All characters belong to Janet Evanovich. Completely Babe. Rated M for mature content, adult situations and language. Mistakes, illogical circumstances and unrepentant romantic encounters of the Ranger kind are entirely my fault.

I close my eyes the moment I surrender to you….

-Il Divo

Move like water…flow through the crowd, through the music. Let the lights be the sparkles on the surface of the stream. Dance. Let the current guide you through the crowd and do not be afraid to touch the stones in your path. For once be who you've always wanted to be.

The words of her dancing instructor floated through her mind, clearly audible over the music that pounded in time with her pulse. The overheated air of the packed club warmed every inch of her exposed skin, straight into the bottom of her soul. Men's eyes followed her body, hot with undisguised lust at how much creamy skin really was exposed, from her arms to most of her back, her waist and down to her long, smooth legs. This was the way she'd planned it, and this was exactly the way she wanted it.

Stephanie Plum always got her man, and in the crowded confines of the exclusive New York club, she drew the attention of the only man in the entire room who mattered.

His dark eyes met hers through the crush of people, and as the depths ignited in an entirely male response to her walk and her clothes, the slow smile on her lips invited him to do something about it. And just like she'd always hoped, Ricardo Carlos Manoso wasn't a man to let a challenge like that go unanswered.

A sharp chime interrupted the music, shattering it as easily as a dropped plate. Stephanie blinked, then groaned inwardly as the club vanished into the mists of sleep and she opened her eyes to the plain and definitely unglamorous walls of her low-rent apartment bedroom. One hand slapped the alarm on the bedside table into silence as the last little pleasant bit of dream escaped.

That is so not fair!

The sigh sounded more like a growl as she rolled over and stuffed her pillow between her arms and her head, burying her face into it and hiding from what the unrelenting sunlight pouring through her window refused to let her forget: the weekend was over and she had other skips to catch.

The growl became a groan as she threw the covers back and the cool air hit her bare skin. The black t-shirt she'd paired with boy shorts last night had ridden up to expose her stomach, and the flesh prickled as it tried to adjust to the difference between the cocoon of blankets and the not-yet-heated air of a Jersey fall morning. For one really brief moment, Stephanie was tempted to pull the covers back to her chin and forget about rising or shining, but she knew if she didn't show up at the bonds office either Lula or Connie would be obsessively dialing her cell phone, landline and, if those didn't work, her mother's phone.

And nothing said get up right now you lazy child than having to listen to her mother's voice on the answering machine demanding answers she didn't want to give.

Resolute, Steph swung her legs over the side of the mattress and heaved herself upright. The usual stagger into the bathroom for her shower wasn't quite so bad anymore; the training she'd opted to take for the distraction last week had paid off in more ways than one. Her coordination had improved markedly, her body was toned in a way that made people stop and stare, and her stamina was easily doubled what it had been.

The memory of the expression on Lester's face when he picked her up for the drive to New York Friday night had been worth the weeks of watching tapes, drowning in sweat in a private dance studio and discussing minute clothing details with Ella. Ranger's housekeeper worked magic with her needle that was worthy of a Hollywood red carpet. Between the barely-there dark metallic sequined halter drape top with a thin diamond-encrusted strap across her bare back and the matching tailored short skirt with Swarovski crystal fringe brushing against her toned upper thighs, poor Lester didn't stand a chance. She'd opened the door in her outfit and hit record on the cell phone as his jaw dropped, his eyeballs bugged out and his tongue pretty much unrolled across the floor.

Steph had turned and walked back to her living room, swaying her hips just a little to make the fringe dance. A loud thump behind her was the only signal that the man who picked up women like a spider picked up flies had just walked into her foyer wall. That reaction had been satisfying, but the only one she wanted was from the man who hadn't picked her up for the drive into the City.

She blinked and was back in her bathroom, staring at a woman in the mirror who still had the blonde sun-kissed tips in her dark curly hair but that was where the glamour ended. This was Stephanie Plum after the fact, and this was her unglamorous life that might have amused Ranger for a few moments but couldn't compare with the rich, sophisticated socialites in that club who looked like they should be on the arm of such a gorgeous man.

