Chapter 1 - Marriage

When I was 16 years old, I thought Joe Morelli was the single hottest thing I had ever seen. He was Burg but not Burg, a wild man-child, a very bad boy from a bad family who had seduced probably a third of the girls in my high school. When he cornered me at the Tasty Pastry, he didn't even have to work too hard on the seduction – I was ready to present him with my teen-aged ALL for love. Or what I thought was love and turned about to be a quick roll on a grungy floor, followed by the humiliation of having Joe write about it on walls all over Trenton. At the time he was writing on the walls, I was busy writing "Mrs. Joe Morelli" in my notebooks at school, telling all my friends I was going to marry him, picturing us living in a cottage, in a place straight out of a Disney movie. To say that finding out I was just another notch on Morelli's belt and that I had to take back the "Mrs Joe Morelli" thing to everyone I'd said it to was disappointing is a bit of an understatement.

I did eventually get a teeny bit of revenge by running into him with a Buick and breaking his leg.

It should have been a wake-up call that I was not meant to follow the standard teenager "love, marriage, baby carriage" path in the Burg, but, apparently, I had to get that really bad starter marriage under my belt first. Really, the less said about the short marriage to the Dickster, the better. With distance, I sort of view it as a very bad intermission for a longer bad movie that was the Morelli marathon in my life. Dickie Orr wasn't Joe Morelli, that's for sure. That doesn't mean he was better as a human being, lover or a husband. It did make my mother happy – very briefly – that I was married to a lawyer, which is the best I can think to say of the whole thing.

Then, stupidly, when I was almost 30, I fell into Joe Morelli's orbit again. By this time, Morelli had shed a lot of the wild man-child role. He'd gone off to the Navy then come home to the Burg to live and to settle down into his Burg roots. He was respectable now, the youngest and most responsible of the Morelli boys, the apple of his mother's and grandmother's eyes. He worked as a beat cop and then later as a police detective and had a very good reputation as a sharp detective. He wanted to live the Burg life, with the wife and the kids. And he wanted me to be the wife.

Eventually we parted ways over many, many issues, but not until I'd repeated, many times at many volume levels to anyone who would listen, that I didn't want to be married again and I never, ever wanted kids.

And then a funny thing happened. Ranger and I got serious, beyond the alley make-out sessions and the infrequent sex in my apartment. Serious enough that I moved into Haywood to live – and have much more frequent sex – with him. Serious enough that one day Ranger asked me to marry him and I instantly said yes. So, after telling everyone at length that I didn't want to marry, I found myself married, for the second time, at 32 years old.

It happened in a strange way, of course, none of the romantic dinner followed by the man getting down on one knee to propose, or a proposal while strolling along a moonlit beach. Oh, no. Not us.

When I moved in with Ranger, living at Haywood made me feel a little like a kept woman – I was a lily of the field there, the only woman other than Ella, but, unlike Ella, I had no role, no job, no function, even though I had more access to the building than many of the men had. There was nowhere my fob wouldn't open. I did the occasional search for Rangeman, but I was not cut out to sit in a dark cubicle and stare at a screen all day and Ranger and I both knew it. I was still mostly working for Vinnie, and Ranger wanted me to have a Rangeman partner, which was financially insane for Rangeman. Some of his guys got paid more for an hour of work than bringing in one of my low level skips was worth.

I was contemplating all this as Lester and I sat in my Rangeman fleet SUV, waiting for my latest skip to come home. At least, we hoped he was coming home soon – according to his neighbor, he came home most days early in the afternoon to spend the rest of his night home, drinking. We'd been there since before 2:00 and it was already past 8:00 and he hadn't shown up yet. He wasn't from the Burg, so I had no inside info on him, only what his elderly neighbor had told me. Vinnie's paperwork had listed no family members, job or friends, but he'd been arrested a non-violent B&E, so he wasn't a high-dollar or high-risk skip. But if my skip didn't show up in the next hour or so, I'd have to call it off for the night and try again tomorrow.

The full recovery fee for this job would be $500: after a 60/40 split with Rangeman – Ranger's negotiated split, I had wanted to give him much more because of the use of the vehicle and a Rangeman partner, but he started off refusing any of it and then finally agreed to the 60/40 split in my favor - my share would be $300 and I knew that this job had already taken long enough that Lester's Rangeman pay was far more than the Rangeman half of the recovery. This would be yet another job that Ranger bled money on for me.

But as part of the relationship thing that Ranger and I were trying to work out, I'd agreed to take backup – real backup, not Lula backup – on field jobs other than my "regulars." If I was on my own, the $500 would have at least paid my utilities for the month or a chunk of my rent. On the other hand, having Lester or one of the other Merry Men with me took a lot of the volatility and risk away – it had been quite awhile since I'd blown up a car or rolled in garbage or had to make an ER run, and I had to admit that I liked the job a lot better for it.

