help but note where he'd measure, then where each of the other men I'd been with would have landed. While size certainly wasn't everything, it also wasn't nothing. I liked to read books with a fair amount of smut in them, but some of them made me laugh at the idea of the petite female main character having sex with a werewolf, alien, or fairy with a twelve-inch dick, the circumference of a soda can and not needing a trip to the ER. That was the part of the story that was pure fiction. I considered myself a very lucky girl when I considered the passionate, well-endowed man in my shower. Not only did he have the best equipment, he knew how to use it, which was just as important, if not more.

Kitchen chores finished, I padded into the living room to wait for him. I sat on the end of the sofa and covered myself with the throw blanket, more for comfort than warmth. Jessica Fetcher took the opportunity to climb into my lap for cuddles, and that's where Ranger found us as he emerged from the bedroom. He'd showered but hadn't shaved, which was unusual for him, dressed in a tight-fitting, well-worn ARMY t-shirt and equally vintage faded jeans that fit him like a glove. He smiled at seeing me snuggled up with the cat, choosing to sit on the opposite end of the couch, but facing me. He studied me, trying to assess my mood. If he could figure it out, I hope he'd let me know. I wasn't quite sure myself. I felt off balance, I guess, in some sort of limbo. I didn't know where we stood, what was next, what had last night been about for him. Had it changed anything? For someone who generally insisted on making my own decisions, I desperately wished someone would tell me what to do. I was done adulting.

Ranger must have assessed that I wasn't going to detonate immediately, so he started talking. "The call I got? It was the one I'd been waiting for." I waited anxiously for him to tell me the rest. The call that told him who was behind all of this, the call that meant he could leave, go home to Trenton? That's not exactly what I'd meant when I wished for someone to tell me what was next. My heart seized at the thought. It was stupid. He lived in Trenton, I lived here. Of course, he was going back there. "What's wrong?" he asked as my face fell.

I tried to keep the emotion out of my voice as I asked, "You're leaving; it's safe for you to go back?" Understanding registered and he moved towards me, taking my hand in his.

He shook his head. "No, I don't think that call is coming. I'm going to have to figure that out on my own." He paused. "I'd like your help on it, I know it's a lot to ask and it could interfere with your case–"

I interrupted him, "Of course." I was pleased that he'd ask me, after, well, after everything.

"The call I got was from my handler, my government contact." I nodded my understanding. "He gave me clearance to discuss the Mendes case with you." My eyebrows shot up. I hadn't even considered that he couldn't have discussed it with me. I'd just assumed he wouldn't. Of course, he couldn't. I just nodded and kept petting the cat. He specified, "I can't show you the file, but I'm free to talk to you about my involvement, and the murder." Pausing for just a minute, he told me plainly, "I can solve your case for you. I can give you the killer." I was stunned. What did he mean he could give me the killer, how could he know for sure? My old fears resurfaced, could he have? For the op? I know there were times he had no other options. Or could I have been right when I thought maybe they'd fought, there was an accident, so they had to stage it to look like an attack, like an attempted rape? No. I shook my head. No. Ranger…Marco couldn't have done that, wouldn't have done that. His ESP was in full working order and he watched my doubts and fears flash across my face, and I just prayed he also got the message that I believed he couldn't have done this.

He looked a little hurt, but more ashamed. I opened my mouth to apologize and explain, but he cut me off. "You have every right to doubt me. I'm a violent man, you've only seen glimpses of it. I've killed in cold blood, I've killed for my country, for my government, to protect the innocent, and to protect those that I love." I fought the urge to look away as he continued, "I'm a killer. I did murder someone that day, but not Sophia." Relief flooded me, I already believed he was innocent, but hearing him say it was still reassuring.

He took a deep breath. "I need to start at the beginning; how I became Marco Ruiz, how I ended up in Maywood, and how I got involved with Sophia." My stomach lurched. Wasn't this what I wanted? Why I'd texted him? Suddenly I didn't want to know, I simply wanted to pretend it had never happened. If my case didn't get solved, oh well. Can't win them all. So far our team had a hundred percent clearance rate, but that wasn't going to last forever, so ending our streak wasn't the end of the world. It was bound to happen sooner or later. My thoughts were racing, and I was about to have a panic attack. I was pressing down harder and harder as I petted Jessica. She got irritated and nipped at my hand, jumped off my lap, and padded out of the room.

