40Fairly early on in the books, say around Book 10 or 11? I prefer to think they didn't dance around each other for 30 books. Also, I am not a doctor and this depiction of a head injury, which includes a concussion, is probably not medically accurate. I just went with info I got from Dr. Google.
-o0o-oo-o0o-
I heard my cell phone ring first – not just once, but when it stopped ringing and went to voice mail, it started ringing again. I opened an eye and looked at my bedside clock. 2:48am. Nothing good was going to come from an insistent phone call at 2:48 am. I peeked at the caller display and didn't recognize the number. Definitely nothing good. Thirty seconds later, my landline started ringing. It rang until the machine picked up, but no one left a message.
My cell phone started to ring again.
With a groan I sat up. Someone really wanted to talk to me and didn't want to leave me a message. It was freezing in my apartment, so I reached out and grabbed my cell phone and pulled it back under the covers with me. I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, sweat pants and socks and it was a warm cocoon in my bed, wrapped in a sheet, two blankets and heavy comforter. I didn't want my hand or my ear out in the cold air.
"What?"
"Stephanie Plum?" asked a somewhat familiar voice. Most of my brain cells were still asleep and I couldn't place it, but I knew whoever it was calling.
"Yes," I answered.
"It's Tank."
"Ranger's Tank?" It was a fairly stupid question, but I put it down to not being awake yet. I only knew one person named Tank and it wasn't exactly a common name. I'd met him a couple of times, the first time when Ranger had taken me out on a "redecorating" job with his crew, the second time when I'd fallen asleep on that job, while I was supposed to be guarding an apartment. Tank had gotten shot as part of that. We'd met a few times since then and he always seemed a little wary around me now. Which is pretty much how I felt about him, too.
"Yes. Have you seen Ranger this evening?" His voice was tight and tense. Not the usual deep, unflappable tone.
"No, I saw him yesterday when he stopped by the bonds office to let me know he was back in town." He'd been away most of a month – I had no idea where or what he'd been doing there, but judging by how much darker his skin was, it had been somewhere much sunnier than Trenton in the winter.
"If you see him, call me at this number immediately," Tank said. "Do not approach him yourself. Contact me."
"Wait," I said, sitting up in bed, "what's going on? What's wrong?" I was talking to myself, since Tank had already hung up.
And now I was awake, freezing and freaked out. Ranger was missing and Tank was very worried. I briefly considered calling Tank back and demanding answers. I probably wouldn't get them. But it sounded like Ranger was in some kind of trouble. Considering the number of times Ranger had helped me when I was in trouble, it was my turn to reciprocate.
I got out of bed, pulled on another pair of socks, a heavy shirt over my sleep shirt and put on my boots. I grabbed a knit cap and gloves, took my winter coat out of my closet and put my keys, my wallet and my phone in my coat pocket and headed out the door.
Tank was Ranger's backup and Tank knew all of the places Ranger would regularly go, all the places he would likely be. So what did I know that Tank didn't?
I walked down the stairs, running through lists of places that I would look, if I was trying to find Ranger, in my head. As I walked out the lobby door, I was not surprised to see a black SUV in my lot. My apartment was on the list of places Tank thought Ranger might be.
I walked up to the driver's side window of the SUV and it rolled down. Bobby, one of Ranger's men. I knew that Bobby tended to patch up the guys when they were hurt and he'd been a field medic in the Army.
"Ms Plum," he said.
"Call me Steph," I said. "What's going on?"
"I can't really say..."
"Tank already called me, I know it's about Ranger and that something is wrong. Tell me, please."
Bobby looked at me for a long moment, clearly trying to decide.
"Please tell me. Is he hurt? In trouble? I want to help."
"On his last mission, he got a fairly serious head wound and concussion. He should have taken another couple weeks of down time to heal, but Ranger … doesn't do well with forced downtime, he always pushes his recovery time." He paused while I sucked in a breath. "He went out in the field with Lester and Tank and me tonight and the take-down went sideways. Lester and Ranger were point and got the worst of it. Tank and I were working on Lester and when we looked up, Ranger was just gone."
"You mean like he was kidnapped?"
"No, we had the scene and hostiles under control. We think he took off on his own. I saw him take two hard hits to the head and shoulders, right where he was hurt on the mission. I think he's injured but mobile, possibly confused, and we NEED to find him. The problem is that his specialty is moving like smoke, just vanishing, getting in and out of a job without being seen. If Ranger doesn't want to be found, we won't find him."