Ranger had once told me that there was 'no price' on what we gave each other, but he was also a sharp businessman. Sending one of his men with me, providing his vehicles and equipment, was costing him money. How long would he do this? Why was he doing this?

Lester was as bored as I was with the waiting, which sometimes made us not the best combination in the field. But at least he was talkative.

"Soooo," Lester said as he stretched in the passenger seat – my skip, I was driving the Rangeman SUV, no matter what. "You living at Haywood now?"

I scrunched down in my seat "Maybe."

"You've been at Haywood for three weeks and I know you packed up most of your stuff from your apartment, I helped bring it in."

"See, that's the problem. I don't like all the guys watching me come and go." I said with a frown. "Knowing where I am all the time. Assuming what I am doing." The fact that their assumptions about what Ranger and I were doing in his apartment on Seven were likely spot on didn't help and it sometimes made my face burn in embarrassment when I got the quick glance at my face and then away from one of the guys, or when I stepped out of the elevator on five. Other than Ella, I was the only person who used the elevator and they knew Ella's schedule. I often hated the fishbowl that living in the Burg was – the telephone network of gossip about my every move and activity – but in a lot of ways Rangeman was pretty similar, in a smaller, much tighter, black-clad way. The main difference seemed to be that the Rangeman guys didn't call my mother to keep her up on my activities, the gossip stayed in the building and, mostly, out of my face. Also they didn't usually – Lester here being the exception – say anything to me about it. The glances were enough.

I wasn't that good about remembering that there were cameras pretty much everywhere outside the apartment, either, and I am sure the Control Room had some fairly hot stuff recorded somewhere. Ranger was better at remembering to scramble cameras than I was. There was something about being in the elevator with Ranger that fried a few of my circuits...

"It's not like that, Steph. They aren't watching over you to gossip about you or judge you. We watch over you because you are one of us. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is glad you are at Haywood now. Ranger is less tense now that he knows you are safe at night and so are the rest of us. That apartment was easier to break into than opening a box of Crackerjacks."

I had to smile at that – Crackerjacks were Lester's personal junk food addiction. He'd once told me the greatest disappointment in his life was when they stopped including actual toys in Crackerjack boxes and went to stupid little stickers. Now they didn't even have stickers. Some day I'd have to take him to the shop in Point Pleasant that made the deluxe version in a big copper kettle. "With that many eyes on me, it just feels like they are waiting for me to make one of my trademark mistakes."

"Wow," he said. "That's paranoid, even for you." When I didn't smile back at him, he continued. "C'mon, Steph, you are more observant than that when you want to be. What happens when you walk into the building – hell, when you drive into the garage? You get the head nod, a quick glance to make sure you are okay, and a smile. I just get the head nod, you are the only one who gets the smile."

"The way they snap to attention when Ranger comes in?"

"Ranger is the boss. Yeah, they will always give him the respect he's earned, but notice what happens after that. They relax a little. The Rangeman is in the building."

"And all is right with the world?" I suggested.

He smiled a little. "Something like that." His phone dinged a text message at him and he grimaced. "Gotta go, Steph. Woody's on his way to pick me up. It's all gun hands on deck for the big take-down with the ATF tonight." He glanced out the window. "Let's call it a night. Nothing is happening here and you've eaten your way through your snacks and I can hear your stomach growling. Go home and have dinner and we'll catch this guy tomorrow."

I'd already heard about this take-down and I didn't want any part of it. This was the pure adrenaline-rush kind of thing that Ranger and most of the Rangeman guys loved and that scared me shitless. I blew out a long breath. "Les, I have already cost Rangeman twice what this bond is going to pay you. I can't keep wasting Rangeman resources."

He shook his head. "Not the Rangeman way – we're on the job and we get the job done. It's just not happening tonight."

Behind us, Woody pulled up and flashed his lights. Lester opened the door. "Head home for the night, Steph, I promise we'll get him tomorrow."

I nodded at Lester and he gave me a quick two-finger salute, closed the door and walked back to Woody. I watched them pull away and then started the SUV. On the drive back to Haywood, I thought about Lester's comments.

When I drove into the garage, Manny was there, just getting ready to head out. He stopped for a moment and I got a head nod, a quick scan and a smile. For once I tried not to read anything into his glance, just take it for what it was. There was nothing but complete acceptance in his face. I was a Rangeman, or close enough, I was back at base and in one piece, and he was pleased to see it. That was all. No judgment, no gossip potential, just one of the guys.

"Stay safe," I called to him as he got in the truck.

His smile got wider. "Yes, ma'am."

