Main characters you recognize are JE's. Anthony, Zoë, Jilly and all the feds, etc. are mine. Anthony is Ranger's half-brother but they often just refer to themselves as friends.

Anthony has appeared in Adalind's Bailey/ Ranger stories. Babe, no Morelli bashing. This story takes place in the Plum future; R & S are married.

Standard fanfic disclaimers apply.

Intro:

from Ten Big Ones [edited]: Ranger was in S.W.A.T. black cargo pants and T-shirt. His hair was dark, and his eyes were dark, and his skin reflected his Cuban ancestry. No one knew Ranger's age... no one knew where Ranger lived or where his cars and cash originated. Probably it was best not to know.

Ranger locked eyes with me. Sometimes it felt like Ranger could look you in the eye and know all the stuff that was inside your head. It saved a lot of time since talk wasn't necessary.

"Babe," Ranger said. And he left.

"Cupcake, the guy's a mercenary."

The Price is Right

Prolog: "I'm Not Late, I was Busy..."

I walked away, hearing Steph defend me: "Ranger's not a mercenary. At least not officially in Trenton. He's a bounty hunter ... like me."

It warmed my hardass soul, but I was thinking, Yeah, so what? So I'm a mercenary. You got a problem with that, Officer Morelli? I don't see you getting the job done, do I?

And, you know how that goes: The Job-somebody has to do it. May as well be me. The name I am currently using is Carlos Manoso. Most people call me Ranger. It's a street name.

a few years later...

Inside myself I jumped about 15 feet in the air and screamed like a little girl.

Outwardly calm however, my reaction to the whispered hey was a fast and silent body twist and a knife to the speaker's throat. We rolled a couple times in the frigid dust and rocks of the central highlands of XXXistan, ending up with me on top. The man didn't fight me at all, instead he went limp and was whispering, "Ranger! Yo, man! Ranger! Hey!"

Oh. My name. Sort of.

In American English.

So I didn't kill him.

Good thing because when I finally got my heart rate back to normal I was staring into the dark eyes of my friend Anthony Stewart, the almost-black Spanish eyes that were so like my own. The light was poor-it was past midnight, full moon glowing in the night sky-but I could see his hair was dyed dark too, so the mirror image illusion intensified. He, however, looked clean, rested, and well-fed.

I hissed, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood?" he offered.

I was so pissed I actually dug the knife in a little and Anthony squirmed beneath my heavily armed body. I was on a covert op for the US military, picking up locations and intell on the current gang of Afghani rebel warlords. There was a discreetly worded huge bonus offered if I took out a particularly nasty anti-everything Al Qaeda leader while I was on the job. I just spent three miserable weeks, tracking this asshole down, I finally have him in my sights and-oh look! my brother shows up? Gimme a break!

I said, "You did not need to know."

He said, "Yeah, well, I was like, curious, man. Couldn't help wondering what hell was so interesting you left Steph and Zoë all alone without a word. Three weeks, Ranger?"

I said, "I hope you weren't followed? You maybe just bought us both a shitload of trouble."

"Curiosity often leads to trouble," said Anthony. My hand holding the knife jerked and he added, "Ranger, your exfiltration date was six days ago, and let's look at this from my point of view: you, my man, are never late."

"You know the drill. When I am in the wind solo, the important word is solo. I suggest you remember that in the future, because you almost got your throat slit just now, little brother."

Anthony said, "Good advice. If I listened earlier, I wouldn't be here. But that's just the trouble with me. I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it."

And he flipped me hard onto my back, knocking the air from my lungs. A rock bit into my ass and I groaned silently.

Anthony kicked the knife out of my hand and stood over me, hands on his hips, looking self-satisfied.

Oh yeah. Unarmed combat expert. How silly of me to forget.

Anthony said, "What were you thinking?" and jerked his chin at the knife in the dust. I shrugged and wheezed. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up, then we hunkered down together in my surveillance post. Out of the wind but I suddenly shivered.

I said, "Some celebration went on tonight, lotta drinking of whatever the fuck they keep in those goatskins. I figure the mark will stagger out to the latrine at about 0300."

"Silenced round to the head?"

"Yeah. I planned to be long gone when they find him."

I shivered again, just a little. I was cold and hungry and determined. I wanted to ask how he found me so easily when I'd been tracking this wasteland for weeks. I was getting ticked off again. What, he just bops right in looking clueless and lethal, or what?

Eyes glued to the infrared binos, Antonio said in my head You know how...

Yeah. I know.

Out loud, in a whisper, he said, "You don't want me to offer to do the honors here, do you?"

"No."

"Okay...um, want a power bar? And a lift?"

"Yeah."

"There he is, man, at your 2 o'clock."

"Ten four." Pppffft.

Nice shot.

Uh huh.

Anthony handed me a granola bar and I squinted at the label. I said, "Do these things have carbs?"

to be continued...