The characters below all belong to the great JE. I'm just stealing them away to make them behave the way we all wish they would.

Jenny (JenRar) I can't thank you enough for signing on for another story as the beta. I can relax knowing you have my literary back.

Chapter 1 – The Batcave is Forever

"Report," I barked, trying to get this section of I-95 behind me to get closer to home.

"You know, usually when people that I haven't seen in a couple of months call me, they begin by asking how I am," Tank tried joking. Obviously, he hadn't picked up on how exhausted I was after my last mission and how much I just wanted to collapse at my house off-line for a few more days.

I decided to just remain silent, knowing Tank would give in and give me the briefing I was calling for.

"You know, the older you get, the less fun you are," Tank complained.

When had my men begun complaining? I hadn't thought about it before, but over the last year, I recalled more questions from them and less immediate responses. We might be more profitable, and the men might be experiencing fewer injuries, but after I returned, I needed to do something about the casual attitudes before they began to have a negative impact.

"Shit, man, how bad did the mission get FUBAR'd?" Tank finally cut out the jokes and picked up on my mood.

"I'm alive, but I've got a limp," I admitted, not willing to concede just how close that limp had come to me not coming home.

"Accounts are all fine, Vinnie's keeping us busy, and the other offices are maintaining status quo," Tank said, slipping back into the efficient briefing I'd called for.

I wasn't going to ask, but I blamed the exhaustion for my inability to keep my damn mouth shut. "Stephanie?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone that lasted beyond what I could stomach. Suddenly, my adrenaline was pumping, and I was traveling thirty miles an hour faster, hoping no state troopers were nearby. To hell with them, even if they were. They'd have to catch me first, and I doubted that would be possible right now.

Finally, Tank figured out what he wanted to say and broke the tension by explaining, "She's going to be fine. The last couple of weeks haven't been her finest, but we'll take care of her."

There was nothing about that sentence that brought me any comfort. "Explain."

"The cop eloped two weeks ago. I guess he finally believed her when she said they were over, and he ran off and got married. Since then, everybody from the 'Burg is taking every opportunity to rub it in her face that her last chance at happiness was moving on without her," Tank began.

I hated that they were giving her such a hard time, but I couldn't deny being glad that Joe was married. It meant at least for a while, she was free of him and I didn't have to worry about when she'd give in and let him back in her life – and her bed.

"She's had a little trouble with some skips, too," Tank continued, bringing me back to the present. "Nothing major, but enough to make me wonder where her head's been. Then this afternoon, she was in a skip's apartment when he got home. They fought, and he pulled a gun on her. She was able to grab his hand and keep him from pointing the weapon directly at her, but in the scuffle, the gun went off inches from her ear. She's with an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist now. The ringing is likely to continue for a while, but he feels as long as there isn't another major auditory trauma as the drum heels, her hearing should return to normal – or at least close enough to normal, she won't be able to tell much difference.

My hands were gripping the steering wheel tight enough to make my knuckles ache. I had been around men who had suffered permanent hearing loss as a result of close proximity to a fire arm. Of course, if the choices were her taking that bullet herself, versus a little ringing in her ear, I was glad to know there was a doctor working to minimize the discomfort while her inner ear recovered.

"How did she get away?" I wondered, figuring there'd most likely been more than one bullet in the gun she'd been wrestling for control over.

Tank laughed a little, and I knew the answer before he said it. "That damn knee of hers should be a registered as a lethal weapon. While the guy was on the floor losing his lunch, she had time to get her stun gun, knock him out, and then call us for help in getting him to the station."

"She going back to Haywood?" I suggested.

"Doubt it," he replied flippantly. "I asked her to, Bobby's still in there applying a little pressure, but she just wants to go back to her place and crash. I'll assign a man to the parking lot to keep an eye on things through the night."

I was trying to decide if I wanted to stick with my original plan of going to my house outside of town to relax for a day or two, or if I needed to go straight to her apartment in Trenton.

