WARNING oOo WARNING oOo WARNING oOo WARNING oOo WARNING oOo WARNING oOo WARNING!!
Dark, extremely angsty, graphic violence and sexual content later in the story. It is NOTHING like my story Taking Charge. NOT a feel-good story, and there is not one bit of romance in it. The idea came into my head and I just had to get it out of my system.
Babe, not nice to Morelli.
The really bad stuff begins in Part 2, chapter 8 and beyond. DO NOT READ if violence, pain, extreme angst, and graphically depicted sexual acts upset you.
Oh, yeah, and warning for language, too.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money. Recognizable characters belong to Janet Evanovich. Song lyrics belong to Linkin Park.
Worst Fears
By Dee
Prologue—From the Inside
Take everything from the inside and throw it all away
Cuz I swear for the last time I won't trust myself with you
—Linkin Park (Meteora)
Saturday, April 12
I never imagined in my wildest dreams that a newspaper photograph would be my undoing, a photograph that I had no idea was being taken. It wasn't until I saw the paper that I realized the magnitude of my fuckup.
"Fuck," I said out loud as I picked up the Saturday morning Trenton Times off the breakfast bar where Ella had left it for me. On the front left, above the fold, was a large color photograph.
Looking at the picture objectively, I could see why they gave it such prominence. It was colorful, perfectly balanced and interesting.
The background was dominated by fire—an automobile burning. Actually, burning might be a slight understatement. The car was a conflagration, brilliant red and orange and yellow flames shooting up into the night sky, sparks flying and leaving streaking tracers shooting off the edges of the photo like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
In front of the car a man was holding a woman in his arms. The photo had been taken with a long lens, shortening the field so that the couple in the foreground looked like they were standing just a few feet from the flames.
The woman's beautiful but pale face was turned to the side against the man's chest so that you could see her profile. Tears were clearly visible painting vertical tracks in the soot on her cheek, and a riot of brown curls cascaded down her back.
The man had much darker skin, and long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Most people would think he was good-looking, but it was his expression that caught my eye. He was looking down at the woman with affection clearly written on his face.
Stephanie and me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
The headline was printed boldly above the photo: "Bombshell strikes again!" The caption below the picture read, "Trenton's own bombshell bounty hunter, Stephanie Plum, is comforted by RangeMan Enterprises CEO Carlos Manoso as her car burns in the background. Story on page 5."
And at the side of the picture in very tiny print going up along the edge, "AP wirephoto by Chris Barna, Trenton Times."
Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck, fuck!
How the hell could I have been so unaware of my surroundings that a photographer could have taken that picture without me knowing it? Of course the answer was obvious. Stephanie.
It was bad enough that half of Trenton thought Stephanie was mine. But AP was national, and this photo could get picked up anywhere. God help us if any of my enemies saw it. And I had many.
As much as I hated to do it, I needed to separate myself from Stephanie, make it clear to everyone that she belonged to the cop, not to me.
Fuck.
oOo
Part I—Wounds So Deep
Something has been taken from deep inside of me
The secret I've kept locked away no one can ever see
Wounds so deep they never show, they never go away
Like moving pictures in my head for years and years they've played
If I could change I would, take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
I would take all my shame to the grave
—Linkin Park (Easier to Run, Meteora)
Chapter 1
Wednesday, April 30
"Call the Bombshell," Tank said with finality as he walked out of the conference room.
Shit. I'd managed to avoid Stephanie for almost three weeks, but I didn't see any choice but to bring her in.
I'd just spent a half hour arguing with Tank, trying to figure out some way, any way, to pick up Richie Gonzales without having to use Stephanie for a distraction.
There was no other way.
I exhaled in what some might consider a sigh, but since I didn't do sighing it was just an audible exhale. Pulling out my phone I pressed speed dial one for Stephanie's cell.
"Yo." I could hear the smile in her voice when she answered.
"Yo yourself, Babe."
"I haven't seen you in ages. Where've you been hiding?"
"Work. And speaking of work, are you available for a distraction Friday night?"
