Take a Chance

.

All standard fanfiction disclaimers apply for entire story.

.

a/n This is the story of Mercenary Ranger and Stephanie, at the beginning, when they finally realize they have fallen in love. It takes place a year and a half before The Math Teacher. The Price is Right and Jane's Dilemma happen a few years after that. The Concert takes place earlier during the summer of the flashback.

Take A Chance

.

.

Prolog: Offensive Maneuvers

.

[Ranger]

.

"It's just a job."

"It is so NOT just a job. It is almost certain death."

"It's my job, Anthony."

"Shit, Ranger, all our lives you been running towards the apocalypse, sounding like some comic book hero, trying to bullshit your way into an early grave while babbling about It's my fuckin' job."

I looked up from checking my weapons duffle, turned and stared at my half-brother Anthony Stewart. Long monolog even for him. I said, "I am fairly certain that I do not babble."

He narrowed his eyes at me and raised a brow. The look was really annoying— no wonder it pissed Stephanie off, I thought. And stifled a smile. Antonio looked exactly like me only—um—cuter. You know, the blond dreadlocks, the surfer gear….

Feigning unconcern, I said, "Rangeman takes the suicide jobs, bro. That's what we get paid for."

Anthony said, "Yeah but the jobs aren't really suicide jobs. Usually. Sure they're dangerous but mostly the military hires you because no matter how much you charge, it's cheaper for them, both financially and personnel-wise, read "public opinion"—to hire an outside mercenary. If you fail, it's not their fault." He considered that and, sliding effortlessly from analytical to stoner mode, added, "Sort of…." He shrugged. "Like, the buck stops with you."

"Exactly. It is my job, it's why I get the big bucks."

"Difference is—this time you won't be coming home to spend your big bucks. No new Porsche for Carlos Manoso or whoever the hell you're pretending to be this week. Just a flag and a grave. If you're lucky."

I said, "Prob'ly not a flag."

Anthony said, "I am not amused."

"You know what they say." I shoved a couple clean t-shirts in beside my rifle, zipped the duffle closed.

Anthony said, "What?"

"The best defense is a good offense."

Anthony tilted his head at me and frowned. "You got that wrong, man."

"Or," I went on, "in this instance, the best offense is a good defense."

Anthony shook his head sadly. "Yeah, okay, have it your way. Can you say "bullshit", bro? Yeah I knew you could."

I secured my weapons case and hefted it into the waiting helicopter.

I said, "See you on the other side." I love you.

"Yeah….." I love you too.

Our eyes locked for long moments. Finally I said, "Take care of Steph if she needs...anything."

"Nope. Can't. Sorry."

I didn't need this. I fought the sudden shock of his refusal.

I said, "Why…?"

Anthony sighed and shoved past me, hefted his own weapons bags. "Ranger. I'm going with. I'll take care of you. For them. For me. For all of us. Just give me a few days, okay?" He had been wounded only a few days ago...

I said, "But it's a suicide job." I certainly didn't want him to die!

"Yeah, yeah. Now you know how I feel, whadda they call it? —empathize. You can fucking empathize. "

With Antonio at my back there was a chance. Tiny, but—there. A ray of hope, a maybe. I said, "I'll be in touch. Stand by..."

I turned back and kissed Steph. One last time.

... ... ...

Chapter One: If a Kiss is Just a Kiss, a Smile is Just a Smile...

a few days earlier...

.

[Stephanie]

.

Another Saturday morning in Trenton. It was early November and the air was as clear and bright as it ever gets. Okay, not very, but it was nice—autumn in the air and all that. I stopped by my parents' house on my way to the bonds office. Valerie's kids were screaming, mom was ironing, and grandma and dad were watching CNN. I poured myself some coffee and sat at the kitchen table with Val. Val was doing some awful glittery project for the girls to take to their Brownies meeting. Don't ask me why Val was doing all the work, no idea. Do not want to know.

I could hear dad grumbling at the newscaster who was droning on about a hostage crisis in the Middle East. An American diplomat and his family, including young children, had been kidnapped and were being threatened by Islamist insurgents. This story had been unfolding it seemed like forever. It was sad and scary.

Dad launched into his usual rant, "So send in the troops, send in the Army. What're those guys doing over there anyway?"

Mom chimed in, "How awful! That poor woman, having those crazy people threatening her children!" Valerie looked at me pointedly. I guess mom knows firsthand about being a scared parent, but the hostage situation seemed worse than anything I had ever been involved in. I drained my mug and stood up. said, "Enough with the bad news. I gotta go. People to see. Lowlifes to capture. Bye!"

