So many thanks to all who took time to read and review this story. Special thanks to Jago-Ji for her expert editing, and advice. I'm sure she'd be happy if I didn't make the same mistakes in every chapter. My thanks to Janet Evanovich for creating Ranger and Stephanie, and leaving so much of their development up to our imaginations.

I still think Jason Mraz had it right:

We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in

I had to learn what I've got, and what I'm not

And who I am

I won't give up on us

Even if the skies get rough

I'm giving you all my love

I'm still looking up

Still looking up.

Chapter 13 – New beginnings

After lunch, Ranger and Steph spent time with Petra and Nick discussing the acquisition and making arrangements for Lester Santos from Trenton, and D'Shaun Monroe from Miami, to spend a couple of months in Clearwater helping with the transition and training. As much as Ranger hated to admit it, his horn-dog cousin had an undeniable talent for training new hires. An amiable personality made Lester the best choice to work with the women they were hiring for Casita, plus he'd appreciate the opportunity to live close to Rey for a few months. D'Shaun was one of the Miami office's best BEAs, and would supplement Apollo's staff, providing on-the-job training, until they were able to assume higher-dollar bonds.

Later that afternoon, Ranger, Petra and Stephanie met with Loretta O'Riley, the 60-ish but elegant former psychologist and social worker who had been the director of Casita since shortly after the founding fifteen years ago. Mrs. O'Riley had received national recognition for the work she had done at Casita, which was recognized as a model shelter program.

Mrs. O'Riley went over the plans for the buildings and grounds with Ranger. At his recommendation, she enlarged the security office and included additional monitors and communication equipment. Afterward, they walked the property where surveying was underway in preparation for construction. They wanted the security detail in place in about two weeks. All agreed that during construction experienced men would be best to serve as security. That gave them about a year to recruit, hire and train the women who would provide on-site protection once residents were living there.

The changes made during the visit had no effect on the contract as written, so all parties signed off. As they were leaving, Ranger mentioned he would be more comfortable if they expanded the number of guards per shift given the proposed layout of the buildings and grounds. After she inquired about possible increase to the overall cost, he told Mrs. O'Riley, "no additional charge".

"This contract is important to building Rangeman's reputation in Tampa Bay. So, it's important that we staff the job properly. As Casita is non-profit, any 'loss' incurred would be a tax write-off. I am not a pure altruist," he said with his almost smile.

Almost smile, no smile, regardless, it was beyond clear from Loretta O'Riley's face that he had won a new devotee.

That week they interviewed and hired two women who would be team leaders for the shelter guards. Diandra Osteen was just a shade under 6 feet with short straight black hair. A 12-year veteran of the Marines, she led a team of military police as a technical sergeant, with experience as a criminal investigator. She exuded the in-charge, commanding presence that Ranger wanted for the senior team leader. At the conclusion of the interview, Ranger asked if she would be willing to move to Trenton for six months to work and train with Tank and the Trenton team. She would come back to Clearwater to assist Lester with the training of the remaining new hires.

The next applicant was a visual contradiction. She was a compact 5'5" woman with roughly cropped, streaked gold-blond hair, fashionable black glasses framing large storm-cloud-gray eyes. Her left arm had a full sleeve of black ink, down to and including her hand and fingers. Her right arm had multiple tats as did her neck and ankles. On her head she wore a black baseball cap that said US MARINE CORPS Veteran.

Donna Gayle Lewiston wore slim fitting black slacks and a tucked-in red polo with a USMC emblem and designer leather sandals. She was sporting a fresh pedicure and manicure, and carefully applied make-up.

Ranger and Steph described the client and type of work, and asked about her background. Ms. Lewiston had served four years as a Marine MP and the last four as a deputy with the sheriff's office in a small county in Montana. She was also a Krav Maga black belt and instructor. Originally from Corpus Christi, she was weary of cold weather and looking for a position somewhere with a more favorable climate. She had been vacationing on Miami's South Beach with a friend when Diandra Osteen called her about this job opening. They had served a tour together at Subic Bay and kept in touch.

Ranger told her they'd check her references and let her know. The interview had gone well. A couple of months delay suited her, as she'd need to resign her job in Montana and move to Florida. Assuming she got the job, Ranger would have her travel to Trenton as well, to train with Diandra. He liked that Diandra and Donna Gayle were "battle buddies" and already had experience working together.