I shook my head. "I don't want to know; you don't have to tell me."

His face was pained. He scooted closer, taking my other hand in his. "Babe, I need to tell you. You already know some of it, but you're filling in the blanks yourself, and drawing your own conclusions. You need to hear the rest. It's a story I never thought I'd have to tell again, but I need to tell you. I need you to know." There was so much emotion in his voice. I was ready to cry before he'd even begun. I told myself, maybe if I could learn his secrets I could figure out why he's guarded. I was still apprehensive, but he was nearly pleading with me, "Will you let me tell you?" I nodded. "Can I hold you while I do it?: I just nodded again and he scooped me up in his arms like I weighed nothing and settled back against the arm of the sofa, his long legs stretched out as he arranged me to sit in front of him, my back to his chest, my legs bracketed by his. He arranged the throw over both of us before wrapping his arms around my waist. I thought it was meant to comfort us both, but his grip would also ensure I couldn't run away from him if I didn't like something I heard. I relaxed back into him and he gave me a squeeze, and leaned into me, resting his cheek on the side of my head.

He started his story. "By the time I got out of the Rangers, I was already doing ops for some government agencies on the side, things that didn't always require my whole team. I worked in places where a guy who looked like me would fit in–South America, Latin America, Mexico, and parts of the States that had high Latino populations. That's when I was given the Marco Ruiz identity." His voice was even, but a little detached, like he was giving a lecture or reading a textbook, not flat and unfeeling, but like he was narrating something that happened to someone else. "I thought, after I got out, I could make a living like that. Yes, I'd have to travel, but when I was home I'd have time to get to know Julie. Rachel and I had started divorce proceedings; we'd never lived as husband and wife. We'd stayed married so I could provide housing and my military benefits for them, and I'd visit when I could so I could see Julie."

Emotion crept into his voice, little by little. "I hadn't planned on being a father, but once I saw my daughter, everything changed. Rachel and I knew we'd never make the marriage work, but we were friendly." I tensed at that. Ranger and I had been friendly; I knew what it meant to be friendly with Ranger. He felt the change in me and squeezed me. "Not like that, Babe. That would have just complicated things. The only time Rachel and I were together was the night Julie was conceived. I relaxed. I knew it was stupid of me to feel that way, but I couldn't help it. He kept going with the story. "I'd planned to base myself out of Miami, and set up shared custody. That's not what Rachel had in mind." His tone changed again, and he sounded bitter. "She'd been seeing someone. I knew that, but what I didn't know was he'd proposed and she wanted me out of their lives. Julie liked Ron, and Rachel argued he could be a full-time father, and he didn't have a dangerous job."

He stopped to take a deep breath. I could feel his hurt and anger, and I wished I could do something to ease it for him, take on his pain and bear it as my own, but right now he just needed me to listen. "Ron wanted to adopt her and if I refused, Rachel would have me declared unfit based on my government work." I could feel his body tense as he remembered, "I was pissed. I hadn't wanted to be a father or get married, but it was my responsibility to take care of them, and I did. Somewhere along the way I fell in love with that little girl, my little girl. I was angry, I took as many assignments as they would give me–the more dangerous, violent, and bloody the better, but it didn't help. It just proved Rachel's point. I wasn't a father, I was a killer." I started running my hands over his arms, where they were linked around my middle. It was heartbreaking to hear him speak about himself like that. "After a particularly bad assignment, my handler told me I needed to make some changes and get my shit together, or I was going to be out. Word was out that I was angry and unstable. I knew he was right, but I didn't know what to do about it." He sighed and I wanted to stop him, tell him I didn't want him to continue, I didn't want to force him to relive this time in his life.

