About a week ago, I opened up my word doc for Over Your Head to continue writing, and decided to put on some music. The song that came on was "In a Crowd of Thousands," from Anastasia the Musical. Before long, my mind had leaped off the Over Your Head train and was wildly pursuing a new story. I had to oblige, otherwise I don't think I would have ever gotten it back on track. Hopefully the endeavour was worth it.

In a Crowd of Thousands

"Isn't that Stephanie Plum?"

I glanced up from the salad I'd been working my way through to see where I was meant to be looking, not really expecting to find the woman in question. She'd been missing for over two years now, and we hadn't had any leads. The chances of randomly finding her in a shopping mall food court were practically zero. Following the direction of Julie's pointed finger, I'd already started forming a denial on my lips when I caught sight of a familiar flounce of outrageously curly hair, shorter than I'd ever seen it, but still unmistakeable, and a pair of ice-blue eyes. I couldn't prevent the audible gasp as I suddenly became aware of that tell-tale tingle at the nape of my neck.

"I'm pretty sure that's Stephanie Plum," Julie added, stuffing another fry in her mouth. "Right?"

Her gaze was just as fixated on the woman as mine was, so she didn't see my slow nod. It was all the answer I was capable at that moment, though, as the words I had been about to utter stuck in my throat. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. This couldn't be happening. How was it that I'd spend hundreds upon thousands of hours searching, scouring the internet and every security feed I had access to across the entire country, interrogating every known associate and enemy and suspect to find her with not even a hint of evidence to point in her direction, and she just happens to be in this very mall, in this very city, in this very state, on the very day I decided to take an afternoon off to take my daughter shopping for a birthday present.

"Steph?" I called, as she paused in her progress through the maze of tables to allow a mother with a pram to pass. She didn't react, so I tried again, louder this time. I know she should have heard me at that volume, but again she showed no outward signs of registering her name called across the food court. Without a second thought, I was on my feet, abandoning the salad and my daughter along with it as I jogged through the people between us. "Stephanie," I practically yelled.

She'd already made it beyond the seating and was walking casually down the wide corridor between shop fronts. Her shoulders didn't stiffen. Her steps didn't falter. She didn't pause to look over her shoulder. Just kept walking.

I increased my speed to catch up and had almost reached her when a loud banging sounded nearby, causing her to shriek and drop into a crouch, covering her head defensively, clearly terrified by the sound. I knew, from a brief flick of my gaze across the way that it was nothing more than a heavy book end being dropped onto the tiled floor. It wasn't a gun shot. There was no danger here.

"You're okay," I murmured, squatting down in front of her and attempting to get her to move her hands. She resisted. "It was only a bookend," I explained. "You're okay."

She appeared to take a deep breath and forced herself to relax, the way I'd seen her do countless times before, and she lowered her hands from her head to looked up at me. Her gaze met mine, the same brilliant blue I'd dreamed of every night for the last two years, but something was off. It was definitely Steph, my Babe, but there was no recognition in her eyes. "Sorry," she said flicking a curl out of her face. "I guess I'm a little jumpy."

"Understandable in this day and age," I replied, somehow managing to get a perfectly formed sentence out of my throat, even though it was restricting with fear for what her blank stare meant. I stood and offered her a hand up, relief washing through me as she accepted it.

"Thanks," she said, flicking that same lock of hair away again when it fell back in her face. "I should get going, I don't want to be late for work… again."

Still shocked by her cool indifference, she had already made it several feet away from me when I managed to come to my senses and follow. I laid a hand on her shoulder to catch her attention, wincing as she flinched away from my touch. As she turned to face me, though, there was a polite smile on her face. "Can I help you?" she asked.

How was I supposed to reply to that? She clearly didn't recognise me, or if she did she'd improved her acting skills a thousand fold in the past two years of her absence. I'd have to play dumb for now to avoid scaring her off, or possibly blowing her cover, if, for whatever reason, there was a reason behind this new development. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in joining me for dinner tonight," I explained carefully. The words felt wrong as they left my lips. I'd never had to ask a woman out like this before. I'd requested dates from Steph before, but it had always been work related, and other women just seemed to throw themselves at me.

She appeared to consider my request for a moment, a small furrow forming between her brows. "I don't get off work until eight," she explained apologetically. "Ma-"

"I don't mind," I replied, almost too quickly. "I'll pick you up from," I glanced at the logo the left breast of her shirt and barely suppressed the grin that threatened to bloom when I recognised it. "the Krispy Kreme at eight," I offered. "There's a nice restaurant just down the street."

The smile that graced her lips was cautious. "I can't go on a date with someone unless I know a few things about them first," she replied. "And I really do need to get to work."

"I'll walk with you," I suggested. "Krispy Kreme is on the other side of the centre. You'll have plenty of time to ask whatever you need to."

She contemplated that for a moment, but eventually gave a short nod and turned back to the direction she'd been heading. Whatever was going on obviously didn't require her to not be seen with me, so I fell into step beside her easily. "First of all," she said, glancing up at me as we walked. "I need to know your name."

"Carlos," I supplied easily.

"Surname?" she prompted.

"Manoso."