Marco, Petra, Stephanie and Ranger were all satisfied that they had a great start on staffing the Casita contract; they polished the plans for the integration of Apollo and Rangeman. By the end of the week, Ranger, Stephanie and Marco were ready to return to Miami.

Steph's share of the bounties was substantial, but she insisted she neither needed nor wanted any of it. Ranger decided that when it came time to return to Trenton, they would drive back, and he an idea on how that money could be used.

For Stephanie the drive back to Miami felt like going home. She noticed Ranger was being even more vigilant than on earlier trips, monitoring the rearview mirrors more frequently. But it wasn't until they were within a couple of miles of Miami that he told her about being followed by someone who knew how to tail without being caught. He wasn't seeing any tails now, but the Explorer could be throwing them off. He refused to speculate about who would be following him or why. She reminded herself that this was Ranger's life, and she needed to guard against becoming even the tiniest bit complacent about security, his or her own. They reached the office with no incident, and no evidence that anyone had been following them.

The news they had been waiting for came a few days later. William called to say that the judge sentenced Billy to five years' probation. He would need to meet with a probation officer every month for the first year, then less frequently for the remaining four years, but was otherwise he was free to get on with his life. William invited Ranger and Stephanie to join them the following Saturday for a family celebration. Ranger's first inclination was to decline but decided that he needed to do this for Billy.

Saturday was Florida tourist-ad perfect. Since it was still "winter," the day was cool, with light breezes chasing high, wispy clouds across a cerulean sky. I had just read that "Phil" predicted six more weeks of winter, but this type of winter was perfectly fine with me so I could torment my friends and family back in Trenton with photos of me walking barefoot on the beach.

One of today's photos would show me with Ranger, Billy, Conchita, Leotie, Mikie and Yana, cruising in an airboat through the Big Cypress National Preserve wearing shorts and a tank top. Big Cypress, while still part of the Everglades system, was very different from the sawgrass "plains" where William lived. This had more of the sinister overgrown look one typically associated with a swamp.

It was like the Pine Barrens; but a flooded, dark green Barrens, with alligators and other creepy crawlies. Narrow canals ran among towering cypress, which were often dripping with Spanish moss, and a variety of ferns sprouting from nowhere. I did see a couple of alligators; but the natural beauty of the wild swamp was unexpected.

Earlier, we had taken a "swamp walk" behind Clyde Butcher's Big Cypress Gallery. Thigh deep in the crystal clear but chilly water, we listened as the guide talked about the various plants, many unique to this corner of Florida, and, of course, the educational talks about ecology and conservation. We had to have a photo of us all standing in the swamp with our poles, surrounded by the cypress trees and bromeliads. William insisted that we do the Swamp Walk before we took the airboat out so we'd better understand what we were seeing. By we, I mean the two children, Mikie and Yana, and me, although it was mostly for my benefit. I'm sure the kids knew all of this already.

William – always with the lessons. It was easy to see William's influence reflected in Ranger.

The return trip to Miami was long and as quiet as a Porsche Turbo can be when the driver is in a hurry. Ranger was deep in his zone and watching for tails again – now reduced to headlights in the mirrors. The traffic along US 41 was light, but busy enough to keep Ranger watching his mirrors. When we reached the outskirts of Miami, Ranger turned off into an older residential district.

He stopped in front of what appeared to be a light-colored duplex, well lit by streetlights and a front porch light. After gazing around a bit he said, "This is where I lived with Abuela Rosa and my Abuelo."

Wow – a day of firsts. I had been within petting distance of a live alligator and Ranger was offering unsolicited personal information.

"Was it a duplex when you lived here?"

"No, just a large single family home. It has been renovated - probably a couple of times - since we left."

Wondering if I could keep him talking, I ventured to ask, "Has the overall neighborhood changed much?"

"It appears to be undergoing gentrification. It was a quiet neighborhood when I lived here. Mostly retired Cuban refugees who would occasionally have their grandchildren around, but few young people my age. The housing was inexpensive, especially this far outside Miami proper - Little Havana was a Cuban ghetto. My grandparents moved back to Little Havana from New Jersey after they retired. My abuela moved to Newark to be near my parents after Abuelo Raul died."

As he was speaking to me, he was still watching his mirrors. "Anyone back there?"