A breath of air escaped her, lifting one of the curls on her forehead. It tumbled down again, stubbornly refusing to be anywhere than where it wanted to be, and she blinked back the sudden sting in her eyes.

Ranger always hints but he never comes out and says anything. And I probably scared him off for good when I told him to change his destination. Dammit.

Her cell phone started singing loudly in the bedroom and Steph hesitated only a brief moment before shutting the door and locking it. The phone fell silent, than started in again and she hastily turned on the shower to drown it out.

If I tell Lula I was in the shower, I need to make sure it's at least marginally true or she won't forgive me.

The apartment was blessedly silent when Steph finally emerged from the bathroom, her hair scooped back in a poufy ponytail and the sleepwear swapped out for a plain white t-shirt and comfy blue jeans. Since she expected to be chasing down whatever low level skips Connie might have saved for her, Steph bypassed her impractical selection of shoes and opted instead for the sturdy CAT work boots.

As she picked up her cell phone from the bedside table, Steph debated for all of thirty seconds as to whether or not she should check the voicemails. With a sigh, she checked the oldest one and rolled her eyes at the name attached to it. Before Steph could talk herself out of it, she hit the play symbol as she walked towards the kitchen.

"Cupcake, you haven't been around lately. Nobody's seen you at the station. Manoso's goons have been bringing in the skips you usually take. What have you gotten yourself into this time? Call me."

Steph opened the fridge and bent over, hunting for the cluster of green grapes Ella left for Rex when she restocked the food supplies before the distraction. Her fingers closed over one firm green grape as Morelli paused on the recording and, evidently forgetting he hadn't disconnected, continued speaking.

"Damn it, Terry. Would you quit with that? I'm trying to talk on the phone and you're not helping by—".

The voicemail hit its upper time limit and cut out, mercifully before her sometime-boyfriend could finish his sentence. Steph straightened, the remnants of the burst grape covering her fingers and tore off a piece of paper towel to clean it up.

"Sorry, buddy," she said, plucking two more and dropping them in the hamster's food dish. Rex stuffed one in each cheek, waited to see if more was forthcoming, then darted back into the soup can to feast on the jackpot. While he was busy with his haul, she changed out his water and topped off his hamster nuggets before leaving him in peace.

Her glance fell on the phone lying on the counter. The usual thing to do was to delete Joe's message and forget it ever happened. They were in what she considered an off-phase, or more accurately not-close-enough-to-on-to-matter. Joe and she were both adults, and the decision about what form their relationship would take was mutual. Just because he inadvertently revealed that he was enjoying more benefits from that decision than she was didn't mean she could hold it against him.

At least, not until she put on her big girl panties and let him know that the rules had changed. That would be the mature, adult thing to do.

Being mature sucked sometimes. She hit the next name in line and went back to rummaging in the refrigerator. If Steph knew anything about Ella from a few years' worth of acquaintance, the Godsend of a woman would put something delectable in there just because she knew how much Steph liked her food. Something sinful and maybe even a little bit bad for her—

"Ah-ha!"

Steph snagged the Boston Crème from the opaque white container hidden behind the veggie tray. She took a bite out of it before straightening, her eyes closing a little as the sugary, fat-filled treat soothed her starving junk food hormones.

"White girl, I know you've been busy as my man lately, but that don't mean you can dodge your friend responsibilities. No matter how late you got in Friday night, you've had Saturday to recover. Call me and we'll hash out what the streets been sayin' about Super Cop. He ain't been sittin' home waiting for you to get unbusy, if you know what I mean."

She chewed and swallowed the suddenly tasteless lump, wincing as it congealed into a hard knot that didn't go down easily and then sat in the pit of her stomach like a leaden weight. Lula meant well, Steph knew that she did, but sometimes knowing wasn't better. Denial worked very well indeed, except she had the same problem that Ranger had—what she was doing wasn't getting her any closer to where she wanted to be.