"Where do you think he might have gone?"
Bobby shrugged. "Honestly? I thought he might be looking for you. Whenever he comes back from an op, he always goes to see you. If he's concussed and hurting, he might think he's just off an op and try to see you."
It was true; Ranger always came to say goodbye when he left and then came to see me when he got back to let me know he was okay. I'd seen him briefly yesterday when he'd gotten back from the last op, but he hadn't mentioned he'd been injured. "You think he's badly hurt?"
"I think he has a head wound and I think it might be serious. We need to find him, fast."
"What would the symptoms of a head wound be?"
"Given where he took the hits, probably aphasia – the inability to speak or understand words – lack of coordination, memory loss, nausea, confusion, irritability, headache, double vision … could be a lot of things. What I'd worry most about is a brain bleed or increased intracranial pressure – we need to find him and get it taken care of."
This was sounding worse and worse. "I know you guys are looking for him, but I need to look, too. I might be able to find him somewhere you aren't looking."
Bobby nodded. "I'd really prefer you weren't out looking alone, but right now we need all the eyes we can get. Just be really careful and watch your back when you are on the streets alone. If you find him, he may not know you and he might react violently if you try to stop him or contain him." Bobby waved a hand at the oddly shaped gun on the seat beside him. "Make sure you call us and we'll handle him." I realized that the strange gun was a tranquilizer gun. They were expecting problems if they found Ranger, and it would be the only way to take him down without hurting him any further.
I wanted to protest, I wanted to scream. But the look in Bobby's eyes stopped me. He did not want to do this any more than I did, but he was worried. And if Bobby was worried, I needed to be worried.
I made it to my black CRV, started the engine, set the heater, the seat heat and steering wheel heat to the highest possible settings and sat and thought while the interior of the car warmed. Tank knew all of the Rangeman sites in and around Trenton – the safe houses, the warehouses and storage sites they used for training. What I knew that maybe Tank didn't were the sites specific to Ranger and me. Where would Ranger go if he was looking for me, other than my apartment? I put the car into gear and started driving.
My first stop was the bonds office. I drove to the office and got out of the car. The street was nearly silent at this hour of the morning, only a single car passing by on the main street. The bonds office was closed, the lights all off. I parked the CRV and walked to the big dark window, trying to see inside, but it was too dark. I walked into the alley – the alley where Ranger had kissed me senseless so many times – but no sign of Ranger. I checked the back door, but it was locked up tight. In the low light, I couldn't see any tell-tale scratches on the lock that would mean someone had used a lockpick, but then Ranger was good enough with a lockpick that you'd never see any marks anyway.
I tried some more Burg landmarks that I'd been in with Ranger – Pino's and Tasty Pastry – but they were closed and a quick look around the buildings showed no sign of Ranger.
Since I was already in the Burg, I tried two more places, even though I didn't have a lot of hope for them. My parents' house was dark, the street was quiet, and a quick walk-through of the front porch, the back porch and the yard showed they were empty.
Then I tried Morelli's house. Ranger had dropped me off here often enough that he knew where it was, and if he was looking for me, he might have come here, thinking I was still with Joe. When Ranger had told me he'd be gone several weeks to several months on this last op, my first instinct had been to run back to Morelli, like I'd always done in the past, and the familiar and safe Burg life again. Sure, Morelli was a cop and had seen some pretty horrific things, but a life with him would follow familiar routines, lessons and roles I'd learned as a child.
I knew enough about Ranger's time in the wind to know that he did dangerous things and that there was always a possibility that he wouldn't come back. That was a hard reality. Ranger in Trenton on take downs could be scary enough, but I had no illusions that I'd ever actually seen the truly ruthless side of Ranger. But while I could be afraid of the scary things he could do - I had evidence of that from Abruzzi's "suicide" - I was never afraid of Ranger himself.
But this time I hadn't gone to Morelli, I hadn't even spoken to him in three weeks. Sure, at some point I'd have another exploding car or be covered in garbage catching a skip and I'd have to endure a lecture from Morelli, but lately we'd been just fine not seeing each other. For all the noise and heat and light in our relationship, we'd just sort of fizzled out.
Not too surprising, because I'd had to admit to myself that while I loved Joe, I was in love with another man.