"There was a car behind us. It stopped a block or so back, sat for a few minutes, then left; it appeared to be a mid- or standard-sized sedan. I don't know if it had been following us all along or not. It was too far back and there was too much traffic."

"So, we'll watch to see if any car tries to catch up to us between here and the office."

We pulled back into the street and headed for Miami. Ranger took a circuitous route, but no one appeared to be following.

As we approached the office, there was a dark sedan parked on the street almost opposite the garage entrance. There were no businesses or residences on that side of the street, just a 12-foot chain link fence enclosing a large parking lot. NW River was a boulevard with a landscaped median. As we pulled into the garage, I noted that the large palm trees in the median blocked the visibility of the car from just inside the garage.

"Ranger, have you seen that car before? Could it have been the one following you?"

"The only tail I saw was a mini-van with stolen license plates."

Ranger got out of the Turbo and walked to the garage opening, staying back a bit in the shadows. As he stepped out of the shadows a bullet zoomed past his shoulder and hit the building, chipping off a bit of the stone façade. He dove back inside and unlocked a cabinet where he grabbed a flak jacket and shrugged it on. He pulled a P220 from his waistband and crept to the edge of the door, staying in shadows as much as possible. He called back to me to cover him, but to be safe.

I should have known he had been carrying all day – he felt undressed and exposed without at least one gun on his person. After calling Mario to send down back-up, I pulled my P232 from my bag and got out of the car. Keeping well inside the deepest shadows I stood just inside the garage opening, trying to keep an eye on Ranger and locate the shooter across the street, but Ranger had moved behind a planter, and the palm was partially obstructing my view of the car hiding the shooter.

I caught a flicker of movement to my left, heard a sharp crack as another bullet smacked into the stone facade. I had seen the shooter duck back down behind the car, so I knew where he was hiding, but I didn't have a clear line of sight. There were no streetlights along this section of the block, on either side of the street, and the building security lights had been extinguished. A bullet shattered the driver's side window, telling me that Ranger was now exchanging fire with this guy.

Another volley with sounds of pops, stone chipping and glass breaking. After the last two shots, the guy didn't duck as quickly, his eyes locked on Ranger's position. I moved slowly from the shadows, hoping the tree would block his view of my movements. The next time he stood, I had him sighted and got a solid head shot.

As he crumpled, I ventured cautiously into the street. Mario and a few Rangemen had come down and were behind me, covering me. Niko stepped around me and went to check on our shooter.

I turned to see Mario and Stick leaning over Ranger who was down but propped on his elbow just outside the planter. His shirt appeared to be wet and blood was streaking down the side of his face.

I felt the blood rush from my head, and what felt like a solid punch to the gut, taking my breath. I tried to walk toward Ranger, but it was more of a stumble and fall. As my knees hit the pavement, I heard a high shrieking "Nooo!" My mind immediately brought up thoughts of Julie, of her rushing to attack Scrog, fighting him for the gun, and then shooting him while Ranger lay bleeding on my living room floor.

I looked around frantically, but I couldn't see her; my vision was blurred and fringed with sparkles. I starting calling for Julie. Niko pulled me up, telling me it was all over, Julie wasn't here. That I'd taken out the shooter this time.

I was sobbing hysterically by then. He was determined to take me inside, but I was more determined to get to Ranger. He told me Stick would take care of Ranger. But I wouldn't be dragged away. I knelt beside Ranger while Stick explained that the blood on his head was caused by the shrapnel of the marble façade striking his head; there were several shallow and a couple of deeper cuts from sharp fragments. A bullet had clipped his shoulder, knocking him down, and dug a shallow furrow along his lateral deltoid, which was the cause of the blood on his shirt. At least one bullet had hit his flak jacket, so he'd have a bruise to go with the bandages he'd be sporting later.

Even though he was still bleeding, Ranger insisted on going over to see if he could identify his attacker. I held him tightly as we crossed the street. I needed the reassurance, but then realized he was actually holding me up more than I was helping him. Although the shot had left his face a mess, Ranger identified the guy as one of the two of Montoya's men who he had detained and arrested in the Village.

While we were waiting to give our statements to the Miami-Dade police, Stick insisted that both Ranger and I visit his sick bay. Ranger needed his wounds treated and they were watching me for possible onset of shock.