Next exhibit to be entered into evidence on my life?

Connie this time. "Hey Steph! Sorry to bother you on the weekend. I heard you were up in New York doing some work for Ranger, so you probably won't listen to your messages until Sunday. No rush, but we have a stack of low bond skips waiting for you at the office for pick up Monday morning. Better get here early—Vinnie says if you don't do as good a job as RangeMan he's going to give all of the work to them."

Steph made a face at the phone, taking another bite out of the fried roll and forcing it down. She put the remnants on a corner of paper towel she hastily ripped off the roll and grabbed the container of milk off the top shelf of the fridge. Out of horrible experience, she cracked it open and sniffed before taking a healthy swig from it.

Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, Steph picked up the fried roll again and hit the next message on the list.

"Stephanie, this is your mother. You haven't called or talked to any of us for days. Maria Galli hears from her daughters every morning and every evening. They don't ignore their family for months on end, never letting their mother know if they're even still breathing. Call me the instant you hear this, young lady, so your father won't have to drive around looking for you in the alleys and ditches."

A tiny tremor at the corner of her right eye became a full-bore spasm before her mother reached the end of the last sentence. A twinge across her right temple heralded a headache that would lead to pulling the shades and staying in bed for the rest of the day. She could ignore the world for just one more day, and maybe the dream would come back and she could see where it was supposed to end.

Steph's eyes fell on the phone and she sighed. Or not.

Pushing away from the counter, she scanned the rest of the list. There were four left in the queue—two more from her mother, one from Lula an hour ago and another from a blocked number that came just as she was getting out of the shower.

Her finger hovered over it as Steph debated with herself. She didn't have any stalkers that she knew of, and she hadn't given out her personal number to anyone at the club before the pick up. And none of the Merry Men would give out this number, either.

The tip of her finger touched the screen. The display changed as the digital playback started.

"Babe." Ranger's voice sounded tired. "Watch your back. We're hearing rumblings on Stark of something going down. Take someone with you if you're working this week. I'll—"

The voicemail cut off to dead silence. No static of an open connection, just emptiness as the little play indicator dot slid across the screen until it reached the end. Steph stared at it for a long moment, wanting to replay the message until the screaming of her spidey sense stopped.

"No."

Steph grabbed the phone instead, ready to hit the speed dial #1 and let Ranger answer and tell her everything was all right. Before she could argue against it, she touched the button and prayed that he would answer on the first ring.

One. Two. Three.

It didn't go to voicemail. The ringing just stopped and her phone beeped rapidly to let her know the connection had failed to go through.

Her fingers shook as she hit the same button again, and the shaking got worse, settling in the pit of her stomach as the connection cut off on the third ring again. Instead of trying the number for the third time, Steph scrolled through her contact list and punched up the RangeMan control room. It rang once.

"RangeMan. Vince speaking."

Stephanie forced herself to take a deep breath. "This is Stephanie Plum. Where's Ranger?"

A moment's worth of silence, the equivalent to a giant neon sign shrieking that something was very, very wrong. Her grip on the phone tightened as the shaking got worse. Steph sat down at the dining table, perched on the edge of the cracked vinyl chair as she fought down the panic that always seemed to grow too easily these days when Ranger worked a dangerous job.

"He's not reachable at the moment, Bombshell. Tank's with him. They're checking out a lead on Stark regarding a possible power play between gangs."

Vince's voice wasn't strained at all, and he didn't stumble over the words. Either he wasn't worried or he was a better actor than she was. Either way, the panic subsided a little and gave her the chance to draw in a deep breath before the spots in front of her eyes became one big black hole.

"You need me to pass a message along?"

Her eyes went to the aquarium on the kitchen counter, where Rex had hopped on his wheel and was spinning with the determination of a rodent going nowhere as fast as he could. Somehow the normal sight of her little pet doing what he did best gave her the courage to straighten her spine.

"No, that's okay. I'm heading to the bonds office to pick up my skips, then I'll drop by to see Ranger later in the morning. Do you think he'll be in by then?"