Still there was no sign of recognition in her reaction, or lack thereof as the case may be. Her expression remained serene and curious. "Jane," she replied, extending a hand for me to shake. "Jane Smith." A second or so passed once we'd dropped our hands back to our sides, allowing me to wonder about this alias. It wasn't one of her go-tos. Usually, if she wanted to give a fake name, she came up with something a little more original and believable. Or just gave the name of one of her enemies. "Second: I need to know that you have a job."

"Yes," I replied. "I own a private security company that operates in several states across the country."

"Okay," she said. "Are you a felon?"

"I have some marks against my name from when I was young and stupid," I confessed. This was all stuff she already knew, yet her eyebrows rose in surprise at this information, her steps faltering a little.

"I-, uh…" she stammered, rubbing lightly at the right side of her head. "Thank you for being honest?"

We turned a corner and I could see the Krispy Kreme at the end of the way. Our time was running out. "Any more questions?" I prodded.

"Can you drive?"

"Yes."

"Single?"

"Yes."

She nodded, then her eyes clouded. "Any kids?"

"One daughter," I said. "Thirteen years old. Lives with her mother, step father, and two half siblings."

"Okay," she said softly, pausing a few feet away from the entrance to where she apparently worked. I'll see you at eight." The shock I felt must have showed through the careful mask of my expression, because the cautious smile she'd been sporting up until this point turned more genuine, coloured by the amusement she clearly felt. "It was nice meeting you, Carlos," she said as she lifted the counter flap and slipped through, disappearing out the back.

I stood there for longer than was probably appropriate, staring at the doorway where I'd last seen her until a presence beside me drew my attention away.

"That was weird," Julie commented.

"Yes," I agreed.

"Do you really think she didn't recognise you?" she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders, finally turning away from the donut shop. "It's hard to say," I said. "The Stephanie Plum I know would never have been able to pull off that kind of deception so cleanly. But a lot can change in two years. She could be undercover, or-" I couldn't bring myself to finish that thought

Julie made a sound of commiseration. "That's pretty messed up," she commented. "What are you gonna do?"

"Take her to dinner," I said flatly. "And figure out what's going on."

*o*

By eight o'clock, Julie and I had well and truly finished our shopping, I'd dropped her back home and even managed to organise some paperwork for a client meeting I had scheduled first thing in the morning, before heading back to the mall for my date. My date with Stephanie Plum. I shook my head, acknowledging that this would be our first official date. We'd been out to dinner plenty of times, but it was always work related, or there was a strong emphasis on the fact that it wasn't a date, because it was payment for some foolish deal I'd put in place.

I'd deliberately arrived early so I could watch her work. I'd always loved watching her. There was just something about the way her body moved that was calming, and as I leaned against a nearby pillar watching her scrub the counter, I felt the tension I'd been carrying in my shoulders for the last twenty six months easing. By the time she slipped back through the flip top counter, calling a good night over her shoulder to the teenager she'd been working with, I was confident that she would reveal her true self the moment we were out of sight of prying eyes.

"Carlos," she greeted with a smile, pushing that damn tendril of hair away.

"Jane," I replied. "Ready to go?"

She glanced down at her uniform shirt, covered in a light dusting of what was either flour or powdered sugar. "I need to make a quick stop to get a new shirt," she said. "I tried to stay clean, but it's not really my strong suit. And I didn't bring a spare today because I wasn't expecting to, well, you know," she finished lamely gesturing between us. "I won't be a minute."

"There's no need to change on my account," I assured her. I'd certainly seen her in worse states.

"But you said we were going to a nice restaurant," she pointed out. "I doubt they'll let me in like this."

"They'll let you in," I said. I'd make sure of it. "Don't worry."

She shook her head. "I'd still feel better if I changed."

I smiled softly. There weren't a lot of things I wouldn't do for Stephanie Plum. "Then let's go find you a new shirt," I suggested.

She made me wait outside of Macy's as she ducked inside, returning less than five minutes later with a bag and indicating that she was going to the nearby ladies' room to change. I barely had time to contemplate how quickly she'd managed to make decisions in the face of clothes, when she in front of me once more, a flowing blue blouse, and clean jeans. I glanced down, noticing that a pair of plain black flats had replaced the sneakers she'd worn previously. She'd managed to find and buy and entirely new outfit in a matter of minutes. I was suitably dumbfounded.

"Is this okay?" she asked nervously when I continued to stare.

"Perfect," I confirmed without hesitation. "Shall we?" I offered my arm, but she paused, staring at it. It wasn't a normal gesture in this day and age, not that it had ever stopped me with Steph. As she frowned, I lowered the offending arm and swept the other in the direction we would be walking in. "So," I started. "Do you mind if I take a turn asking some questions?"

"I guess," she shrugged.

"Are you single?"

She scoffed. "I wouldn't be going on this date with you if I weren't single," she admonished. "I have a few more morals than that."

I nodded my approval. "How about kids?"

"Not last time I checked."

"How's your criminal record looking?"

"These are my questions," she pointed out, rather than answer.

I smiled. "They are," I confirmed. "Turnabout's fair play, Babe."

Her face scrunched up at my use of the affectionate nickname, but she didn't tell me not to call her it, which is more than I can say for Morelli and his penchant for calling her Cupcake. She'd even protested it while they were actually, seriously dating. "So are you a felon?" I repeated when the silence had stretched between us for about a minute.

"Not as far as I can remember," she said slowly.

The way she worded her answer made my gut clench, but I pushed the feeling of foreboding aside to ask the final question in the list I'd stored away from our earlier conversation. "Can you drive?"