I fobbed my way up to Seven, rooted through the refrigerator, found some of Ella's wonderful lasagna to reheat – and it was wonderful, even if it had a lot more vegetables and a lot less meat in the sauce than my mother's – had a solitary dinner, reviewed some FTA paperwork and finally took myself for a long hot shower with the never-ending hot water and then dressed for bed in one of Ranger's t-shirts and a pair of flannel boy shorts.

It was almost morning when Ranger came in: 5 am by my phone when I finally checked it. I must have heard him come in, but the first real indication that he was home was his warm, naked body sliding into bed next to me. But it felt wrong, somehow, and I realized he wasn't sliding in to his usual side of the bed. He always slept closest to the door, wherever we were, his body always between me and potential danger.

Usually we slept spooned together, his large, warm body wrapped around me, my head pillowed on his arm, his other arm wrapped around my waist, but now we were facing each other. I reached out for him in the dark, my fingers touched bandages on his shoulder and he hissed.

I sat up and snapped on the bedside table light. His right shoulder was covered with bandages and instead of the faint whiff of his shower gel I got the distinctive scent of an iodine-based wound cleaner and other antiseptics. "Ranger,..." I started.

He shrugged and then winced at the movement of his shoulder. "Just a couple of stitches – nothing major. Be OK in a day or two."

"You went to the hospital?" He nodded through a yawn. "Jesus, Ranger, why didn't you call me? I want to know about stuff like this."

"It was late, figured you'd be sleeping and I'd be home soon enough."

I shook my head at him. "Next time call." I ran my fingers through his loose hair, stroking it back, away from his face. "Go to sleep."

"Babe, if you keep touching me we aren't going to get any sleep."

"Mm hmm," I said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. I could feel the tension radiating off him – he was in pain and I knew he wouldn't voluntarily take anything for it. "They give you some pain pills to go with the stitches?"

"Not necessary."

"Where are they?"

He looked at me for a moment and then sighed. "Jacket pocket."

I got up, went into the dressing room and found his jacket, the one with the knife slices through the shoulder. The blood on the jacket made my stomach drop. Ranger's blood. The ballistic jacket was designed to be bullet- and knife-resistant, but that didn't mean that a determined attack by someone armed with a sharp knife could be completely stopped. Someone had really wanted him dead. The jacket was complete write-off. Fortunately the man wasn't.

The pill bottle was in the pocket, and I carried the bottle and the torn jacket out to the kitchen. The jacket I tossed in the trash and then I got a glass, filled it with water and snapped on the sink light to read the label. I opened the cap, shook two out into my hand and carried the pills and water back into the bedroom.

"Take these and sleep," I said, handing both to him. I gave him the Burg glare when he hesitated.

He took them with a little shake of his head. "Just a couple hours, I have a team meeting at 0800."

I unfastened his watch. "I'll wake you up when it's time. Now go to sleep." His eyes closed obediently, proof that he was dead tired. I slipped his watch in my pocket and checked the bedside alarm clock to see that he hadn't set it.

Almost immediately his breathing deepened and slowed. It took a little longer for the tight lines around his mouth and eyes to relax as the pain pills kicked in. I watched him, amazed. I knew that he had throttled back his life some to fit me into it, but it seemed like he was always on the go, there was always somewhere he had to be or something he needed to be doing. He'd told me once that he didn't have a lot of down time and he wasn't kidding.

This was the first time I'd ever been able to watch him sleep and I studied him. In sleep his face was relaxed and calm. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but I knew he'd awaken. I smiled at him and myself. I felt protective and I was determined that, this once, he was going to sleep in. Rangeman employees watched over me, and I'd watch over him. And them, I realized.

My phone was on the bedside table and I rummaged around in the drawer for my ear buds. I needed to keep myself awake for a few hours, and it would be so tempting to just curl into Ranger and sleep with him. Instead I watched videos, read the news, and generally just distracted myself until my eyes glazed over and my phone said it was 7:45.

I glanced over at Ranger. Still asleep, no little pain lines. His breathing was deep, even and slow. I wanted to kiss him, but I wanted him to sleep. As quietly as possible, I got out of bed, tiptoed into the closet and dressed in Rangeman black long sleeve t-shirt and cargo pants, pulled one of his huge – on me - zip-up sweatshirts, stuffed my feet into sheepskin booties – not black, but you can't have everything - and headed downstairs, doing my best to be silent in the apartment.

I made a quick detour to the break room to get coffee and one of Ella's muffins and headed to the big conference room. As I opened the door, all the heads in the room turned to me, expecting it to be the one team member who was missing – Ranger. Seeing me instead had all 9 sets of eyebrows – either singly or in pairs - going up all over the room.