He sighed, and relaxed a little. "Then I was contacted by the DEA. They needed someone to go undercover. It was a long-term assignment, estimated at two to three years minimum. I jumped at the chance. I hated my life, and was more than willing to lose myself in living someone else's." I could understand, I'd felt the same way. I didn't know if I could do it for that long, though. "There was very little in the way of briefing or intel. I knew who the targets were–the Mendes brothers and their drug trafficking. While the brothers kept a low profile, their sister Sophia appeared to live a normal life, and she was our in. So Marco Ruiz got a job at the elementary school where she worked, and within a few weeks of meeting her, we started dating." He was back to using that matter-of-fact tone and I wasn't sure what to make of it. "I was young and dumb and thought it was a pretty good gig at the time. I got to hang out with a pretty girl, try and pick up what I could about the drug trade, and I didn't have to be Ranger or Carlos Manoso." He sighed. "The problem was Sophia didn't know anything about the business. She idolized her brothers, and she wanted to believe the best about everyone. So Marco had no choice but to become completely devoted to her, spending every minute he could with her family. I'd try to pick up anything I could around them, but they never discussed business at home. I was deep enough under that I didn't have regular contact with anyone running the op. They trusted me to figure it out on my own. That's what I was known for, so I dove in head first. I hoped if Marco and Sophia got more serious, the brothers would bring Marco into the business."

I'd been silent the whole time, but when he stopped for a moment, I observed, "You keep saying Marco, not me or I." It seemed a bit odd. Dickie would often refer to himself in the third person, but that was because he was a pompous asshole. This was different. It was like Ranger was talking about someone else entirely.

After a beat, he answered, his voice softer. "That's how I separate from it. When I was there, I was him; I wasn't me. To do undercover work, you have to become them and they take over. While Marco Ruiz lived, Carlos Manoso ceased to exist." He added almost as an afterthought, "But when you live like that, you live with ghosts."

I couldn't imagine how he'd been able to do that. "So were you successful? Did they bring you into the business?"

"No, only so far as letting me run some legit errands for them." I remembered that from the file. "They knew Marco didn't make a lot of money at the school and wanted to do more, make more, to take care of Sophia. The next step was going to be asking for their permission to propose to her, and ask about doing more work for them to earn enough money to buy her the ring she deserved."

I was shocked. Dating her was one thing, but marriage? Before I could stop myself I asked, "Would you have gone through with it?"

He sighed. "Probably. By that point, I'd started to buy into the idea that I could just continue being Marco Ruiz. His life was easier than Carlos Manoso's. Marco knew what he wanted, and he was making a life for himself." He scoffed. "But it wasn't real. At some point, it was going to come crashing down. I had myself convinced it didn't have to. They said three years, it could have been more. Even if it wasn't, in my business, three years was a lifetime."

I told myself I shouldn't ask, it wasn't any of my business, but I couldn't help myself. My voice was just above a whisper when I asked, "Was it because of her? Did you want to stay because of Sophia?" He didn't answer. My voice grew even softer. "Did you love her? Did you want to build a life with her?"

He was silent for a long time and I wanted to take it back, I didn't want to know. It was too late, though. He took a deep breath and answered me, his voice nearly as soft as mine, and this time he let the emotion come through in his words. "Marco did. He loved her very much; she was beautiful, giving, and trusting. The kind of girl who would never love Carlos Manoso. He was a monster, a killer. She was easy for Marco to love. And then he lost her."

I swallowed hard and squeezed his arms, trying to offer him silent support. I wanted to turn around, to see his face, but he held me tightly to him and told me the rest, the emotion now gone again. "The man who killed her was named Daniel Ramirez. He was the assistant manager of the grocery store a few blocks away from her house. He had a crush on her. She thought he was harmless, but she always wanted to believe the best about everyone. It had been her day off of work and Spring Break at the college. She was planning to cook a big family dinner that night. Her brother Luis had been gone on a business trip to Mexico and was returning that night, so she was making all of his favorites. She liked to shop at the local store, rather than drive to a big chain, so she usually just walked. I don't know for sure, but I'm guessing she bought too many things to carry on her own, and Daniel offered to help her carry them home."

His voice sounded nearly robotic now, like a prisoner of war reciting his name, rank, and serial number, disconnected from what was happening. He'd stopped speaking about Marco, but he owned the rest of the painful story. "A pipe had burst at school, so classes were canceled, and students and staff were sent home. I decided to surprise her by taking her out to lunch. When I got to the house, the door was open, which wasn't like her. The bags of groceries were lying on the floor, contents spilling out everywhere. I could hear what sounded like a struggle, and I rushed into the living room. I couldn't see them at first. Half the furniture was overturned, books and lamps everywhere. I stepped around the couch and found them on the floor. She was bruised and bloody, and her clothes were torn. Daniel was on top of her, both hands wrapped around her throat. She wasn't moving, and I saw red. I didn't think, I just acted. I moved silently up behind him and snapped his neck, killing him instantly."