For a moment she just stared at me, a muscle in her jaw ticking, like she was chewing on some kind of retort, but then her expression cleared and she just shook her head. "No," she said.

That was interesting. I knew for a fact that Stephanie Plum could drive. What did that mean for the woman that was currently walking beside me in her skin? Was this some kind of cover? Or was there something more at play here? My instincts were telling me that there was no way Steph would play at not knowing me for this long without sending me a hint that she was just acting. There'd been no such hints displayed, and it was starting to cause a mild panic in the back of my mind. What was wrong? What was she hiding? What had happened?

We reached the restaurant and I quoted my name for the reservation I'd made this afternoon. Neither of us spoke as we were lead to a table in the back corner. I automatically moved to take the side of the table that would position my back to the wall, but paused when I noticed Steph already had her hand on the back of the chair, pulling it out. I travelled my gaze up her arm until I found her eyes.

"Sorry," she murmured, ducking her head a little. "Do you mind if I sit here? I don't like having my back to places. It makes me feel vulnerable."

My curiosity spiked. Was she doing this to test me? Was this the hint I'd been looking for? Or was it something else? Nodding slowly, I retreated to the other side of the table, sinking stiffly into the chair with my back to the restaurant. It felt wrong, but I could handle it for an hour or so. It wasn't always possible to get a back-to-the-wall seat. I'd just have to keep my ears peeled for trouble instead of my eyes. Catching sight of a couple of photo frames on the wall behind her, reflecting the scene behind me well enough that I could keep an eye on things pretty easily, I managed to relax a little. This wasn't so bad. I could work with this.

"Thank you," she muttered as she too took her seat, absently rubbing the side of her head.

"No problem," I assured her.

Before I had a chance to ask or say anything more, a waiter appeared beside the table to take our orders. Neither of us had had time to look at a menu, but that didn't faze Steph. She glanced down at the folder in front of her for a minute and pointed to something almost immediately. "I'll have the lasagne," she announced, confidently. "Hold the side salad."

I tried very hard to suppress the chuckle that bubbled in my throat, but it was impossible. Whatever had happened, she was still Steph. And Steph would never willingly submit herself to consume a salad.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "Are you laughing at me?" she demanded.

"It's just nice to see a woman who's comfortable with what she wants," I said. "You don't need to pretend to be something you're not to impress someone." I'd leaned heavily on the words 'pretend to be something you're not,' in a vain attempt to let her know that I knew it was her and she could drop whatever act this was, but she didn't seem to notice. "I'll have the salmon," I told the waiter. "And I'll have her side salad as well."

Now it was her turn to snort out a laugh. "Good to know you're also willing to go after what you want," she commented as the waiter retreated. "Even though salad isn't a worthy cause."

I just grinned, shooting all her two hundred watts. I'd missed how her laugh felt sweeping through me. Like a surge of electricity zinging all the way to every extremity. She was a breath of fresh air after years of suffocating, even if she wasn't interested in acknowledging our past. My smile sagged a little at that thought. If Steph was really ignoring our history, then she wouldn't have accepted a date with me. There had to be a story here.

"What?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "What is it?"

"You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago," I said.

She sent me a smile then, though it was tainted by the sad look in her eyes. Her hands were on the table, fingering the edges of the cloth napkin, twisting it and flattening it out again. "What happened to them?" she asked without meeting my gaze.

"I don't know," I admitted, honestly. "She just disappeared one day."

Her eyes widened as she continued to stare at the table top, her hand moving to rub the side of her head again. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

The normal reply in this situation between two strangers would be for me to assure her that there was nothing for her to be sorry for. She didn't know the person, so there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. But I couldn't bring myself to lie to her like that. The person was her. And there might very well have been something she could do to prevent her own disappearance. I'd never lied to Stephanie Plum and I wasn't about to start now.

"Babe," I said, reaching across the table to lay a hand on top hers, stilling the movement. "Can you look at me a second?" She hesitated, and I had to wonder whether I was really planning on going through with my plan. When her blue eyed gaze eventually rose to meet mine, though, I knew without a doubt that I had to. I had to get to the bottom of this one way or another. "Do you know who I am?" I asked, holding her gaze firmly, lacing my question with as much meaning as I could.

Unexpectedly, her face scrunched up and she shook her head as she lowered it to her hands. "I'm sorry," she moaned. "I don't. I- I… There's-" she interrupted her own stammering with a sigh, and raised her head to look at me again, tears rimming her eyes. "I knew there was something off when that look of confusion crossed your face when I said I needed to know stuff about someone before I date them. God, I knew this would happen one day. How do we know each other?"

I couldn't speak. She knew this would happen? She knew something was off? Was she implying what I thought she was implying. Did she really not know me? I played her words over and over in my head. How do we know each other? How do we know each other? How do we know each other? How do we know each other?

"Carlos?" she prompted tentatively.

"We used to work together," I whispered, barely moving my lips. I was shaken. "For years."

"Oh," she said, sounding just as shocked. She was fiddling with the napkin even more now. "We-," she started, but cut herself off. "I-," she tried again, but that didn't seem to be the word she wanted either. I let the silence stretch as she searched for what she needed to say. "You- you know who I am?"

"I do," I confirmed quietly.

