Author's Note:

Written in response to a writing prompt on the Janet Evanovich Fan Fiction group on Facebook. There were three dialogue prompts plus an image of a chess pieces on a chessboard. The image text read: "Every man needs a woman when his life is a mess, because just like in a game of chess, the queen protects the king."

The story is fully outlined and in the process of being written. It is expected to be no more than 10 chapters. I hope to post one chapter per week.

Chapter 1

– Ranger – Day 0, Afternoon into Evening -

The text came in at 4:07 p.m. on Tuesday. Carlos "Ranger" Manoso glanced at the cell phone lying face up on his desk. The contact showed Number Unknown but the body of the message named the sender. It was an informant that Ranger had used off and on over the years. Hmm. The last case this guy had contributed to closed out months ago. Ranger hadn't put out any new feelers recently, either. Still leaning back in his chair, he picked up the phone with one hand. Why was Sweats texting now?

His mother had named him Vernell Robertson but he'd been called Sweats all his life. Trenton born and raised, Sweats was plugged into various criminal enterprises from Newark into Philadelphia. Most of those were small-time or gang-related but he was on the fringes of a few major organized crime enterprises as well. Sweats was willing to trade info for fairly minor sums, especially when he was low on money. While he'd managed to avoid hard stuff like oxy and crack, he hadn't been able to avoid addiction. His drug of choice was alcohol - cheap, legal, and always in supply. Since Sweats spent his life alternating between vowing he'd get sober and spending days at a time blackout drunk, he was frequently low on funds.

"Stephanie okay?" asked Lester. He was sitting off to the side in his favorite spot on the small couch. Technically, it was a love seat but that seemed like a weird thing to call office furniture, especially in a security firm staffed primarily with ex-military personnel. Small couch; little sofa; big comfy chair - the guys called it everything except what it was.

"Yes." Ranger nodded as he typed on his phone with one thumb. "Or at least, she's not in trouble that I know of. Supposedly, this text is from the same informant that gave us the location of Thomas Parsley last year."

Lester scratched his wrist as he thought for a moment. "Gun runner we snagged in Philly for the ATF? Street name Player?"

At 6' 4" Lester was 5 inches taller than Ranger and almost one year younger. He had green eyes, café au lait skin, and brown hair with blonde highlights as opposed to Ranger's dark brown eyes, black hair, and darker café mocha complexion. Most people wouldn't guess they were first cousins.

"Why 'supposedly'?" asked Tank, Ranger's second in command. He slouched – as much as it was possible for a muscular 6' 5" tall man to slouch – in one of the office chairs in front of Ranger's desk. They were all fit and well-muscled but Tank was the largest man in the room however it was measured. Hell, he was the largest in the company.

"The number's not in my contact list so if it's him, it's a new number." Using his free hand, Ranger brought up his computer, then went back to the phone in his other hand.

"Have Hector check it out." Tank rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, interlocked his fingers, and rested his hands on his abs.

"Already forwarded it to him." Ranger was texting again. "This isn't the first time this guy's had to get a new number. He's had several in the 6 years he's been my informant. They call him Sweats for a reason. Never shake hands with him. His palms are so wet that he drops his phone a lot."

Luckily, Ranger wasn't in the habit of shaking hands or otherwise touching the informants and criminals he had to deal with so he hadn't come by that information the hard way. He did, however, watch a few other people get surprised. Once, he'd even seen Sweats clutch his phone too hard and send it flying. It reminded Ranger of someone losing control of a slippery bar of soap in the shower. He'd had to work to hide a grin not just because he didn't want to risk shutting down a valuable information pipeline. The condition was something the guy had been born with. It wasn't right to laugh at something Sweats couldn't control.

"Ew." Lester curled up his lip in revulsion. "What's he want? Did you reach out to him or is he reaching out to you?"

"He's reaching out to me. Wants to meet tonight, 11:30 at the materials yard across from the housing project over on Coolidge and Eisenhauer. Says he has something I'd like to hear but nothing more specific."

"Think it's related to Player?"

Ranger shrugged one shoulder. "Doubtful. Player's been in custody since we delivered him. He's killing time at the state prison here in Trenton awaiting trial on the federal charges. Still, anything's possible."

A light double-tap on the frame of the open door was Hector Águila announcing himself. Like the others, he was dressed in an all black outfit of polo shirt, cargo pants, and boots. A computer cable dangled from one hand and a small cardboard box was in the other.

Slim with a wiry build, he weighed much less than Ranger although they were the same height at 5' 11". With his cafe au lait coloring, brown hair, and hazel eyes, Hector looked more like Lester than Ranger did, although there was no relation between him and them.

The trio in the office looked at him expectantly.

"Prepaid burner phone, bought four and a half weeks ago at the same convenience store in Hamilton Township that Sweats bought his last three phones from." Hector shook his head. "Someone should tell him he can transfer his old number to the new phone. Be simpler for all."

"Can you say for certain that the phone belongs to him?"