"I don't see why not. I'll leave a note on the status board so if he gets in before that he'll see the message. Watch your back, Bombshell."

Vince hung up before she could say good-bye, leaving Steph to pull the phone away from her ear and stare at it with a bemused air. If there was one thing that she could count on, it seemed that it was the bad phone etiquette of every man employed by Carlos Manoso. Oddly enough, it was comforting, something that would always happen, in perpetuity, until there were no longer phones to hang up.

How would you hang up on somebody telepathically? Steph thought as she got to her feet. She was focused on that stray thought, not on anything that she was doing, and true to form, that was when the Universe decided she'd had it quiet enough.

The phone slipped out of her grip, sliding inexorably from her fingers and headed for the linoleum. Steph made a grab for it, but only succeeding in altering the trajectory of disaster enough that the screen slammed into the edge of the table before tumbling to the floor.

It was cracked at best. Years of experience told her that before she even picked it up and flipped it over. Shards of clear plastic fell on the worn linoleum and the edges dug into her skin as she carefully turned it in her hands.

The screen was dark and only the outer edges of the protective plastic still clung desperately to the phone. Even when she shook it, there wasn't any flicker of life on the screen.

Nada. Zip.

"Guess I'm going to be begging for some searches to do, too," she told Rex as she set the pieces on the corner of the counter next to his aquarium. "If I'm lucky, Ranger will need a couple of distractions as well and I'll be able to buy another phone with a better case without starving both of us and getting the electricity turned off."

Brave words, and for a moment Steph allowed herself to believe them. But then she thought about the meals she would have to scrounge at her parents' and the viewings her grandmother would want to go to and she almost broke down.

Just when it seems I'm getting better at things, and I have a handle on this whole being-an-adult, something happens and I tumble right back into living hand to mouth.

The Stephanie who hadn't been to New York and helped take down a federally wanted arms dealer in an exclusive nightclub might have blown off the bonds office and maxed out her credit cards just for the relief of spending a day in retail denial. But the Stephanie who had planned and worked and sweated didn't want to give up the confidence of knowing that she was in control because she had worked to get there, so she opened her large purse and swept the pieces of her cell phone into the side pocket. She zipped it closed so nothing would spill out at a bad time, then considered her cookie jar for a long time.

Ranger said watch your back. He didn't say that he was assigning a team to me. So either the situation doesn't warrant that much caution or he trusts me to take some responsibility for my own safety.

It sounded great when she said the words in her head, but lifting her gun out of the cookie jar and checking to make sure there were bullets in the chamber gave her a cold chill. Her fingers wrapped around the muzzle for a moment, the cool metal sliding beneath her touch with a smoothness that brought out a purely instinctive shudder.

Before she could argue enough with herself to put the gun back in the cookie jar, Steph checked the safety and slid the weapon into the main compartment of her purse, making sure it was balanced on top of the shifting mass of stuff instead of buried beneath hit. Vince's last warning echoed Ranger's too much for her to ignore it.

"I'll see you in a bit, Rex," she said as she slung the strap of the purse over her shoulder. The bag itself rested against her hip, held there by her elbow and well within reach of her hand if she needed it. Her hamster didn't answer, and she didn't need to look back at him to know that he had retreated to his soup can for a well-earned nap.

She took the stairs down this morning, for some odd reason not comfortable with being in the enclosed elevator for any length of time. Her spidey sense still hadn't quieted down; if anything she was more jumpy than ever as she pushed open the glass door.

The mid-morning warmth of a New Jersey fall day hit her squarely in the face, and Steph paused a moment to savor the heat. It was just like her native state—upfront, no excuses, bold and brash—and it gave her a little more courage, or at least the feeling that she wasn't quite alone.

To her surprise, the rusted out Camry started on the first try. Steph swallowed her surprise and threw it into gear before it could change its mind about working. The engine kept purring like a contented cat through the parking lot and into the street, and except for one very bad moment when turning onto Hamilton, it never even so much as hiccuped.