"Wh-who," she said, stumbling over the single word. She took a shuddering breath, more moisture appearing along her lower lashes. "Who am I, Carlos?"

Though the lump in my throat was almost choking me, I managed to get a question out, "You don't remember?"

Her head shook slowly from side to side as the tears slid down her cheeks. "No. I don't. Who am I? What's my name?" Her questions were hushed, but urgent as she stared at me with wide watery eyes. I'd never seen her so broken. She'd been beaten and kidnapped and shot at, and come out the other side just as strong and confident as before, but now… now she was likea lost kitten.

"Stephanie," I said quietly. "Your name is Stephanie Michelle Plum."

"Stephanie?" she repeated hesitantly, her breath catching in her throat. "Stephanie," she said again, more confidently. "My name is Stephanie. Stephanie Plum. Hi, I'm Stephanie Plum. You can call me Steph." She smiled a little, but it didn't reach her eyes. Gripping the napkin in one hand, she looked up. "Is Stephanie Plum a friend of yours?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "You are."

"Is she…" she paused, thought about her question, and rephrased. "Am I a good person?"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "The best," I assured her.

At that moment we were presented with our meals. Steph thanked the waiter with a wide smile that was a little too bright given the moisture still making her eyes sparkle. Moving the napkin she'd been torturing from her fist to her lap, she picked up her fork and immediately took a large bite of her lasagne, moaning with her usual appreciation. I allowed her to eat for a few minutes, while I started on my salmon. She was almost done when I decided to ask the question that had been burning the back of my mind since the moment I spotted her across the food court. "What happened?"

Her fork paused in the act of stabbing a cube she'd cut, her shoulders stiffening. "I don't remember," she said, shaking her head. "The first thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed with, attached to a million tubes and monitors with a bandage around my head and a feeling like I'd been hit by a truck." She stuck the lasagne cube in her mouth and chewed deliberately. "They said I'd been found on the side of the road, in a snow bank. No identification. Nothing to tell them who I was. And no memory of my life before that moment. At least, nothing helpful. The head injury is the most likely cause of my amnesia," she explained. "The nurses took to calling me Jane, since I didn't have a name, and it just kinda stuck."

"Where did they find you?" I asked, needing more information.

"A small town in Maryland," she replied. "Why?"

I took a slow breath to steady myself. "The last time anyone saw you," I explained patiently. "You were leaving an apartment building in Trenton, New Jersey. We were on a job, and you were heading down to the car to get a piece of equipment that had been left behind. You never returned. I had my company searching for you for months without any success. We had the Delaware dredged. You were presumed dead, and I was the last one to see you alive." I paused, wondering whether to tell her the next bit, eventually, I decided that it was better for her to have all the facts than for me to hide the truth from her. "I don't have the cleanest record," I reminded her. "So they made me a prime suspect."

She gasped, her eyes widening even more. "I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed. "I didn't mean to disappear. I didn't mean to cause you so much strife. At least, I don't think I did… I can't remember, but I don't think I would deliberately disappear. Would I be the kind of person to deliberately disappear?"

I shook my head and laid a hand on her forearm. "It's not your fault," I assured her, able to tell her now that I felt certain it wasn't a lie. "You obviously had no control over the situation."

"We assume," she added bitterly.

"How about dessert?" I suggested, trying to distract her. I didn't like the direction her mind was heading and sweets had always been the quickest way to divert her attention. I was not disappointed when her eyes lit up in anticipation. "Let's get out of here," I said. "I know a place nearby that you'll love."

She grinned mischievously, eyes brightening a little, despite the tension I could still see lining her face. "Is it Fireman Derek's?" she asked.

"You know it?"

She rolled her eyes, the first one since I'd spotted her this afternoon. "There's one thing you need to know about me, Carlos," she said. "And that's that I know where all the best places for dessert are. I can find them without any effort at all even if I've never been there before. It's like a sixth sense."

"That doesn't surprise me," I told her. "Let me settle the bill and we'll be on our way."

*o*

"So tell me about yourself," she requested as she tucked into her slice of cheesecake. "What kind of man doesn't eat sweets?"

I shook my head. "I thought you'd want to know more about you, not me."

She shrugged. "Force of habit, I guess," she said. "After two years of not knowing who I am, I kinda resigned myself to the fact that I may never know." Taking another bite, she tilted her head to the side, eyeing me. "Besides, I'm curious how we ended up working together. You said you own a security company, right? Did I work at your company?"

I nodded. "On and off. You were a fugitive apprehension agent for your cousin Vinnie, but when skips were down or bills were due you'd moonlight for me."

A derisive snort expelled from Steph's nose as she set down her fork. "You're kidding right?" she asked. "There's no way I could be a bounty hunter. I'm not fit enough. Never have been."

"You got by well enough."

Sighing, she shook her head a little and picked up the fork again. "You could tell me anything and I'd believe you," she murmured. "Something about you just makes me feel safe."

We spoke for a while longer, trading questions and answers. There was no denying that she got the better end of the deal, learning about both her own forgotten past and about me, while I only asked a few questions about her current life. For example, how, if she had woken up in Maryland, did she end up here in Miami? The answer? She'd grown restless about a year ago and decided on the move by closing her eyes and throwing a dart at a map on the wall. She assured me that it was quite easy to uproot one's entire life when they didn't have any memory tying you to one place or another.

