Disclaimer: It all belongs to Janet Evanovich…although I wouldn't turn Ranger away if he turned up on my doorstep.

Spoilers: Through 14

A/N: This is my first Stephanie Plum fic, and I have to say, I'm having so much fun writing it. I hope you guys will have just as much fun reading it. Let me know what you think!

There are some up-sides to being a Fugitive Apprehension Agent. You get to carry pepper spray that'll knock a grown man to the ground in 1.5 seconds, you get to wear bad-ass Bounty Hunter gear, and if you're really good at it, there's decent money to be had. Unfortunately, I'm not really good at it, and so I'm frequently forced to supplement my income. The source of said supplementation is currently one Ricardo Carlos "Ranger" Manoso, my mentor, sometimes-boss, and once-in-a-fit-of-passion lover. I try really hard to ignore the lover part, but the man is 6'2" of hard, smooth Cuban-American perfection. His eyes are dark chocolate and his smile would melt the Wicked Witch of the West quicker than a bucket of water.

I was the one currently melting, but since we were surrounded by Ranger's gang of Merry Men I was keeping the panting and drooling to a bare minimum.

He'd cornered me outside of the bonds office about 2 minutes ago and had yet to say anything besides a soft, "Babe".

Ranger's men Tank and Bobby were standing nearby, eyes always moving, hands not far from their weapons, probably expecting an air raid.

I sighed. "What do you want, Ranger?"

The corners of his mouth quirked up in his thinking-about-smiling smile. I ignored the unspoken suggestion and continued with my long suffering stare.

"I need your help, babe."

Ranger rarely needs help from the likes of me. On any given day, Ranger employs an army of men, all of whom would make Jack's giant look like a midget. Ranger only comes to me when he's in need of a woman's…finesse…either for personal entertainment or in the pursuit of a skip. Since I was currently unavailable and Ranger knew my stand on poaching, I figured it was the latter.

"Who's our guy?" I asked.

His thinking-about-smiling smile turned into a full 100-watt smile. He knew he had me. Bastard.

"Edwin Mortars. Arrested for rape and assault with a deadly weapon. Intel says he'll be at the bar at the Marriott at nine tomorrow."

I nodded. Rapist. Great. "What look am I going for?" There were levels of sluttiness, I'd discovered. I needed to know just what our little FTA would prefer.

Ranger brought two fingers up to my cheek and traced them down to my jaw. I ignored the tingly heat it created somewhere between my belly and my doodah. "Try for sexy sophisticated," he murmured. "Our guy used to be a lawyer."

Great, my second favorite thing besides drunk, abusive rapists? Lawyers. I'd once married one in a fit of temporary insanity, only to find him flat on his back on my dining room table, playing hide the salami with Joyce Barnhardt. The marriage was over before the leftover wedding cake was even fully frozen.

Ranger grinned.

"I'll pick you up at 8," he said. He placed a soft kiss on my lips, and was gone.

I stood for a moment, thinking that I probably should have slapped him for that kiss, decided that no matter how attached a girl was, there was no way she was resisting Carlos Manoso, and climbed into my used-to-be-bright-red Geo Metro.

The Metro was a recent acquisition after my latest car had gone to the great scrap metal yard in the sky following an unfortunate meeting with an angry delivery truck driver. The car was a two-seater with barely enough room for my Jersey-girl hair, but it started, drove in reverse, and stopped like a dream, so who was I to complain? Besides, knowing my luck with cars, it would be a pile of melted metal within the month.

I glanced at the clock on my dashboard, groaned when I realized that there was no way it was noon and the clock must be broken, and pulled out my cell phone. The clock there told me that it was two hours past lunch time so I made a detour to McDonalds and ordered 4.32 worth of clog-your-arteries, rot-your-teeth goodness.

I sat in my car and enjoyed my all-American meal and contemplated what I'd wear tomorrow night. I had plenty of slinky little dresses, more jeans than any one person could possibly wear in a month and enough sweats to clothe a small third-world country. My only non-matronly suit was at the dry cleaners, meaning that I did not have anything that I would classify as "sexy sophisticated". Oh well, I guess I'd just have to suck it up and go shopping. The trials of being me.

I dialed Lula on my way to Macy's and told her to meet me there. Lula wouldn't know sophisticated if it bit her in her voluptuous ass, but she could do sexy until the cows came home. Besides, who else would convince me that the hot little FMP's I really couldn't afford were a lifetime investment?