Thinking about it made my stomach turn. I'd run from Ranger to Morelli enough times in the past that Ranger probably thought that it would always be that way.
But he wasn't there. The lights at Morelli's were off, the porch and yard were still and quiet.
So I'd just exhausted my list of Burg places that Ranger might likely be looking for me – except one. I put my car in gear and drove about a mile to the almost-empty parking lot of the 24-hour diner I'd first met Ranger in. There were only four cars in the lot at this hour. I parked near the street, under a light, and got out.
I looked through the window of the diner and let out a sigh of relief. There was Ranger, sitting at the back table we'd sat in the first time we'd met, but the more I looked at him, the more "off" he seemed. His shoulder-length hair, normally straight and sleek, had been pulled back into the short ponytail but most of it was escaping and hanging loosely. His long-sleeved t-shirt was ripped at the left shoulder and I could see a bruise forming, starting at his shoulder and going up his neck, where it vanished under his hair. He was completely missing his zen calm, the quiet, intense, unruffled way he looked out at the world, instead he looked keyed-up, tense and wary, clearly expecting trouble. His eyes were doing a constant scan of the diner and the window, aware of everything and everyone.
As I watched him, his eyes locked on me, aware of my stare. There was no recognition at all, just a glance assessing my threat potential. Okay, this was not good. I reached for my cell phone in my pocket and thought about calling Tank. The way his body tensed and his eyes tracked my hand as I moved it toward my pocket made me pull my hand away and spread my arms out, away from my body.
"I am no threat to you," I willed my thought toward him. His ESP didn't seem to be receiving tonight, though, and his expression didn't change. He watched me walk toward the door and there was a shift in his eyes as I opened the door.
I walked in and looked around – there weren't many other patrons and the few people there had the look of people just off-shift, getting a quick meal before heading home. I slowly walked to the back, toward Ranger. There was a cup of coffee on the table in front of him, but it looked like he hadn't touched it.
"Hi, Ranger," I said, standing a few feet from his table. "Have a cup of coffee with a tired and worried girl on a cold winter's night?" Again, no recognition. Not of his name, not of me.
As I spoke, a pulled off the knit cap I wore and my hair, a little more out of control than usual, tumbled down. I knew, from the many touches to brush a stray curl back and the way he'd run his hands through it the one night we'd spent together, that there was something about my hair that he liked. Mostly my hair scared men off, as though it had a life and a voice of its own, but Ranger had always liked it.
His eyes tracked up and over my hair, taking in all the curl and frizz glory. I thought maybe his expression lightened for a moment, the little squint lines of pain around his eyes and on his forehead smoothed out for just a second. But he still hadn't said anything and he was watching me warily. It made my chest feel very tight. I'd never seen Ranger in anything but control before – sure, I'd seen him shot or wounded, but he'd still been in complete control then. And it literally hurt me to see him injured and struggling. I wanted to fix it, fix him.
I pulled off my winter coat and my heavy over shirt and spun around in place for him once. "No weapons here. It's just me, Stephanie. I'm no threat to you."
He considered me a moment and then slightly nodded his head to the chair across from him, accepting my presence and my company.
I took off my gloves and stuffed my hat and gloves in the pocket of my jacket, moving my cell phone to my sweatpants pocket and trying to shield the movement from Ranger behind my body. I don't know if I managed it or if he saw it, but he didn't object. I hung my coat and heavy shirt on the back of the chair and sat down across from him.
The waitress came over with the coffee pot and I turned my cup over for her to fill. Ranger watched her every move with suspicion. I asked her what the pies were for the day and she recommended the apple pie with the day chef's own caramel ice cream – always take the waitress's advice.
She walked off and clattered around the prep area, Ranger watching her movements and tracking the noises she made.
He tensed as the waitress walked back toward us with my pie and ice cream – what did he see in her as a threat? She brought a fork and a spoon and the pie was on a heavy ceramic plate. I suppose any one of those things could become a weapon in the right hands, or at least in Ranger's hands.
When the waitress left, Ranger resumed his scrutiny of the room and the area outside the diner window. Whatever else his injury had done to him, whatever memories of people he was missing, he still had the survival instincts, the awareness of his surroundings that had been honed in hard places and hard situations. He had accepted me, though, and the wary watching he was doing of everyone else in the diner no longer included me. I was inside his bubble, inside his safe zone.