"So tell me how we first met," she requested after some time had passed, and I had every intention to tell her, except her phone started ringing at the very moment I opened my mouth to regale her of the coffee shop experience. "Sorry," she apologised. "It's my roommate. She's probably worried. I was expecting to be home hours ago."

I nodded that she should take it and listened to her assuring the person on the other end that she was fine. Nothing had happened to her except an unexpected date. Having finally placated the roommate, she hung up and returned the phone to her pocket. "I should probably head home," she said. "Thanks for tonight. I've really enjoyed learning about myself."

"It was my pleasure," I said, standing. "I'll walk you back to your car."

She rolled her eyes. "Can't drive, remember?" she reminded me. "So, obviously, I don't have a car."

I shook my head. We were doing a lot of that tonight. I was starting to wonder if I would shake something loose. "But you can drive," I told her. "You-"

"Oh, I know I'm capable of driving," she assured me. "What I mean is that I'm not allowed to drive."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"Did you know that there is a two year exclusion period in the state of Florida if you have a seizure?"

It wasn't exactly a piece of information that I'd needed to know prior, but it did pose a lot of questions now. "You had a seizure?" I questioned, concern tightening my chest.

"Just after I moved here," she confirmed. "It's not uncommon for people who have suffered a traumatic brain injury." She said it so casually. Like a seizure and a traumatic brain injury were no big deal. Nothing to worry about. How much had she been through in the last two years that she could shrug it off so easily. "And because it happened so long after the original injury," she added, grabbing her bag of clothes from under the table and standing. "There's a high chance that I'll have another one in the future."

"I'm sorry, Babe," I murmured, because I had no idea what else I was supposed to say in this situation. Her life had been changed irrevocably, and for once, there was nothing I could do to fix it.

"Don't be," she said firmly. "It's just part of life. I'll have to learn to live with the seizures the same way I've learned to live with this scar and the fact that I'll probably never remember my life before Maryland."

I had to clench my fist to stop myself from delving my fingers into her hair to find the scar hidden there. Instead, I just watched as she rubbed the same spot she'd worried several times over the evening. I wanted to fix things, but there wasn't much I could do for memories and seizures. Following Steph out of the café, I wondered idly if Bobby had any ointments or treatments that could fix a scar. "I'll drive you home," I suggested. That, at least, I could do.

"No need," Steph assured me. "We walked passed my apartment on the way here."

"I'll walk you back, then," I said. And run some recon in the process. There was absolutely no way I was going to let her go after finding her again. I hadn't gotten in contact with anyone about this new development, wanting to get through the evening to scope out what was actually going on before I shared my discovery with anyone, but I had no doubt that the moment anyone back home learned that Steph was still alive, they'd want to know when she'd be coming home, when they could see her, talk to her. They'd want details on what happened. I had to be prepared to answer to the Rangeman inquisition the moment I mentioned her. Not to mention the Burg if I reached out to her parents.

Lucky for me, Steph didn't object to an escort on the way home. It was only a five minute walk, during which time she appeared to grow more serious with every step. She said nothing, which was never a good sign. I'd learned over the years that if Steph was quiet, there was something wrong. It was time to brace myself for what came next. She paused at the entrance to a small apartment building, flicking a wisp of hair out of her face, as she finally looked up at me.

"Carlos," she said hesitantly. "Can I make a request?"

"Babe," I uttered. She should know that I'd do anything for her. I'd never failed her yet and I didn't plan to start now.

Her brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Of course, she had no memory of all the times I'd come through for her. I'd have to be a little more verbose in my replies. Now was the perfect time to start rebuilding the trust we'd once had. "Ask away," I said, simply.

"Well," she started, looking down and rubbing her head yet again. "I was just thinking that the only evidence I have that I am who you say I am is your word, and," she dropped her hand forcefully, but didn't look up. "And I don't know you from a bar of soap. You could be a serial killer for all I know. And, I just don't know if I can-"

"Would it help if I showed you photos?" I asked, cutting her off. I was already pulling out my phone before I'd finished the question. Almost before I'd started the question. I understood her concern. She was right to be suspicious. Anyone could have walked up to her off the street and told her some random story about her past, true or not, and she would be none the wiser. She was like a lamb, cut off from her herd and lost in the world. I needed to put her mind at ease and convince her to let me into her life.

"Do you have photos?" she asked, staring at the device in my hand.

"I have some photos."

She stepped closer. "I'd like to see."

Wasting no time, I swiped through to my album and scrolled through two years' worth of photos to the ones I'd used as a visual aid when following up any and all kinds of tenuous leads during the initial search. It was purely by chance that I even had the photos on my device in the first place. Just days before she'd disappeared her phone had gone to heaven along with her latest shitbox car when it exploded out front of one of her skips' houses. I'd handed her my phone to make a call while we waited for emergency services to arrive and she'd taken the opportunity to take a couple of not so secret selfies.

I'd growled at her at the time, vowing to delete them immediately. But hadn't. In fact, I'd saved them to my personal hard drive when I got home that evening. There was just something about her playful smile in the wake of yet another disaster in her life that made me love her a little more.

Tapping the first of the photos she'd taken that day, I turn the phone so she could see more easily as it filled the screen. Her face took up a third of the screen, eyes wide and innocent as she covered her mouth. Behind her, I leaned against the bonnet of the black SUV, arms crossed as I looked toward her, and beyond that you could clearly see the flaming car.