She was waiting by the doors when I pulled up, wearing skintight leather pants in bright pink and a leopard print tank top that would have made hooker Barbie proud. No one could pull off ostentatious 'ho gear like Lula.

"So what we shoppin' for today, girl?" She asked as I fell into step beside her.

"Ranger needs me to do a distraction job," I explained. "Sexy sophisticated."

"Ranger," she practically sighed. "That fine hunka man still hangin' on you like skinny white boys on playboy?"

I rolled my eyes, not completely understanding her metaphor. "It's a job, Lula."

"Sure, sure, whatever you say. Tell you what, we gonna sexy sophisticate you so good Batman ain't gonna know what hit him."

We'd reached the shoe section and Lula steered us over.

"Lula, I'm really just here for clothes, I have enough…"

The sentence was cut off, forgotten, and left to die as my eyes fell on what had to be the hottest shoes ever. They were bright red patent leather with a four inch heel, peep toes, and an ankle strap. Lula caught me staring.

"Mmm, girl, if those aren't FMP's, I'm sure I don't know what is." She signaled for a salesman and asked for them in my size.

"Really, Lula, I can't afford them."

She shook her head and clucked her tongue. "Girl, shoes like those, they're an investment." What'd I tell you?

"Them shoes, them shoes gonna attract you a man, and that man gonna be loaded and you two're gonna get hitched and he's gonna want you so bad he'll buy you anything you damn-well please. Them shoes gonna pay for themselves."

She had a point. I shook my head. What was I thinking? Of course she didn't have a point. Those shoes were going to attract me some piece of white trash who couldn't afford his own cable payments. Best to just leave them there on that shelf where someone with actual money would see them and take them to a nice home.

Ten minutes later we left the shoe department, hands considerably fuller, credit limits considerable lower. They were really hot shoes, after all.

I split with Lula some time around four, thanking the sales rack fairies for my great finds and the fact that I might be able to afford groceries this week. I loaded my purchases into the car, slammed down the trunk and stuffed myself in.

It was early June, so summer hadn't quite found its foothold, but it was hot enough that without air-conditioning I had to leave the windows down in order not to suffocate. I dropped my stuff off at my apartment and decided to go check on Bob.

Bob is a dog who belongs to my on-again, off-again boyfriend Joe Morelli. Morelli and I had been on-again for about a month now and things were…comfortable, at best. He was still vying for marriage, I was still vehemently refusing. He still wanted me to get a job at the button factory, I had no passion for little plastic circles. I hated to say it, but I'd liked him better when we were off-again. Even the sex was somehow lacking lately.

I pulled up in front of his house around 4:30 and cut the engine. His truck was parked at the curb. I straightened my blouse, tried and failed to tame my windblown hair and headed up the walk.

The door opened on the third knock and Bob came barreling out. He detoured around me in favor of the tree in Morelli's front yard, peed for about 3 minutes and barreled back into the house. Morelli stepped back and let me in.

"Hey, cupcake."

"Joe." I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. He grabbed my arm, pulled me in and planted a real kiss on my mouth. I think my toes went numb. When we pulled apart, he was smiling that you-thinking-what-I'm-thinking? smile. I was, but my uterus was telling a different story.

"Not a good time," I said.

His grin grew wider. "There is no bad time."

I rolled my eyes and moved past him. "You disgust me."

"It's a natural thing," he chuckled, following me into the kitchen.

"Two natural things," I said. "Sex and menstruation. Put them together, not natural at all."

The word menstruation seemed to do the trick. Morelli stayed across the room from me after that.

"How was your day?" I asked, after he'd handed me a coke.

"Same old, same old. Dead body in a dumpster. No leads on the Cuccini case. How 'bout you?"

"I watched an X-files marathon with Mooner this morning, then brought him in to reschedule this afternoon." Mooner was a safe topic. Mooner was one of the few skips I had that didn't give Morelli indigestion. "Then, I went shopping with Lula."

"That's great, cupcake." He walked into the living room and flicked on the TV Once he'd found the game I figured it was as good a time as any to mention Ranger.

"I'm doing a job for Ranger tomorrow night," I said as naturally as possible.

"That's great, cupcake." I sighed and made to slip out of the room, his voice called me back. "Did you say Ranger?"