"Good morning, gentlemen," I said, smiling pleasantly and sliding into what was always Ranger's chair. "Hope I'm not too late."

"Steph," Tank said cautiously, "where's Ranger?"

"Upstairs, asleep," I said, "where he will stay until the pain meds I talked him into taking when he got home last night wear off and he wakes up on his own." I emphasized that last part by pulling his watch, phone and pager out of my pocket and putting them onto the table. I'd disconnected the internal house phone as well, but I hadn't dragged it down to this show and tell with me.

"That's good," Bobby said, "he really needs the sleep, he'd been up and working almost 30 hours before the take-down. Any sign of fever this morning?"

"I didn't want to wake him to check, but his skin isn't flushed and his forehead isn't warm to the touch." I took a sip of coffee. "So, who is going to tell me what happened last night?"

"Take-down was rougher than we planned."

"So I saw." I was trying hard to keep the note of accusation out of my voice. This was his team. They were supposed to keep him from getting hurt, dammit. I looked at Bobby. "How many stitches did he get?"

"12, but he was lucky in the placement – nothing severed and no deep puncture. Assuming no infection, stitches will be out in 3 or 4 days and then it should heal well. A little physical therapy, but nothing we can't handle here."

"Good," I said. "The reason I am here this morning, interrupting your meeting, is that we need to have a little talk."

"We?" Tank said.

"Yes. All of you," I looked around the table at the assembled Rangeman core and senior staff – Tank, Bobby, Lester, Cal, Ram, Hal, Vince, Woody and Hector, "are the people he trusts most, therefore you are the people I trust the most. Since we are in this together, I need to ask for some changes to Rangeman protocol."

A slight grin edged the corner of Lester's mouth up. "And what changes would those be?"

"When he's hurt, one of you will call me. Whether he tells you to or not. And," I said, looking around the room, staring into each set of eyes. "When one of you is hurt, I expect a call from someone on the team. You are his people and I want to look after you the same way you look after me for him."

"There is already a standard protocol for notifying partners in case of field injury or accident," Ranger said from the doorway.

I looked up, startled. I hadn't heard the door open. "I read the Rangeman handbook. That protocol only applies to married personnel and we aren't married."

"That can be arranged," he said. He was wearing a loose button-up shirt, most of the way undone and sweatpants. He still looked tired, but even just a couple hours of sleep had done him some good.

"You'd have to ask first," I said, staring at him. He stared back, the blank face firmly in place.

Lester spoke up, breaking the tension. "What was that bullshit you were trying to introduce last month, Tank? Bob's Rules Of Order? Okay, here we go: New business - I put forward the motion that the Bombshell marries the boss so we don't have to do another fucking handbook revision."

There was a moment of stunned silence and then Bobby said. "Seconded."

"Santos," Ranger snapped.

"Okay, then," Lester said, ignoring him. "We have a motion to vote on. The Bombshell marries the boss. All in favor?"

Everyone in the room, except Ranger and me, shouted "Aye, SIR!"

"Anyone against?" No one – not even me – replied. "Great," Lester said and thumped his knuckles on the table. "Motion carried by majority vote with two abstentions."

"Out," Ranger barked. "All of you."

The men in the room rose and filed out. More than one of them gave us both meaningful looks. Lester stopped in front of Ranger.

Ranger shook his head at him. "Shut it, Santos, and keep moving." His voice was low and Lester took the threat seriously and did as he was told.

The last man left and closed the door behind him. Ranger moved around the table toward me.

"What are you doing awake?"

"Word of advice," he said, his voice dry, "when you move around the apartment, walk and move your usual way. I'll recognize you, even in sleep. Try to be sneaky and stealthy and it just alerts me that something is wrong."

"Isn't that giving intel to the enemy?

"You aren't my enemy."

I smiled at him. "So what am I then?"

"My partner."

"Not one that gets notified, according to the Rangeman handbook." I walked over to him and put my arms around his neck, careful of his bad shoulder. "So what's it going to be: a ring or a handbook re-write?"

He finally smiled back at me, both of his arms coming around my waist to pull me closer. "Which would you prefer?"

"Oh, no, you have to ask me."

He did a creditable version of the eyeroll. "Marry me, Stephanie Plum."

"See how easy that was? Now, phrase it in the form of a question."

"Babe," he said. He might have sounded slightly exasperated with me.

"Still not hearing a question."

"Will you marry me, Stephanie Plum?"

I stretched up to kiss him. "Yes, I will." I meant it to be a light kiss, but he had other ideas. The kiss was hot, possessive and I felt it all the way to my toes. I threw my heart into the kiss and I felt him take it, take all of me, in.

"I guess we both have to take back the 'I never want to get married again' thing, huh?"

"Yes," he said, bending his head to kiss me again.