"Is that… a car on fire in the background?" she asked, leaning in to get a closer look.

"Yes."

"We don't seem very concerned," she pointed out. And she was right. Between her own mocking expression and my slight smirk, we did not seem at all worried about the wreckage.

"Your car karma wasn't great," I said, swiping to the next photo. This one showed more of her body, revealing that she was wearing my SEALs cap to cover up the state of her hair. Her blue eyes were squinted almost shut as she grinned widely at the camera. Directly behind her shoulder, I was expressionless, mouth slightly open, mid word. It was one of the only times she'd managed to catch me off guard. And I loved that.

I swiped through the rest of the photos she'd taken. Showing this Stephanie a reverse stop motion of Past-Stephanie's selfie antics.

"Okay," she said after a few moments. "So we really knew each other?" I nodded and she rocked back on her heels. "And you know all about my past?" I nodded again. There wasn't much I didn't know about her. "And you know where I lived? And how my family is? And my friends?" More nodding. "You could, I mean, could you- uh…"

At that exact moment, a window opened in the building above us and blonde hair woman stuck her head out. "You can invite him in, if you want, Jane," she called down. "I know how to make myself scarce. I have three seasons of that clone show to watch, and a pair of the highest quality noise cancelling headphones."

Stephanie groaned. "I'm not inviting him in," she called back, a blush spreading crimson across her cheeks. "We were just saying goodnight."

The blonde rose an eyebrow. "You've been saying goodnight for fifteen minutes now," she said. "Either kiss him and send him on his way, or bring him inside and ride him like a pony."

Another groan. "Jess," she hissed.

The blonde seemed unaffected by Steph's embarrassed irritation. "I'm just saying, you need to seize these opportunities when they arise," she travelled her gaze slowly over me, licking her lips. "And this definitely looks like an opportunity you don't want to pass up."

"I'll be up in a minute," Steph said, glancing back at me. "Alone."

"Shame," Jess said, but retreated back inside anyway.

"Your roommate seems nice," I commented, trying very hard to suppress the grin that wanted to break loose.

"She means well," Steph replied, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I should let you go before she sticks her head back out and starts throwing condoms at us," I suggested, earning a bark of laughter from Steph.

"I wouldn't put it past her, either," she said and pulled out her keys. She was reaching for the door when she stopped and turned back to me. A moment later her phone was in her hand and she was passing it to me. "Can I get your number?" she rquested.

*o*

Over the next few weeks I spent a lot of time with Steph. We met for breakfast, or dinner, whenever fit into both of our schedules. She was determined to learn everything about her past, and only too happy to have her back in my life, I enabled her as much as I could.

I provided her with a full file on her past self, complete with basic, one-page profiles of her friends and family, including Rangemen she was familiar with. She poured over it all, asking questions and repeating details I'd told her like it was going to be on an exam, which, I suppose if she ever decided to go back to her previous life and her memories failed to return, it would be. I'd had enough experience with the Burg to know that even though word would get around town of her amnesia almost before she'd finished explaining the matter to her parents, they would be offended that she didn't remember them.

I tried hard not to bog her down with these visions of reality. It was already abundantly clear that she was putting too much pressure on herself. Every now and then, a single tear would track down her cheek while she studied the faces in her file. Those moments, I took as my cue to force her to take a break.

We took walks on the beach and I avoided regaling her of the time we'd spent together in Hawaii while she explained that she'd always been drawn to the ocean. It was calming, she'd said. Watching the waves crash against the shore eased her anxiety and washed away her fears.

Nodding knowingly, I'd told her about her trips to the shore in Atlantic City in times of stress. The ocean had always been her happy place.

When she got frustrated enough to swipe her entire file off the table, scattering the pages across the small dining room she shared with her roommate, I'd taken her to the gun range to teach her how to shoot. I talked her through how to breathe with her actions, which served a dual purpose of getting her to calm down and reinforcing the fundamental knowledge of firearms she already had locked away in her head somewhere. We'd been to the range six times in the two months since I'd found her, and I'm pretty sure that was more times than she'd been prior to her disappearance. Past Stephanie had never been fond of her gun and avoided using it at all costs. This Steph was also a bit apprehensive about handling the weapons, but pushed through it with the rationalisation that the better she was with it the safer it would be. The regular practice was definitely paying off as her accuracy and comfort improved every week.

It was on the way back to her apartment after one such session that I received the phone call I'd been dreading since the moment Steph asked for my number that first night.

She'd been mid sentence, telling me about something Jess had done that morning when the chirping had interrupted her, filling the SUV as it cut off the soft classical that had been playing through the sound system. I apologised briefly before tapping the button on the steering wheel to accept the call.

"Yo," I said by way of greeting. Really, it was just a sound to let the person on the other end of the line know that the call had connected and I was listening.

"Jameson's jewellery store on Hamilton was broken into this morning," Tank informed me, cutting straight to the chase, as was my preference. "He's throwing a fit and won't deal with anyone up here. Want's to speak directly with you."

Mentally sighing, I flicked my gaze quickly to Steph before refocusing on the road ahead. I'd have to go back to Trenton and deal with it. Jameson was one of our best customers. If he was demanding an audience with the boss, then an audience with the boss he would get. We couldn't afford to drive him away. "What's the earliest flight you can get me on?" I asked.