"Sure. When and where? And what kind of slutty?"
"I'll pick you up at seven. Extra Innings, so professional slutty."
"Okay, I'll be ready."
I flipped my phone shut with a snap.
oOo
Friday, May 2
The two days until Friday seemed to crawl by, filled with paperwork and meetings, and the kind of mundane tasks I never envisioned when I started RangeMan. And the anticipation of seeing Stephanie made the time pass even slower.
Stephanie…
Her beauty and innocence brought light into my darkness. Those eyes, those lips, those long legs… If it weren't for my past I'd make her mine in an instant. I told her my lifestyle doesn't lend itself to relationships, and true as that is, I'd be happy to make an exception for her.
But that's not the real problem.
My thoughts were interrupted by Tank. "Ready, Range-man?"
I looked at him in assent and rose to my feet.
"You drive," I said as we walked from the stairwell into the garage.
"Don't you want to take the Bombshell in the Turbo?" he asked with a sharp look at my face, trying to read my expression.
I just looked back, expressionless, giving him what Stephanie liked to call my blank face, and walked to the passenger door of his Hummer. Being alone with Stephanie in the Turbo wasn't conducive to resisting her.
"Bobby and Lester in place at the bar?" I asked as we fastened our seatbelts, glancing across the garage to make sure Manny and Zero were in an Explorer waiting to follow us.
"Affirmative."
As we drove up Chambers and turned right onto Hamilton toward Stephanie's apartment, I wondered what she would wear for the after-work TGIF atmosphere of Innings. A little suit, I thought, black silk hugging her curves. Short skirt revealing yards of those long, I-want-to-feel-them-wrapped-around-me legs. No blouse, just the suit jacket buttoned to her cleavage. Maybe the lace of her bra showing.
Fuck. I had to stop thinking about her. The powerful vibration of the Hummer coupled with the expectation of seeing Stephanie had brought me to semi-hardness.
The cop, I told myself, think about the cop. They were in an on-again phase, and rumor had it that it might be permanent this time. According to my sources she'd been seriously considering giving up her apartment and moving in with him.
That would be best, I thought. I'd sent her back to him for a reason, even if it wasn't the reason I gave her. But the thought of her in his bed for good, maybe even married to him, gave me a sharp jab in my chest, like a nail being driven through my heart.
Well, at least the painful thoughts had dispelled the physical reaction, I thought as we pulled into Stephanie's parking lot. I noted her latest piece-of-shit vehicle, an ancient red Nissan, parked next to the dumpster as usual.
Tank stopped at the door to the apartment building and I stepped out of the Hummer. "Be right back," I said.
"Range-man, forgetting something?" he asked, holding up the wire that I'd left lying on the console.
I shook my head slightly and walked toward the door. No more touching, no more kissing. I had to maintain my distance from Stephanie. It was the only way to protect her.
I knocked on her door. In the past I would have just let myself in, but no more. She belonged to another man and I was going to respect that.
No answer, no sound from within the apartment. I emptied my mind and body and let my senses reach out. I could always feel Stephanie when she was nearby, and I knew she could feel me, too, in some kind of physical bond that was beyond rational comprehension.
I felt… nothing. Emptiness. Unless our connection had inexplicably disappeared, she wasn't here.
I pulled out my keys and unlocked the door. The chain wasn't hooked and the door silently pivoted open to its full extent.
Something was wrong. It hit me the second I saw the entranceway. There was none of the clutter that I usually associated with Stephanie's life. No handbag on the floor, no shoes carelessly discarded in the hall, no coat hanging on the hook on the wall.
No hook on the wall.
My breath huffed out hard. I felt as if I'd taken brass knuckles to the gut.
Keeping my hands close to my sides, careful not to touch anything, I stepped into the apartment. I looked in the living room, bedroom, bathroom, kitchen. Empty. No furniture, no clothing, no cosmetics, no dishes.
Nothing.
Except a single sheet of paper on the kitchen counter.
A note, printed from a computer on plain white paper.
I need some time away to think things over.
Please don't look for me.
Stephanie
TBC