As he watched me eat my excellent piece of pie and ice cream, I thought I saw something in him ease, I thought I saw the wary watchfulness tone down, like he was no longer expecting imminent attack. Maybe this was familiar enough – sitting across from me, watching me eat with enthusiasm - that it was somehow getting through.
"Tank is looking for you, you know." I said, between bites. "He's pretty worried. So is Bobby." He did not react to the names.
Ranger never said much, but the complete silence now was getting on my nerves. I wanted an amused "Babe," or a half-hearted "that stuff will kill you," or just something.
"It's really good pie," I said. "And the ice cream is great. Would you like a bite?"
I thought he understood my question, but he didn't say anything – Bobby said that aphasia could mean the inability to speak or understand, but he understood the words, he was just not speaking. He was seated, so I couldn't tell what his coordination was like, but he moved his head and eyes tracked noises in the diner and out in the parking lot. The lines on his face, at his eyes, at the corners of his mouth, on his forehead, told me he was in pain, but he was moving, at least, and aware of his surroundings on some level. I peered across the table at his warm brown eyes, and saw his pupils were different sizes, the one on the left blown almost large enough to cover the warm chocolate brown of his iris. A concussion, definitely.
The pie had come with two huge scoops of caramel ice cream and caramel sauce on the top. I finished the pie first and then ate the ice cream, which was a mistake. The ice cream gave me brain freeze. "Brrrr," I said and shivered. It was near-freezing outside and it wasn't exactly warm in the diner and I'd taken my coat off.
Ranger lifted an eyebrow at me and then shifted his position on the bench seat, turning slightly, as though inviting me to sit next to him and share warmth. I wanted to jump up in the air and pump my fist. He might not consciously recognize me, but at some deeper level, he knew me and knew we had a connection. Maybe we could do this without Bobby having to take him down with a tranquilizer.
I smiled at him. "You'll warm me up?"
He didn't react to my comment, just held his position. I rose from my chair and moved toward him slowly, sliding on to the bench seat next to him until we touched. He lifted his right arm and I slid up against him the rest of the way as his arm came down gently on my shoulder. He was warm – far too warm for the cool room. Fever. Now that I was sitting next to him, I could see the blood matted at the back of his head and drying on his neck and shoulder.
We needed help and we needed it fast. I worked my phone out of my pocket and texted Tank one-handed. HERE was all I typed. I was sure he'd trace my phone and figure out the location. Help was on the way, hopefully soon.
With a sigh, I dropped my head on Ranger's shoulder and he leaned to drop his chin on the crown of my head. His thumb gently stroked twice across the top of my shoulder. Gestures of comfort and affection, not something he would do for a stranger. He knew me, on some level. The relief I felt made me want to cry. Without thinking about it, I said "I love you, Ranger." The fingers on my should tightened momentarily and then went back to stroking my shoulder.
It took about 15 minutes for the first of the three big black SUVs to pull into the diner lot. Ranger went still beside me, his eyes fixed on the trucks and the men in black piling out. Most of the men stayed where they were, by the trucks. Tank walked toward the door, alone.
When Tank walked in and saw me sitting next to Ranger, his arm loosely around my shoulder, I saw pure relief on his face. Ranger, however, did not react well to Tank. He knew a potential threat when he saw it. His body tensed and he twisted a little more, pulling me a little behind him.
Tank stopped walking toward us, his hands out to the side, palms spread, in a no-threat gesture. "Rangeman," he said. I could hear the relief. "I see you found your woman."
Ranger glanced down at me and the arm around my shoulder tightened, pulling me a little harder against his side, still turned to shield me from Tank.
"The medic is outside in the vehicle," Tank said gently. "Evac time, man."
Ranger's eyes were locked on him, his body rigid.
"You're hurt," I said, reaching up to touch the drying blood at the base of his skull. I showed him my bloody fingers and then reached up to gently move my fingers across the back of his head until I found a huge swollen section in his blood-matted hair. He winced when I touched it. "You need to let us help you."
He looked from Tank to me and back again.
"Time for evac," Tank repeated. "Let the medic take a look."
Ranger considered him. With a sigh, he stood, swaying slightly. He made it two steps before his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed. Tank caught him before he hit the floor and gently lifted him in his massive arms.
"I got you, man," he said softly.
I grabbed my coat and shirt and ran after Tank as he carried Ranger out to the truck.