Ranger swore he only needed superglue, but Stick prevailed. Ranger got four stitches in his shoulder and one each in three of the deeper cuts on his scalp.

I was barely holding it together, but never developed full-blown shock. Stick was threatening to give me a shot of midazolam, which had been used successfully to avert PTSD when administered immediately after a traumatic event. But since we still had to give our statements, Ranger refused to allow me to be sedated or blur any details of the evening.

Much later, we crawled into bed and fell into an exhausted sleep. I woke very early, with only moonlight to illuminate the room, and turned to see Ranger just starting to stir. He stiffened with pain, opened his eyes, and was instantly at full alert. Then he saw me. A hint of a smile, a smooth relaxing of his posture, then a full smile that reached his eyes, already growing darker and more liquid. He stretched to pull me to him, and I sank into his embrace with a sigh.

As she lay in his arms, soft breaths puffing against his chest telling him she was asleep again, he recalled her words that she was not ready to trust him with her heart. He wondered if he trusted himself with her heart or her with his. He knew he had hurt her badly in the past, although unintentionally.

She had also hurt him every time she'd gone back to Morelli. How had he not known that their "off again" when she started working for Rangemen had actually been permanent? If he had, would he have done anything differently? With the benefit of hindsight, he was glad it worked out this way. They had both grown and changed in the last year.

He knew she had not given of herself so fully and freely before, for if she had, he would never have had this opportunity. She had always held much of herself in reserve, maybe that's why her relationships with Orr and Morelli didn't last. Despite her protestations, she had held nothing back from him; she had given him love and loyalty beyond what he could have asked of her. Could he ever give enough in return? He finally admitted to himself that he actually wanted to try. Over the last few months he'd come to realize that he needed her in his life.

He cringed to think that at one time he thought of her as entertaining. Her unfailing ability to always look on the bright side of every incident, her unflinching faith in the basic goodness of humanity and her ability to appeal to it; both had seemed so sweet and naive. Her hapless adventures with skips that ended in rolling in mud or garbage, or her car exploding. And he was entertained right up until she faced mortal danger from soulless criminals, when he realized that he cared deeply for her. He never defined the "caring deeply" or considered why he did. He just protected and avenged her, which is what he thought the scope of his role should be. He'd thought the "caring" feelings would pass. The fact that he had put her in danger to help solve his problems didn't sit well with his conscience either.

To really give back to Steph in the same measure she gave to him, he'd have to open up to her in ways that he wasn't sure he was capable of. He would always have secrets that he couldn't share and not all of them were classified. Some were just memories he couldn't bear to face again, so they would forever remain secret.

He was used to keeping his own counsel and playing everything close to the vest. He already knew how much this irritated Steph, especially now that she was so involved in Rangeman business. To keep her happy, he'd have to treat her as a partner in all matters, maybe not totally equal, but he'd have to find a balance.

His head and shoulder both ached, but he'd been in significantly more pain and not skipped his morning run. He managed to slip out of bed without waking her, called room service for coffee, and slipped into his running gear.

He brought the coffee to the bedside stand and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Babe, it's time to get up. Your coffee is ready."

Never instantly alert, Steph grumbled, rolled over and tried to hide under a pillow. Ranger just stretched out beside her, leaned back against the headboard and sipped his coffee, knowing the scent would get through to her shortly. He lifted the corner of the pillow and wafted the cup close to her nose.

Her only response was a twitch of her arm, as if willing it to reach for the coffee. Maybe bribery would work this morning. "Babe, if you'll get up and run with me now, I have a surprise for you when we get back."

Ok, that got a response. "Surprise? What kind of surprise?" she mumbled as her eyes started to slit open.

"You'll see when we get back. Come on, your coffee is getting cold."

Ten miles later, sweaty and aching, Ranger beat Steph to the shower. He wanted to have her surprise ready when she came out. When he heard her shower running, he called down to have one of the guys bring the car to the first parking slot in the garage. He had kept it covered and hidden in the farthest back corner for the last week.

He was waiting at the front door when she came out, dressed and ready for the day. He slipped his arm around her as they headed for the elevator. "Do you think we should head back to Trenton soon?"

"Why? It is still winter there, and I'm perfectly happy here."