"Sorry, boss." Hector spread his hands out and shook his head. "I had the date and time of purchase from the phone record so I tried to cross reference with an image of the purchaser from the store. Their camera system uses wi-fi to send data to a DVR so I was able to get in but they only keep 4 weeks worth of data. We just missed the playback window. Lo siento."

"So, it matches a known pattern but we can't confirm," summarized Ranger.

"Si." Having delivered his report to Ranger, Hector turned to Lester. "I've got the replacement fingerprint scanner for your PC. Do you have time now?"

"You betcha." Lester stood, gesturing for Hector to lead the way and they left.

Ranger turned to his computer and pulled up the file on Sweats. He logged the date, time, and content of the text exchange. Next, he updated the phone number and detailed the steps taken to verify the number's authenticity.

Tank waited for him to finish then asked "Need backup?"

"Not this time." Ranger saved the entry and exited that program, leaving the PC on. "We've met there before. I'll show up a little early. Scout the area before I head in."

After that the talk turned to scheduling and budgets, neither of which thrilled him at the best of times. That was part of the reason he dropped out of the business program at Princeton and followed Lester into the Army. Turns out the main activity in the Army, regardless of one's rank or station, involved forms and the filling out thereof. So. Many. Forms. In triplicate. It almost - but not quite - made the business programs documentation seem scant.

Paperwork was the tedious part of running a business that Ranger had to slog through in order to get to the good stuff such as getting criminals like Player off the streets. That was what he liked best, what made the paperwork worthwhile. But even that could be frustrating. Cleaning up a neighborhood was like trying to empty a lake with a thimble. Even worse, some days it seemed as if for every thimble full Rangeman emptied out, a bucketful poured back in.

At some point, Lester had returned, bearing a plateful of Ella's tastiest sandwiches and three bottles of water for a late dinner. The paperwork and discussion were set aside for food, drink, and relaxation. It was too bad that Bobby Brown, Rangeman medic and the fourth member of the Core Team, was still in Boston.

Ranger made a mental note to schedule a night in as soon as Bobby returned. It had been a while since the four of them had taken a night off together in the privacy of his penthouse apartment. They could be themselves without the restrictions of leadership and rank that were always present in front of their employees. Without maintaining the badass personas cultivated to intimidate any opponents. They'd play cards, or watch a ball game or a movie, or just shoot the breeze remembering old times and lost friends. A night like that was more refreshing than a vacation.

The evening progressed until finally Ranger was down in the garage, starting up the Porsche and heading out to meet Sweats. He timed it so that he would arrive early enough to circle the area around the meeting, making sure nothing looked out of place.

He was two miles out when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and one corner of his mouth tipped up into a "maybe" smile.

Stephanie Plum. Blue eyes, long curly brown hair, and a smile that lit up her face. She was 5' 7" of tenacity and optimism wrapped up in impatience, stubbornness, and an incredible tolerance for sugar and junk foods. Just thinking of her brought light into his life. Someday, once his military contract was over, he hoped they could be together. If she was still around then. If she was still single and still cared.

He wished he could give her a special ringtone, like she'd done on her phone for him. Maybe the Wonder Woman theme to pair with the Batman theme she'd assigned to his number. If he was an ordinary man, he could do it. But since that would make her stand out to any enemies of his, make it clear that he valued her, it would also make her a target. Well, he conceded, more of a target than she already was. Between his enemies, her enemies, and crazy random acts of weirdness, she was constantly under threat of one kind or another. And that didn't include the standard risks of doing her job as a bounty hunter.

Pulling over to the side of the road, Ranger tapped his phone screen. "Yo." He put all the warmth he could into that one short syllable.

"Back atcha, Batman,"

Stephanie's voice sounded a little tight, but didn't have a waver or a catch and she wasn't breathing hard. He wished he had a visual cue to add to that. Based on sound alone, on a scale of "out of hamster crunchies" to "trapped by a flame-thrower wielding lunatic", she was probably somewhere around "frustrated by skips", "fell off a porch", or "broken down car". And how messed up were their lives that those situations were common enough that he knew what she'd sound like for each?

When she didn't continue, he prompted her. "Babe?"

There was a huffing sound, as if she'd just blown a stray curl out of her face. "I'm sorry to bother you so late, but my car won't start."

"Where are you?"

She sighed. "At the corner of Clifford and Lowell over in Mercerville. Behind the bicycle shop on 33rd Street."

That was only fifteen minutes away but it was in the opposite direction. Still, there was no question. Responding to an unsolicited contact from an occasional low-level informant with no specific details, versus coming to the aid of the woman who meant more to him than anyone else? Steph would win every time.

"I'll be there in twelve minutes."

Ranger disconnected the call, switched over to the texting app, and pulled up the conversation with Sweats. The message canceling their meeting was short and to the point. He told Sweats to contact him in the next day or two to reschedule. Setting his phone in the console, he made a U-turn and went off to rescue his woman.

– continued –