I slunk back into the room and regarded him with a smile.

"Mmm hmm." I turned to leave again.

"Hold it." He muted the TV – never a good sign – and turned towards me. "You know how I feel about Ranger, cupcake. I don't like you spending time with him."

"It's a job, Joe."

"Is it?" He asked, rising from his seat. "Is it just a job?"

I sighed. "Of course."

"Stephanie, he's a dangerous man."

I was so not having this conversation again. Ranger might be dangerous to other people, but he wasn't dangerous to me – unless, of course, you counted the danger to my sanity – and I wasn't going to argue that point to Morelli for the hundredth time.

"I've got to go," I said quietly. He stepped towards me and grabbed my arm gently.

"Stephanie, just because you run away, doesn't mean this conversation is over."

"Wrong," I said, pulling out of his grasp. "This conversation is very over." With that, I spun and grabbed my purse off of the hall table then walked to the door. "I'll talk to you later," I called over my shoulder, "maybe."

I was so distracted after leaving Morelli's that I didn't even notice where I was going until I was parked in front of my parents' house. Oh well, I sighed. Might as well go in and mooch dinner.

Grandma Mazur opened the door as I walked up the steps.

"Oh, good, I'm glad you're here," she said, stepping back to let me in. "I've got to tell you all about my personal ad."

"Personal ad?" I asked, walking past her and into the kitchen. My mom was at the ironing board, a pile of perfectly pressed curtains next to her.

"I'm going to meet me a hunk a' lovin'."

I turned around and blinked at her. It shouldn't really be all that shocking, I thought grimly. Grandma Mazur's one goal in life seemed to be finding a replacement for her late husband. Why should a personal ad be surprising?

"That's great, grandma," I said, patting her on her bony shoulder. "Any replies yet?"

She squinted down at the tile floor for a moment, then her eyes rose back to mine. "Well, no, but Linda Reid says that all the good ones are a bit shy. They'll come around eventually."

I smiled gently and shook my head side to side. "Of course."

My mother finally glanced up from her ironing, her eyes a little wide.

"What are you doing here?" She asked. "There aren't crazy people waiting for you in your apartment again, are there?"

I sighed. The awful thing was, her statement wasn't so off-the-wall. Crazy people were often to be found in my apartment. Especially crazy, dangerous people.

"No," I said. "I just stopped by for dinner."

She seemed to think about that for a moment, then nodded.

"You have to do something about your grandmother. What will people think that a woman of her age—" she peeked over at grandma as if the older woman couldn't hear a word we were saying, "—is looking for a man? In a personal ad!" She gasped.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to Grandma Mazur.

"I think it's great, Grandma. You deserve to find someone special." Okay, so partly I said this to aggravate my mother, but Grandma Mazur really did deserve to have someone.

She smiled up at me, her teeth wobbling in her mouth, then her eyes slid to my mother.

"See, Helen, I told you Stephanie would think it was a great idea."

My mother looked up at me and narrowed her eyes. The look said, clear as day, 'no dessert for a week'.

Uh oh.

After dinner I agreed to take grandma to a viewing, mostly because my mother's head looked like it was going to explode if she had to deal with grandma anymore and I figured I owed her a favor after she set aside my treason and gave me dessert anyway. The funeral parlor was filling up when we got there. We were five minutes later than what Grandma had wanted, but what can I say? It would take a much stronger person than Grandma Mazur to pull me away from chocolate cake.

"Ohhh," Grandma squealed. "Look, it's an open casket. I'm going to go take a look."

"Don't touch anything," I begged her, and then watched as she pushed her way to the front. Open caskets were like exceptionally good birthday presents to Grandma Mazur: worthy of much excitement and necessitating closer inspection.

I glanced around, recognizing a few people, and spotted Johnny Douglas. Douglas was the one FTA still in my folder at the moment. He had been arrested for DUI and vehicular manslaughter. He'd been driving drunk one night and hit a homeless guy over near Stark.

Douglas spotted me, his eyes widened and he dashed for the door. I was after him in a second, but he had a good head start, so he was almost to the door already. I hauled ass, pushing my way between distraught patrons, shouting apologies over my shoulder.

I reached the street in time to see Douglas hop into a late model Ford truck and pull away from the curb. I crammed myself into the Geo and took off after him.