"I have a seat reserved for sixteen hundred hours," he said. Efficient. That's why he was my second in command. He knew how I worked and thought ahead. "If that's not enough time, I can change it to later."

The clock on the dash told me it was a little after fourteen hundred hours. Ordinarily, that would have been plenty of time for me to get back to Rangeman and pack single duffle bag I'd travelled with, but as my gaze drifted to Steph once more, I realised that I had a little more baggage than that. "Get me two seats on the later flight," I instructed.

"Two?" Tank questioned, at the same moment Steph's head jerked around to stare at me. It took all of my concentration to ignore her and focus on Tank. I hadn't told anyone, yet, about my curly haired discovery.

"Two seats," I confirmed. "Later flight."

"Why do you need two seats?" he asked.

"I'll explain later." And to prevent any further questions on the subject from him, I hit the button on the steering wheel to hang up. After a moment the classical music resumed, and I tried my best to ignore the fact that Steph was still staring at me open mouthed as I navigated the streets leading to her apartment building.

The silence lasted until I'd put the SUV in park.

"Why do you need two seats?" she asked. I could tell she'd made an effort to stay calm, but the waver in her voice and the way her brows had drawn together, creasing her forehead, gave her away. I had no doubt that she'd guessed who the second seat was for and was currently having an internal freak out.

Taking a deep breath, I dropped my hands to my lap and turned for face her. "I was thinking that it might be a good opportunity for you to visit your home town," I explained patiently. "A file and my answers can only amount to so much."

"But I still don't remember anything," she pointed out.

I took one of her fidgeting hands in mine and squeezed gently, trying to soften the blow of my statement. "And you may never will." It wasn't news to her, it was the odds she'd quoted herself, but hearing it from someone else's lips made it sound more real than when you're just telling yourself the facts to make yourself feel better about having no memories. "Is it really fair to your family that you stay hidden down here while they're still hurting over your disappearance?"

"I don't know my family, so what does it matter?" she said bitterly.

"The Steph I know would never deliberately hurt those she loves," I pointed out.

She crossed wrenched her hand out of my grasp and crossed her arms over her chest, averting her gaze to the back of the building through the windscreen. "That Steph died two years ago with all of her memories," she said.

"I don't think so. The Steph I've gotten to know over the last few weeks isn't so different to the Steph I lost. She's caring, and tenacious, and brave. Stephanie Plum has never backed down from a challenge before, and I personally don't think now is the time to start."

"But what if-"

"Babe," I whispered. "The longer you leave it, the harder it will be to do it. And you never know, being amongst old familiar surroundings may spark something."

She took a deep breath and turned her head away from me. "I don't think I'm ready," she said.

"I'll be there with you every step of the way."

"What about my job?" she protested. "I can't just pick up and leave."

A tiny smile that threatened to tip up the corners of my lips. "Aren't you the one who told me how it is to leave a place behind when you have no memories tying you to a place?"

She huffed. "I did," she agreed. "But I have memories here. I have friends. I have a job. I have an a roommate."

"I'm not suggesting you move back to Trenton right this second, Babe," I explained. "Just take a couple of days. Meet some people you already know. Explore your old haunts. See if anything comes back. You can come back to Miami whenever you want."

"Promise?"

She sounded so uncertain that I had to clench my fists to stop myself from pulling her into my lap. "You have my word," I assured her. "Give Trenton a couple of days, and then just say the word and I'll have you on a plane back to the sun and the sand and Jess."

*o*

"Carlos?"

"Babe?"

"Where are we going?"

I took a moment to concentrate on manoeuvring us onto the off ramp before replying. "Rangeman," I explained patiently. "I have an apartment on the seventh floor of the building my company operates out of."

"Have I been there before?"

"You've been to Rangeman more times than I can count," I assured her. "You used to run searches there, remember?"

"No," she said flatly. "I don't remember. I don't remember anything. You know that."

"I was referring to our study sessions," I told her. "But you have a point."

"Do I know your employees?"

"Some of them."

"Will we run into any of them on the way to your apartment?"

I sighed inwardly. She'd asked so many questions this afternoon that I was almost certain she would have run out by now. Apparently, I once again underestimated Steph's ability to talk her way through her anxiety. "We might," I conceded.

"How much do they know about me?" she asked. "About my, you know, condition?"

"I called Tank while you were packing," I explained, sparing her a longer look as I stopped at a light. "Gave him a cliff notes version. He's warned the men. They shouldn't be a problem."

She nodded. "Okay."

Silence filled the Porsche for a while then and I thought we'd finally assuaged her anxiety. I was proven wrong, though, when she let out a loud sigh. "I just wish I had some small memory," she moaned. "What's it like to be able to remember things that happened when you were a child?"

"My childhood wasn't that great," I informed her. "I was a bit of a delinquent. Constantly caught in someone's crosshairs."

"It can't all be bad," she pressed, shifting in her seat so that she was facing me more fully. "Tell me one of your earliest memories."

How could I refuse a plea like that? A whole part of her life was missing. All she wanted was a story to distract herself from her own lack of memories. I didn't share my past with anyone, though. It was a rule. The wrong piece of information leaked to the public could cause my downfall. "Babe," I groaned.

"Please, Carlos?" she pleaded. "I've told you my earliest memory."