By the time Steph reached the bonds office, she was teetering between astonishment at the number of traffic lights that had turned green and uneasiness at how bad her luck would be for the rest of the day to balance those out. The legend of the Bombshell Bounty Hunter almost required it, and she took a deep breath to steel herself for the inevitable before getting out of the car.

Nothing. Nothing but the warming sun and the smells of a Trenton street that hadn't seen a good downpour for too long to wash away the accumulated smells from the local population of citizens, both upstanding and not. A few honking horns from several blocks over, and a distant siren that was soon joined by another one going in the opposite direction. All in all, an ordinary pedestrian morning in New Jersey.

Inside the bonds office was no different. Connie sat behind her desk, waving her right hand in the air as she waited for her newest coat of polish to dry. Across the room on the cracked fake leather couch, Lula paged through a free issue of Trenton's Modern Woman and shook her head so her beaded cornrows clacked in the quiet room.

"Hey, Steph!" Connie said as she altered one of her gestures to wave. "Sorry about bothering you on the weekend, but Vinnie is throwing a fit. Seems like every small time criminal decided to not show up for court dates last week."

She jerked her chin towards the substantial pile of filing folders on the corner of her desk, and Steph peeled off the top two inches of the stack and went to join Lula on the couch. The cushions groaned as she sat down and her face went hot as Connie covered a snicker. A glance to the side showed Lula pursing her lips, pretending to be engrossed in the article about local female business movers and shakers, but the shadow of a smile kept slipping through.

"I had one Boston Crème this morning for breakfast," said Steph defensively. "I'm not fat."

"Never said you were, white girl," Lula said, glancing up from the magazine. "You're way too scrawny to be called full-figured by even a blind man. The funny part is it wouldn't matter how much you don't eat; this here couch would still complain like you were settling a dump truck on it."

"And don't think we haven't noticed that you've been working out." Connie blew lightly on the tip of her index finger and frowned at it for a moment. "Quite a few people have been commenting on how good you're looking and wondering who the new man in your life is that you're doing it for."

Even in the silence that fell after her statement, Steph could hear the thoughts clicking over in both women's minds. Both had a bloodhound's nose for gossip, and if they could pry the information out of her first it would mean major points on the Burg grapevine for both of them.

She flipped a page in the first folder, not really seeing the words on the paper. There were a few options open to her with Lula and Connie, and she wasn't quite sure which way she wanted to go. As she glanced up, her memory flashed back to that voicemail from Joe and she grimaced.

"Uh-oh, that don't look good." Lula closed the magazine and balanced it on the edge of the couch arm. "Don't tell me you've been shacking up with Super Cop again."

"I haven't seen Joe in over three weeks, and that was just in passing at the station. He left a message on my cell phone over the weekend." Steph hated the way her voice went soft and frail when she talked about her supposed boyfriend. She heaved out a sigh and glanced out the window, hoping she could blame the sudden stinging in her eyes from the glare of the sunlight on her car's windshield.

"And?" prompted Connie, leaning closer and forgetting completely about her still-wet nails.

Steph coughed into her hand, and when the other woman stared at her, fluttered her fingers in the air. Connie jerked back with a curse that she hadn't learned in a Catholic senior high and surveyed the damage with a mournful air.

"Damn it. That was my last one, too." She muttered something else in Italian that didn't sound at all polite and rummaged carefully through her desk drawers for the polish remover. "That doesn't get you off the hook, Steph. So spill."

They were both looking at her with the steely-eyed gaze of hungry predators sizing up lunch, and in her panic to avoid divulging everything she knew, Steph grasped whatever inspiration she could find. Even if it was an old standby.

"Will you look at the time?" she asked, flipping her wrist over to check her non-existent watch. "Can't talk. Gotta go. I'll work through these and come back for the rest later, Connie. Bye!"

Her timing was impeccable, her acting top of the line. Steph bounced off the couch and was heading for the door when she made the fatal mistake of glancing over her shoulder to gauge her safety margin before either of the two women could stop her. That brief look lasted no more than a half step, and before she could face forward again, Steph hit a solid wall and bounced off.