"I'd leave her alone tonight," Tank suggested out of the blue.

"Why is that?" I asked, not entirely sure I appreciated his presumption to advise me.

"You're probably still riding the mission, and she's going to need time to get this near miss out of her system. Plus, if she can't hear you come in and she wakes up to a man in her apartment, it's liable to scare the shit out of her," he explained, showing more wisdom than I gave him credit for.

I thought it through quickly and finally told him, "I'll be at my house for the next forty-eight. You know how to reach me."

"You want me to tell her you're back?" he followed up.

"No, I'll call her in a day or two, after she's had a chance to get over this," I replied, figuring she'd appreciate the chance to hide a little and not have to face me with the discomfort she was undoubtedly experiencing.

As an afterthought, I added, "Be sure Bobby checks in with her a couple of times each day."

Tank let out a long breath. "Man, you know we don't need that kind of instruction. Who the hell do you think looks out for her when you aren't around?"

I decided not to respond to that. "You know how to reach me," I reminded him before I hung up.

It was nearing 2300 hours when I finally arrived at my house and set the security system behind me. I smiled as I made my way to the bedroom at the thought that this was probably what Stephanie would refer to as the Batcave.

She didn't know this place existed; few people did. Even though Stephanie had never been here, she'd definitely made an impression upon it. For the first five years I'd owned this place, nothing changed. All the walls were the same shade of eggshell; the furniture was mostly leather and wood in darker shades. I'd invested in the best of everything when I first moved in, and since I was here so little, it all still looked new. About three years ago, I decided to put some pictures of Julie up, after looking at the photos Stephanie had of her nieces in her bedroom.

After that, I realized the chairs were more comfortable to sit back and think in if there were small pillows in them to go behind your neck. I'd never have seen that as a necessity if Stephanie didn't keep one in the chair in her bedroom, where I'd often sit to think at night.

My bedroom had been decorated in black to contrast against the off white walls and carpeting, but last year, I'd had enough black, and I'd replaced the comforter with one in royal blue, trimmed in black. I'd seen it in a store while I was shopping for something to give Abuela for her birthday and the color had struck a chord with me, so I'd picked it up as an impulse.

The last mission that sent me home with a wrist that needed some extra time to heel had left me locked up here for four days. I thought I'd lose my mind being cooped up, but I had gotten all my Christmas shopping finished during that time, including buying a personalized ice cream bowl with Stephanie's name on it. I'd never given it to her, but I had put it in the kitchen. It's enormous, and exactly the kind of thing she'd take as a personal challenge to fill, and then finish in one sitting.

Hell, even my home gym had equipment for her – not that she'd ever use it. I'd gotten some lower weight dumbbells and a smaller frame elliptical machine that I thought she might one day let me teach her how to use. I had nearly worked up the right setting to mention it to her, when she'd announced one day how Joe kept buying her gifts that were just things he wanted her to do or learn, and since they were presents, she felt guilted into using them. Apparently, after she melted the sauce pan on the stove, he'd gotten the message that no amount of books or gear was going to turn her into a family cook. After that episode, I'd decided to keep my gym equipment purchases to myself and just hang onto them, in case a day ever came that she might be more receptive. I guess that would go on the list of things I'd like…someday.

I stripped down, set my Berretta on the nightstand, my Glock under the pillow beside me, and my six-inch sheath knife under the mattress with the handle sticking out. Having prepped for bed, I practically collapsed, going to sleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed at 0700. I was shocked I'd slept so long and couldn't help but grimace at how stiff I was from the extended period of inactivity. I knew I needed to work out, but I felt the need to shower first in order to let the steam loosen my muscles some before stressing them more.