At the truck, Bobby pulled out a flashlight, took one look at the back of Ranger's head and barked out three words at Tank: "Shit. Hospital. Now."
Bobby and I sat in the back seat of the crew cab truck on either side of Ranger on the way to the hospital, holding him between us to keep him still and move his head as little as possible. I held tight, closed my eyes and willed him to hang on.
-o0o-oo-o0o-
It had taken ten days for Ranger to say that one word to me, a soft "Babe." He'd spent seven of those days in an induced coma while they brought the brain swelling down. They'd had to shave part of his head and I might have mourned the loss of a little hair, but I still had Ranger, so, in the big picture, it was still good. His words were a little slurred at first, but Bobby though it was temporary.
Bobby had told me something that night that was very true, though – Ranger did not like down time and as soon as he was awake and aware, he wanted out of the bed, out of the hospital and he wanted to go back to work. Tank wouldn't even bring him a laptop or paperwork to do because he knew that anything he brought Ranger to do, he'd overdo.
Tank's solution to keeping Ranger in a hospital bed was to use me as a distraction. I wasn't wearing the kind of outfits I wore to distract and lure someone out of a bar, but I was certainly dressing up to get and keep Ranger's attention.
This went on for several weeks until he could finally be discharged. I spent most of my afternoons and early evenings at the hospital with Ranger and at first we just talked – well, I did most of the talking – but it didn't take Ranger long to start getting handsy. I might have actually encouraged it. The physical therapist said anything that worked on dexterity and coordination on his left side was good and it seemed to me that the limited making out we could do in a hospital bed definitely counted. Ranger got very good at undoing buttons and opening bra clasps with his left hand. The therapist, unaware of exactly how he'd been getting the work in, was very pleased with his progress. So was I.
Unsurprisingly, because he was in such excellent physical shape, his recovery was far faster than they'd predicted. He still had some weakness in his left side and he'd need more therapy. The doctors said he was lucky to be alive but Bobby thought that in two months or so he'd be cleared for field work again.
They'd cut the rest of his hair down to stubble that matched the growing-out shaved area. I liked to run my hand over the short stubble, which felt like velvet under my fingers. I avoided the scars on the back of his head, which still made me queasy when I saw them. Ranger with hair that short looked a couple years younger and it emphasized those warm, chocolate brown eyes.
Finally, one day when I came in to his hospital room, he was sitting up and looking both alert and much healthier.
"I hear you're getting released tomorrow," I said, stopping just out of what I knew to be his reach.
"Yes. Finally," he said. His voice was deep, rich and clear again, without the slightest hint of a slur or quaver.
"Where are you going to go?"
"We have a safe house we use in Grand Cayman with a physical therapist and trainer we trust on call."
He patted the bed next to him and I sat down, hitching my short skirt up and exposing a lot of leg. He put his hand on my knee and caressed from my knee to ankle, his motions sure and slow.
"Fun in the sun? How long will you be gone?" I knew that the work he would do with the physical therapist and trainer to get back to his top form would not be fun, but I was trying to keep it light.
"At least a month, maybe more."
"I'll miss you," I said simply. I'd gotten used to spending time with Ranger every day. But I needed to get back to work and so did he, eventually.
He tightened his hand on my knee. "Come with me," he said, looking at me intently.
I blinked. "Come with you to..."
"Come with me to Grand Cayman. Come with me back to Haywood after."
I blinked again. "Live with you?"
"When you walked into that diner, I didn't know where I was, or what had happened. I didn't know my own name. I didn't know what drew me in. Everything hurt, my head was pounding, I was seeing double, the room kept spinning and I knew I was in trouble. But then you walked in and sat down across from me and I thought: There she is. That's her. I didn't know your name, but I knew you." He reached out and threaded his fingers through mine. "I knew you when I didn't even know myself."
He paused for a moment, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he pulled me a little closer and looked directly into my eyes. "Life with me will be a rough and dangerous road. But I am asking you, Steph – walk down that road with me. I will do everything I can to keep you safe. I will try to give you everything that you want or need."
I smiled, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I just want you."
"You have all of me. That includes the bad parts, Babe. I can't sugar-coat it. I am not a nice man and I don't always do nice things. But for you, I'll do what I can."
"I don't want you to change, Ranger. I want you, the way you are. Besides, you have to put up with me, just the way I am."
He pulled me out of the chair and into his arms. "That's good, Babe. Very good."
~finis