The folders slipped dangerously, and between trying to keep her balance and her papers, Steph overcorrected and leaned too far to her right. She was going down, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

Only she didn't. Hands she recognized too well wrapped around her upper arms and held her upright with an easy strength that made her heart give a few extra beats before she could rein in her hormones and her fantasies.

Steph allowed herself a few seconds to enjoy the warmth of the skin touching hers, but had to stop herself from remembering other places his skin was warm.

And his eyes…and his mouth…and his—

"Babe."

She made a desperate grab for the folders, even though they hadn't slipped at all, and looked up to see herself reflected in Ranger's aviator shades. The corners of his mouth tipped up slightly and she flushed, realizing that she was once again amusing him.

"Ranger," she said, pleased when her voice came out much stronger than before. "I didn't expect you to be here. Vince said—"

His fingers squeezed her arms and she broke off, confused. Ranger didn't let go of her, and Steph's spidey sense started clamoring in the back of her brain again. Her eyes narrowed as she took in his usual outfit of black t-shirt, cargoes and boots, all of them showing signs that they had not just been put on fresh. Her nostrils flared and she caught the very faint scent of Bvlgari mixed with the acrid tone of gunpowder and male sweat.

"Vince said you'd been out all night chasing a lead," she finished, adroitly dodging the trap of revealing too much. Or at least more than he wanted her to. Another squeeze this time, and his smile become a little more pronounced.

Ranger nudged her back towards the couch, letting the door swing shut behind him. "Pretty much. Informants aren't giving it up as easy this time, and they freak at the sight of a black SUV. We've had to literally chase more informants down alleys than I can remember having to do for a long time. Something has them spooked, and we can't find out what it is."

He sat her down on the couch and took a step back, pushing up his sunglasses so she could see his dark eyes. Her first instinct had been correct, back when she first listened to his voicemail. The tightness around those eyes, along with the hard light shining in their depths, and the grim set of his mouth told her more than she wanted to know about how seriously Ranger was taking this job. And it made Steph wonder exactly what information was so important that he would invest his own personal time in finding it out.

So she perched on the edge of the couch, and waited for Ranger to say something. The silence stretched out until Steph would swear she could hear the seconds ticking by. She shifted a little, easing her butt farther back onto the cushions, then smothered a surprised squeak as Ranger crouched down in front of her.

"Babe, where have you been this weekend?"

"Um, at home. I stayed in both days." Steph blinked as something swept over his face, then it was gone. "What's this all about? Why are you chasing people on Stark?"

He passed a hand over his face as if to erase the tiredness. "Bad news. Someone saw you at the club and followed us back. They've been pretty free with their money on the streets, and made it known that they're willing to pay more for your delivery."

"Delivery?" Her voice went up several notches. "As in kidnapping?"

"Worse."

Her mind spun, the possibilities of what could be defined as 'worse' chasing each other in a mad circle. Then the door opened and Ranger jumped, turning and drawing his gun before he'd even straightened. He held his body between her and the door, shielding her from whomever had come in. For a long moment he didn't move, then abruptly he stepped to the side and holstered the weapon at the small of his back.

Tank stood just over the threshold, his bulk blocking out the light. "Bomber. Ladies."

"What's going on here?" Connie demanded, her eyes darting from Tank to Ranger to Steph and back again. "Are you trying to tell us that someone is after Steph?"

Lula bounced up from the couch where she had been unnaturally silent. "I better not have heard right that you got her into this, either. You're Batman—what you gonna do about it?"

The look came back into Ranger's eyes and Steph made a cutting motion with her hand. "Lula!"

"Oh, no, white girl. If'n he done something, it's up to him to make it right." She put her hands on her hips, her chin going down in the last warning before Lula hit rhino mode. "Listen up, here. You better—"

Something flashed outside, too fast to be seen. Before it fully registered, Ranger was spinning towards her, grabbing her arms and shoving her towards the floor with his body covering hers. Then a thunderous roar hit them and the glass at the front of the office shattered in a million pieces as flame enveloped the street outside.