I pulled the bandage back on my leg and poked around at the stitches. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but I thought the infection was finally leaving. I'd been in Iraq, engaged in some hand to hand, when the scream of a woman made me pause just long enough to let the target I'd been fighting get a knife in my groin. He'd come within an inch of my femoral artery, so I was pretty damn lucky to be alive. Of course, the jackass hadn't taken the time to clean his knife before attempting to gut me, so the infection that set in was quick and severe. The fact that it had been a rusty blade and he'd managed to yank down as he thrust in meant the wound itself was a good six inches long and went straight across the muscle, making the healing process twice as painful.

I popped another antibiotic and spent the next ten minutes just standing frozen under the hot spray of my dual showerheads. When I finally forced myself to open my eyes and use the shower gel to clean up, I couldn't help but smile at how even my bathroom had changed because of Stephanie. I'd gotten a few extra bottles of shower gel, knowing that anytime she was around, it tended to disappear at an alarming rate. Plus, I'd replaced the fixed heads in the shower with massaging heads with variable speeds. I didn't know if she'd ever bathe here, but if she did, I wanted to be sure she had everything she needed to be happy. Not that I had any intention of letting a showerhead do a man's job, but still, I hoped she would recognize the effort to make her comfortable.

Shutting off the water, I elected to forego the bandage now that I was home and let the stitches have some air. It would be another few days before they could come out, but I was tired of the tape pulling every time I took a step.

I managed to get through all my upper body work and half of my lower body, but had to admit defeat sooner than I'd liked. I was still doing more than the doctor at the hospital in Germany said was possible at this stage, so I had that to console my ego with when I stopped early.

I picked up my cell phone and checked to see if I'd missed any calls, but I was disappointed that I hadn't. I walked around the downstairs of the house, moving from room to room, not really finding much that piqued my interest as something to do to pass the time. I hated having to hide here while I healed so that no one on the streets saw me when I was weak.

After an hour of channel surfing without really watching anything, I picked up my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart.

I hung up when I heard the voicemail, and then swore, because I couldn't call again without it seeming like I was stalking her. Lord knew that woman had more than her fair share of stalkers, and I didn't want to add to that. I wondered if she were sleeping in or if she was still struggling with her hearing from the injury to her ear from the day before.

If she was still dealing with her ears, I figured we'd make a nice pair. She was in good physical shape, but couldn't hear; my hearing was excellent, but my body didn't want to keep up. Between the two of us, we'd make a whole.

I pulled the pillow out of the chair beside me and rested my head on it, while stretching out on the couch and shutting my eyes. A good mission usually required a day or two to come down from the constant readiness required, but when they got screwed up like this one, it could take two or three times as long.

But this was the first time I'd felt this lost. I'd had missions go worse than this one, but I'd never struggled this much to find what Stephanie called my zone. Of course, I usually found a way to check on her before locking myself away to come down off the mission high. Maybe I just needed to check on her – just look at her for a few minutes so I'd know she was all right – and then I would feel better.

I picked up my phone and hit the first speed dial button. "Yo," came the deep voice of my oldest friend.

"I need a location on Stephanie," I blurted out without bothering to return his greeting.

"Yeah, I'm doing well. Thanks for asking, boss," he replied sarcastically.

My chest started to ache, and I wondered what in the hell that was all about. Had the infection somehow managed to damage my heart? I stood up when I heard him begin to bang on his keyboard. Tank was a big guy with huge hands, and he wasn't known for his tender touch. I had to replace his keyboard at least twice a year because of his harsh handling.

Finally, he asked, "Why do you want to know?"

He'd never questioned me before, and I wasn't sure I appreciated it this time. "Just give me her location," I replied.

"You okay? You sound funny," Tank said, his tone shifting to one of concern.

"Yeah, but something's been under my skin all morning, and I wanted to check on her to see for myself that she was okay," I explained, unsure why I felt compelled to.

"You serious?" he asked, sounding shocked with my explanation.

"Do I sound like I'm joking?" I growled.

"No, I mean, are you serious about her?"

I suddenly felt like I was talking to the father of a young girl I wanted to ask out.