Only Grandma waved me out the door.

I was glad to escape. Coffee and pastry just couldn't make up for all that commotion. As I drove away I checked my cell messages. One message from Ranger.

Call me.

Forget the hands off crap and Bluetooth, like my POS has an integrated phone? I hit number one on my cell speed dial and was surprised when Ranger picked up. He usually lets it go to voice mail or text message or I have to page him and wait for his call back.

The infamous Yo.

I said, "Yo yourself."

"Are you busy today or can you get away for the afternoon?"

"I could get away if you need me for something."

Ranger is my sometimes boss and my maybe boyfriend….

"I'll meet you at your place in a half hour, dress casual. It isn't work.

"So does that mean it's pleasure?" I said to a dead phone because of course he had already hung up.

...

I ran home, checked my hair, checked my makeup and changed into a short denim skirt and low boots. Stretchy V-neck tee shirt on top, grey hoodie in my big Coach bag just in case it got colder. Sunglasses. Spritz of perfume. Gun left in cookie jar. Because Ranger said Not Business. And, well, just — because?

I ran outside and met Ranger at his car. Road trip? I wondered. He was driving a new Mercedes sedan today. The car silently screamed luxury and comfort.

And, oh yeah. Ranger—his clothes definitely not work. He was looking yummy if unfamiliar in faded jeans, black work boots, and black cashmere sweater over a white tee. Black leather jacket on top, hiding his guns no doubt. High tech black mirrored sunglasses that only partially obscured his gorgeous face. He pulled me to him and kissed me. Heat flashed through me and I instantly forgot not only my name but his too. In seconds I was this close to experiencing a Ranger-induced orgasm. I just wanted to find a horizontal spot somewhere, anywhere, hopefully without an audience. But he set me aside, opening the car door for me. His nice manners never failed him. Unless he wanted them to.

"Babe."

I was unsure of his mood. Sometimes it's not a good idea to tease Batman and he was looking a little serious today. Well even more serious than usual. He had made a life study of Not Smiling because when he really smiled, all thousand watts, people actually walked into walls. It was a mystery to me why he wasn't a GQ model or a movie star. He was that hot. And all mine. Or if not all mine, then sort of mine. We've been together for about four months, not definite, not committed but I trust Ranger. He wouldn't be with other women when he was with me. And he was. Is.

So instead of being smartass, saying Yo, dude! I said, "Hey."

He went to his side of the car, shrugging off his black leather jacket and tossing it into the back seat. Under the jacket he was wearing a double shoulder holster, with a Glock 9mm semiautomatic under each armpit. Didn't look comfy to me. He took off the shoulder holster, removed one gun that he put in the small of his back. (Still not comfy!) The other gun went on the floor behind my seat where he could easily reach it if needed. Probably the car also had a sawed-off shotgun and maybe an assault rifle hidden somewhere, plus the usual under the front seat gun. Ranger liked his cars new, black, expensive and well-prepared. Probably he wouldn't need the firepower on a nice day in Trenton but he was who he is and he's with me, so who knew.

"We're going to the beach, okay, babe?"

"Sure."

I didn't ask which beach. And I noticed that he said the beach, not the shore. I'd figured out during the Ramos case that Ranger was probably not from New Jersey. If he was raised in Jersey he'd always say the shore, not the beach. Ranger only used the phrase shore when speaking specifically about the Jersey Shore. Like Ranger might say Vinnie owns a house at the Jersey Shore. Of course most guys you could just ask them but not Ranger. He liked his secrets.

He also liked to drive and almost immediately drifted into his Zone. He had hip hop going on the sound system, a little heavy on the bass. God only knows how this vehicle got its music, maybe it piped it in from Mars? No conversation as we headed through Perth Amboy then Staten Island, over the Verrazano Bridge into Brooklyn. We skirted the edge of the borough as we headed east. I guessed we were going to the beach house that belonged to his friend Jilly. Jilly was married to a really hot guy that I thought had to be Ranger's brother, but again-not sure. Mr. Mystery. And his brother.

The drive took about 90 minutes. The tiny Long Island town where Jilly and friends spent summer weekends was empty and silent on an autumn afternoon. Ranger and I had had an earthshaking, wonderful weekend here last summer. This was where I'd finally found the courage to go to him and be with him. It was amazing. This place held beautiful memories. I wondered though why we'd driven all this way. There are nice beaches in Jersey, not even crowded in November, though maybe not as awesomely silent and serene as this place.

This wasn't the first time he brought me to this beach. I leaned my head back against the leather headrest and remembered...

.

tbc

Thank you for reading/ reviewing!