"We have to go home eventually. We can stop in Atlanta for a while until spring arrives in Trenton. You've never been to the Atlanta office, and maybe you could work some of your magic there, too. "

"Doesn't Atlanta have winter?"

"Yes, but not as cold as Trenton. You'll like it; and spring comes to Atlanta weeks before it even thinks about Trenton."

"Do you have a penthouse apartment in the Rangeman building in Atlanta?"

"Of course, all of the buildings are basically the same concept. You'll be just as comfortable there. Lorraine specializes in Southern cooking; I know you'll like that."

"Soooo. I'll be staying in the penthouse with you there, too?"

"That's one of the things I want to talk to you about."

"um, what?"

"You know the first day in Clearwater you said you weren't leaving my side until we were both back in Trenton. Can we change that deal a little?"

"You want to change that to Atlanta?"

"No. I want to simplify it. How does "never leave my side" sound to you?"

"….until… ?"

"No until. I like what we have right now and don't want to change a thing."

Taking a deep breath, Steph turned, flung her arms around his neck and surprised him. She was crying. Big tears were rolling down her face.

As he started to apologize for making her cry, he saw she was smiling, too. Guess those were tears of joy? "So, you'll stick with me?"

"Just one question."

"What's that?"

"Do you still have a contract to go out on covert operations? Will you get a call in the middle of the night and have 20 minutes to catch a helicopter to disappear for months on end?"

"No, Babe. I didn't renew my contract when it came up last year."

She buried her face in his chest, tears starting to subside. "That's good. I don't think I could stand knowing that you might still disappear into the night at a moment's notice and never come home. I know Rangeman still does risky work; we both do. But it is different when I know what it is that you will be doing. Of course, I'll stick with you, for as long as you can stand putting up with me."

"Babe, I'm sure that goes both ways."

"Ranger, patience and love will see us through." With that, she took his face in both hands and gave him a kiss that resonated to his toes.

Despite the urge to return to the apartment, they went to their respective offices to work.

Ranger gave Atlanta the heads-up that he and Steph would be there in a few days, and asked them to set up an office for her.

A couple of hours later, Steph felt her neck tingle, and looked up to see Ranger stepping into her doorway. Checking her watch, she said, "It's too early for lunch. What's up?"

Ranger smiled and said, "You didn't get that surprise I promised you. Close down what you are working on and come with me."

As they got on the elevator Steph was surprised when he punched the button for the garage, instead of the penthouse. After this morning, her idea of a good surprise would be being locked away in the apartment, sharing a whole afternoon of delights.

"Another surprise? Nothing can be better than ….. Oh my God."

She ran over to the silver BMW 750i and walked around it, fingering the custom chrome "Rangeman, LLC" logo he'd had affixed to each side.

"Ranger, I love your new car. Why not black?"

He handed her the keys. "Babe, this is your car. Tank and I agreed that our new Vice President of Client and Community Relations should have a company car fitting the position. We decided the silver was more appropriate for you than black. We'll be driving this home, and making a couple of stops along the way. We'll spend a few weeks in Atlanta so you can get familiar with their operations, and then take a scenic route to New Jersey to watch spring arrive."

Popping the trunk, she saw it was already packed with their suitcases. "I take it that you are ready to leave now?"

"Anything you can't finish working on from the road?"

"No. Nothing that can't wait a few days. So, let's go. Are you letting me drive first?"

"Your car, Babe. You need to check it out. Just hop on I-95 and head north."

"First stop?"

"Lunch first. Then Saint Augustine, the oldest continuously occupied community in the continental U.S. We have reservations at a B&B in the Old Town. We'll get to be tourists for a day or two."

Steph settled in behind the wheel, adjusted the black glove-leather seat and admired her brand new luxury car. Dozens of question about her new position were floating in her mind, but she'd get around to asking them later. And she was apparently in for some history lessons; as long as there would be no test, she'd enjoy them.

I turned the key in the ignition and tried to ignore the fact that my heart was beating double-time. The secret to being a successful bounty hunter is being able to seize the moment, I told myself. Flexibility. Adaptation. Creative thought. All necessary attributes. And it didn't hurt to have balls.

I suspected my job no longer included bounty hunting. The new job would require even more flexibility, adaptation, and creative thought. And I now had the permanent assistance of the best bad-ass in the business, with brass cojones, so whatever the future may hold, I'm ready for it.

-The End-