Part of me wanted to tell her about the unfortunate fate of my pet goldfish, just to prove that memories weren't all they were cracked up to be, but I knew I couldn't do that to her. So I took a breath and pulled up one of the memories I'd thought about a million times over the years.

"It was June," I started. "I was eight. I was in Trenton with my parents for this annual parade I'd pestered them about for weeks. We'd never been, but my friends always told me it was the best, so I wanted to go. They'd finally relented and said we could go. I don't even remember what the point of the whole parade was anymore. They stopped doing it not long after.

"It was hot, and Papá had gone to buy ice creams. My brothers were arguing about something or other, pulling Mamá's attention, but I was riveted, watching all the floats go past. We'd arrived pretty late, so we weren't especially close to the barrier. I was standing on the edge of a planter box to get a better view. I was pretty short back then."

I smiled over at Steph, who had pulled her knees up under chin, gazing at me with wide eyes. "What were the floats like?" she asked quietly.

"They were colourful," I said. "Each of the local businesses had put one together. There was one for the deli, the florist, the local car yard, and a bakery. The bakery one was my favourite. They were passing out free donuts."

"But you don't eat sweets," she pointed out.

I couldn't help but smile a little wider. "It wasn't the donuts I was most interested in," I explained. "See, they'd run a competition to find the new face of the bakery. The winner got to wear a crown and a sash and ride on the float sitting in this big throne they'd constructed. They girl they'd selected was only my age, but she sat so straight and tall. Like a queen. I could tell just by looking at her that it was the greatest day of her life. Her shoulders were set, and she'd obviously been told to wave calmly to the thousands of people crowding the streets, and while she managed to keep her face straight for the most part, her feet jiggled in the air as they dangled off the oversized chair. Her excitement called to me. It was infectious.

"The moment I spotted her with her "Little Miss Tasty Pasty" sash and twinkling, ocean-like eyes, I knew I needed to get closer. I started ducking through the crowd, between legs and past prams. At one stage I almost knocked over an old lady with a walking stick, but I didn't care. My entire being was focused on the girl on the float. I had to reach her. It was like my life depended on it. Finally, I made it to the barricade at the edge of the sidewalk, but the float was already passing. Without thinking of consequences, I ducked under the tape and started running. I called out to her as I started to catch up, but my voice was lost in the cheers from the crowd. I reached out, determined to have her look my way, and she looked up. She met my gaze, and her serene demeanour cracked as she smiled."

I sighed, remembering how important the girl had made me feel, how her smile had felt like it was made especially for me. "The parade kept going. I kept staring after her until all I could see was the glare of the sun as she disappeared behind the floats that followed hers."

"The way you tell it makes me feel like I was there too," Steph said wistfully.

I glanced over at her. "Maybe you were," I said. "You lived in Trenton your entire life. You probably attended that parade every year. Why don't you make it part of your story?"

Her brow furrowed. "How?"

"If you don't have your own memories, you're welcome to borrow mine," I said. "Tell me your version."

"I don't think-"

"Give it a go."

She sighed and scrunched up her face, her eyes squinting until they closed entirely. "A parade," she said. "A crowd. Thousands of people."

"That's not how you tell a story, Babe," I interrupted.

In response, she frowned even more. "It was hot," she said. "Not a cloud in the sky. The sun was constantly beaming straight in my face, and I wanted to close my eyes against it, but I also didn't want to miss a second of the parade. I wore my best church dress, and shoes and a pair of those socks with the frills around the ankles. The crown on my head kept slipping to the side and I knew I had to sit still and straight or it would slip straight off and roll off the float. I concentrated on waving and imitating the queen of England as the thousands of faces passed by me."

I found it hard to keep my eyes off her as she described the day so perfectly. It was a good thing there was no traffic on the back roads I'd decided to take in order to prolong the journey and give her time to prepare herself.

"But then this boy caught my eye," she continued, the creases in her forehead smoothing out some. "Running down the wrong side of the barrier. He was thin, and a little dirty, and he was dodging guards left and right trying to reach my float. He waved his arms about, and called out my name, and I couldn't believe this boy was so excited to see me sitting on a silly chair. I tried not smile. I tried to keep my expression serious like my sister had told me to do, but I smiled. And…" she paused, when I looked over at her again the frown was back, but her eyes were open. "And then he bowed."

My eyebrows shot up before I could stop them. "I didn't tell you that," I said, pulling into a side street and finding a park.

"You didn't have to," she said slowly, staring at me in wonder. "I remember. I was the little girl on the float. I was Little Miss Tasty Pastry. I was so proud of that title. I wore the sash every day for the next two weeks. And you… you were the boy. You were my number one fan. You were-" she cut herself off then, her eyes widening even more. "Ranger."

I gasped. I hadn't told her my street name. She hadn't known me as anything other than Carlos Manoso in the last two months. "Babe?"

"Ranger," she said more firmly. "Ranger."

"Steph?" My heart was beating faster than it had when I'd been chased through the jungle by savages.

"You're Ranger," she stated. "I remember you. We met at a café and you had half a grapefruit."

I hadn't told her that either. "You remember," I grinned.

"Not everything," she said slowly. "Just… I remember you. I remember you helping me. I remember you teaching me. And I remember you…" a blush rose on her cheeks and I could only guess what she was remembering. "I remember you," she repeated firmly.

"Babe."

The End