I rubbed the center of my chest again and told him, "Look, man, just give me her location and leave the girl talk for later."

"Fuck you," Tank replied in all seriousness. "Man, a year ago, you made me promise to look out for her as though she were my responsibility, and I took that as a standing order. I've spent time with her, and I've gotten to know her, and I'm telling you as your friend to leave her the hell alone unless you are for real. She's got a serious case of scrambled brain because of you, and with the right kind of attention, I think it would clear up easily, but if you lead her on and try to send her away again, then not only will it probably permanently damage that girl, but it will piss me off. You can use either one of those as a motivator to either step up or step off."

Since when did my second-in-command lecture me about how I was supposed to treat my woman? "I'm not going to lead her on, if that's what you're worried about."

There was silence until I spoke up again. "So, do you have a location?"

"Yeah, I've got one. She's on the move, though," Tank replied, intentionally holding back on me.

"Where's she headed?" I pushed, tired of feeling like I was being vetted.

"What are your intentions?" Tank challenged once more.

What! "Tank, I'm not entirely sure my trigger finger has relaxed since I got back. I'm in no condition to deal with this kind of bullshit."

"Then you are in no condition to deal with Stephanie, either," he replied flatly, and then hung up.

That son of a bitch hung up on me! Hell, now I understood why it pissed Stephanie off so much when I did it. Where did he get off telling me I was in no condition to deal with Stephanie? And what kind of question was that – to ask what my intentions are?

I paced a little more until the soreness in my leg began to shift to pain and forced me to sit down. I couldn't stand it anymore and picked up my phone to stare at it for a minute, as though I expected it to tell me the right move here.

I flipped it open and brought up a text screen. Back in town with a few bumps and bruises. Was that the message I wanted to send? I sat there with my thumb over the send button, until I got tired of thinking about it all and pressed it.

My stomach growled, alerting me to the fact I'd missed lunch. I was still sitting on the sofa, staring at my phone as though I were some pubescent boy waiting on a girl to return my call. While I was grilling a chicken breast on the stove top grill, I heard my phone alert me to a new message.

I know the feeling. Glad you're back.

I read the short sentences several times, before deciding I hated texting. It didn't give me any of the connection that talking to her did. I couldn't hear the emotion in her voice, or read her eyes to see if what she was saying was sincere.

I turned back to the stove when I smelled the chicken moving from done to blackened, and removed it from the heat before slicing it to throw on top of my salad. I attacked the meal with my fork, as though it were the fault of the lettuce that I was so unsettled.

I'd had missions get screwed up before. This was a bad injury, but not the worst thing I've ever survived – not by a long shot. Why was I struggling? I set my meal down and realized I'd made my salad in the oversized ice cream bowl I'd ordered for Stephanie.

I stood there, staring at her name in blue letters. In the years since I first met her, she'd gone from a favor I needed to do for Connie, to entertainment that gave me something to smile about. She proved herself as a loyal friend, which was saying something in my life. But over the last twelve months, it had changed again. She'd gotten under my skin in ways that I swore no one could. Even knowing the danger it could be for her to be associated with me, I still allowed the streets to think of her as mine, knowing that might be as close as I could ever get to that claim.

I used to go over growth plans for RangeMan when I was holed up on a mission, waiting for a target, but now I thought about Stephanie. I'd remember the way she looked when I told her I was going in the wind. I'd dwell on the sounds she made when we last ate together, and if the night got really long, I let myself go back to the one night I'd had her in my arms. If that ever got to be too much, all I had to do was think about the look of agony on her face when I sent her back to Morelli, suggesting she patch things up with the cop the next morning.

Just before I'd said the words, I'd thought they were the best thing for us both. But as soon as they'd slipped through my lips, I'd known I'd made a monumental mistake. I knew that even if the time came when my life was my own once more, because of that pain, Stephanie would have a hard time ever trusting that I wasn't going to send her away once more.