He took a left, then a right and soon we were on the freeway with three cars between us. He exited and I followed. At the red light, I jumped out of my car and ran up the line. I was almost to the truck when the light changed and he gunned it across the intersection. Traffic slowed and I was almost to my car, thinking that I might just be able to catch him when a silver Volvo came out of nowhere and rammed right into my little car. I faltered and stood gaping as the Volvo disentangled itself, took off down the breakdown lane and disappeared around the corner. I looked back for Douglas's truck but he was gone. I sighed and threaded my way between cars to the curb. What a night.

I called my dad to pick up Grandma at the funeral home. The great thing about my dad is that he doesn't ask questions. I had no such illusions about my mom. She'd be hounding me for a week about this.

After that, I simply waited. I didn't have to wait long for the blue-and-whites. Carl Costanza and Big Dog spotted me on the curb when they pulled up. Costanza smiled and turned to Big Dog who took a five from his wallet and handed it over with a frown.

"Betting on me again?" I asked.

Costanza laughed. "We never stopped, honey."

Morelli arrived shortly after that. I mentally prepared myself for the scolding.

His eyes were dark when he approached me. A muscle ticked in his jaw. The Italian temper was in full swing. Too bad I was in no mood for a fight.

"I'm afraid to ask," he said.

"It was an accident," I said.

I saw a shiny black car glide to a stop across the street. The only person I knew who drove a car that black and shiny and expensive was Ranger. The tingling I felt on the back of my neck supported this theory. The window rolled down, and he speared me with a glance from where he sat. Butterflies took up residence in my stomach and I'm pretty sure my nipples hardened. I managed a weak smile and he nodded once, rolled up the window and drove away.

Morelli turned his eyes from my wreck of a car back to me. "It's never just an accident, Steph. It's a demented boxer or a giant rabbit or a street gang, but it's never just an accident."

He turned to watch as they loaded what was left of my car onto a flatbed. "Christ, Steph," he sighed. "Don't you care what people think? Why do you keep doing this to me?"

I spun to glare at him. "To you?" I said. "What am I doing to you? I'm the one with the squashed car."

He shook his head. "You need a ride home?"

"No," I said. "Someone's coming." It was a lie, but I didn't think I could stand to be in an enclosed space with Morelli right now.

He nodded, kissed me lightly on the cheek, and left.

Costanza came over when they were done. He looked down at me sitting on the curb and smiled.

"You want a ride?" He asked.

I nodded and took the hand he offered to pull me up.

The whole ride home I sat in the back of the cruiser and contemplated my life. I had no car, my skip had gotten away, my boyfriend thought that I was Calamity Jane, and Batman was expecting me at the hotel tomorrow dressed as a sophisticated slut. What had my life come to?

Costanza rolled to a stop in front of my building. He offered to walk me up, but I told him I'd be fine and got out of the car.

I took the elevator to the second floor, too pooped to care about exercise. There were no crazy people waiting in my apartment, so I took a shower, made a bowl of popcorn, and plopped onto the couch. Honestly, I'm not even sure what I was watching, because I couldn't get the look on Morelli's face when he'd rolled up tonight out of my mind. He'd been beyond annoyed, beyond angry even, he'd been resigned, almost uncaring. He'd been more concerned with his reputation as the boyfriend of a crazy mess than he had been about my safety or the fact that I no longer had a car.

I sighed. I couldn't really blame Joe for wanting a normal girlfriend. I just wished he could accept me the way I was because, truth be told, I couldn't see myself changing anytime soon. I didn't want to be a Burg wife. I didn't want a white picket fence and 2.5 kids. I couldn't even keep track of my hamster half the time. What I wanted right now was a little excitement. Okay, so maybe not as much excitement as was usually present in my life, but not housekeeping and cooking and PTA meetings.

I closed my eyes and tried to picture the rest of my life; Morelli, kids, Bob, Aunt Rose's house, nice job at the button factory. Problem was, what would Ranger do at a button factory? My eyes snapped open. Now, where had that come from? I took a few deep breaths to stop from hyperventilating. I closed my eyes and tried to picture my future again, this time sans the man in black. I couldn't do it.

I got up and grabbed the last beer from the refrigerator and went back to the living room. I popped Ghostbusters into the VCR and sat back on the couch. No more thinking tonight. Thinking was dangerous. Thinking might make me reexamine my life. Thinking would get me into trouble.