Epilogue

A brownish black eighteen-wheeler smashes head on into the bright red Ford Fiesta at the crossroad in front of the mental hospital. The two bulky female guards get distracted by the sickening crashing sound and turn their heads. Emily Hasting takes the chance. They have already uncuffed her wrists. And somehow they didn't shackle her ankles when she left the prison. She runs as fast as she can. She doesn't look back. Not even once. She can hear her breathing in her ears. Her heart feels like it may burst. She's here to receive psychological evaluation. Everyone believes she's mad and in need of treating, and she hates that. No. She's not insane. She's clever. She's brave. She's smart. She meant to kill Stephanie Plum. She knows how to build a perfect time bomb. She was in love with Joseph at that time, and she has always been the kind of woman who will gladly kill for love. But now she's a different person:

She has found her true love.

Yes, she's helplessly in love with that tall, dark, dangerous, muscular Mocha Latte man. She has heard his calm quiet voice, but has never ever spoken to him in person. She wants to know more about him. She wants to be an essential part of his life. And every day, every hour, she wishes and hopes and prays that one day he will love her back. Yes, she knows he doesn't look like the marrying type. Yes, she knows he probably has other beautiful, faithful, submissive and cooperating women in his bed. She also knows for a fact that she's not drop-dead gorgeous or physically attractive. Thus she's happy enough to love him from afar.

Emily runs and runs and runs. The gentle wind blows past her face and makes her feel like she can fly. No, she's not trying to escape. She just wants to hide at the corner across the street when he drives out of the underground garage. She just wants to take a quick look at his shining black car. She just wants to see with her own eyes that he is alright. She will go straight back after that. She won't even stop on the road for a snack. She likes her tiny tidy prison cell. She likes doing her share of the daily chores. She likes the small and not bright enough library. The air inside smells of unread and neglected books. They allow her to read as many books as she wants. They will try what they can to get more books. The only condition is that she must keep quiet during the night. No shouting, no screaming, no wailing. No banging her head against the bars. They will even think about letting her work in the kitchen if she behaves herself. That's an opportunity she can't afford to waste. She's a great cook. She's an excellent baker. She makes the best iced tea and pastries. She loves to see the big happy smile on people's faces when they bite into her chocolate croissants. And people down at the soup kitchen always got in line for a third or fourth helping of her creamy pumpkin soup.

She just wants to take a look of him. She just wants to be near him. She just wants to see him smile. She just wants to hear him speak. She just wants to feel the emotion in that soft, amused "Babe". She still can't believe Stephanie Plum was that stupid. Who, in their right mind, would want Joseph if they could have him? Emily sighs and rolls her eyes. Elizabeth keeps her silence and simply smiles. Soon they will arrive at that street. Soon they will see that seven-floored building. Soon they will find a shadowed corner to hide. Soon they will weep silent, happy tears when they see his car. Yes, the sleek powerful Porsche, the beautiful, amazing artifact, the—

She trips over a stone. She doesn't feel any pain in her foot. She stumbles and falls. The ragged ground turns transparent in front of her eyes. She sits up and gasps. Her heart thumping wildly in her ribcage. She can hear the slim blonde woman snoring like a train in the cell across the hall. She looks around dazed. She's still inside her small clean prison cell. She's sitting in her hard narrow bed. The night shift guards walks down the corridor. Someone moans and murmurs something in her sleep. And Elizabeth, her sweet, brave, brilliant twin sister, is still not talking to her.

Emily Hasting quietly gets out of bed. She goes to sit down at her small desk and takes out a thick stack of unopened letters sent from Trenton. She opens the envelopes carefully, smoothes out the paper, and starts doing origami. She makes paper cranes. She makes paper boats. She makes paper flowers. She keeps humming under her breath. Her pale face becomes peaceful. Her misty grey eyes turn clear and calm. She's a woman in love. She's a woman in jail. She has made some foolish hasty mistakes. She may or may not have remorse and regret. She sometimes dreams about running away from the prison. She always wakes up before she arrives at her destination. She has gotten more and more used to the disappointment. She has quietly accepted her destiny without fighting back or complaining. She's no longer obsessed with Joe Morelli. She's not interested in his life, his dreams, his longings, or his new job as mall security. She's bright. She's smart. She's truthful. She's loyal. She feels sorry that she and Elizabeth are no longer on speaking terms. But only one of them can be Mrs. Carlos Manoso. And she, Emily Hasting, would rather die than let go of his large warm Mocha Latte hand...

Author's Note: This chapter is inspired by the ever so talented sweetdreams-sunnymornings. If you haven't met her Mercenary Ranger, you totally should.