At one point, I'd hoped that she might come to me on her own. There would be the occasional lingering kiss behind the bonds office, that I didn't think was entirely of my leading, or she would stop by the office just to say hello. But other than a few nights sharing a bed platonically, we've never gotten back to the way we were prior to our single night together.

I guess I figured since I had my chance and blew it, I'd lost the right to pursue Stephanie as my own. And then there was the cop, which had complicated things beyond measure. Steph had a healthy dose of Catholic guilt, so as long as she and Morelli were trying to figure out the expectations of their families and what they could accept, she would only allow herself to get so close to me.

Of course, the cop was out of the picture now. I'd appreciated him as the leading man in her life for a few years because I knew they were all wrong for each other and figured they'd never marry. I'd even entertained the fantasy at one point that by the time they finally admitted what I already knew to be true, I might be in a place to finally step up. Of course, I still had some time on my contract with Uncle Sam, which made things a little more difficult.

That damned contract – I had a love / hate relationship with it. That's how I'd bankrolled the start up of my business, but at the same time, it was like selling my soul to the devil. I've made plenty of money, risking my life to save others, so in the eyes of the government, it was a win-win situation.

I was down to the last six months, three of which I'd be on the Army version of the injured reserve because of my leg. The last three, I should only be called for training, if at all. Then it would be up to me to either re-sign, or finally claim my life back. There was a day I thought I'd rather die than give up my association with the Army, but I was beginning to rethink that position.

With Joe out of the picture, if I didn't belong to the government anymore, there would be nothing to stop me from trying to make Stephanie my own beyond just the appearance on the street. I guess there was an argument to be made that based on the way this injury was going to take me off active missions until my contract ended, I could begin now to make her mine.

Of course, Stephanie wasn't like most other women. If our one night taught me anything, it was that with her, letting her in would mean letting her all the way in. There could be no half measures, of having her in my bed, but keeping her out of the way during the day. It would be accepting that she was a headstrong woman who would be determined to know what I was doing, as well as allowing the stress that she regularly put herself into dangerous situations become a daily part of my life, as well.

Hell, who was I kidding – I worried about her every day as it was. I already cared for her, I tried to provide for her as much as her independent nature would allow. I struggled to keep her out, even though I knew I should. In essence, the only thing that would change would be getting to see more of her, and…sex.

God, having sex with Stephanie was the kind of experience most guys dream of, but doubt really exists. She was so responsive. Her body would move, and the sounds she made nearly got me off before I even got my pants down. We'd only had the one night together, so I hadn't had enough time to explore anything too over the top with her, but even what we'd shared was so damn mind blowing that it had fed my fantasies for over a year.

I didn't need to think this through anymore. I picked up my phone and hit the first speed dial. As soon as I heard the deep voice, I jumped in. "What the fuck is the matter with me?"

"Oh man, I thought you'd never ask," Tank replied with a laugh.

"Why did I keep pushing her away?" I asked him, hoping he'd have a decent explanation, because I was drawing a complete blank.

"Damned if I know, but if you're serious about her, then I'll help you however I can," he promised, giving me a sense of relief. After all these years, I always felt like the odds were stacked in my favor when Tank was watching my back.

"Any chance you can bring her here?" I wondered, feeling like a fool for waiting so long.

"You up for company?" he asked, losing the laugh.

"Only hers," I replied.

"Give me an hour, and I'll deliver," he promised. "I have a feeling that might be the very thing she needs right now."

"I'll send her a text to expect to see you," I told him, thinking if this worked out, I might actually revisit my opinion of texting.

We hung up, and as soon as I could get the other application up, I wrote, Care to join me at the Batcave?

I felt my heart rate increase while I waited for her response.

Didn't you tell me it was forever? she responded, surprising me that she remembered that off-handed comment I'd made over a year ago.

I gave her a one word Yes as a response, and then set my phone down. I guess I could learn to love texting after all.