by Angi Morgan
Information he’d deliberately left out to entice Slate to look further into the case.
“Got it.”
“Is there a follow-up report from a sleep study that the victim was conducting?”
“Nothing.”
“So if I thought the list was necessary to answer the questions that we had...”
“I knew it!” Wade said with force, then repeated himself in a lower voice. “You’d need to sweet-talk a copy, not request it through a warrant. Seriously, Slate, if you have those kinds of doubts, take it to the district attorney’s office.”
“I need a couple more things clarified and then I’ll head there.”
Yeah. A couple more questions like...why didn’t Vivian wait at the coffee shop? He opened the incomplete file Wade had given to him to pique his interest, then added Vivian’s address to his GPS. Traffic was pretty bad in the downpour. He wasn’t surprised that someone who didn’t own a vehicle lived right on the bus route, but he was surprised that Vivian wasn’t home.
He was already soaked but standing on an apartment doorstep would only draw attention to himself. And it was getting colder by the minute. So he waited in the truck. He had a perfect view of the door, but several minutes later, there was a knock on his window, followed with a gesture to roll it down.
“Get in!” he shouted.
Vivian ran around to the opposite side and jumped in the front seat. Soaked to the skin, still dressed in the short shorts and T-shirt.
“I thought we agreed I’d give you a ride.”
“I appreciate it, Lieutenant, but I didn’t want there to be any misunderstandings.” She dripped on the papers she had in a folder. “The top copy is the original. You can see that the cover letter is a diagnosis and the results of the study.”
“They mailed this to you?”
It didn’t look identical to the other report even though it began the same.
“To my brother. This is where he lived prior to his arrest.” She opened the door. “I’ll be heading inside now. Thanks for looking at Victor’s case...even unofficially.”
“But I’m not.”
Too late. The door was shut and she ran up the sidewalk. So he took the time to compare the two papers.
This report was in the same tone as the journal page. Formal, doctorly, professional. And dated recently. It was also signed by an assistant who had been interviewed just after the doctor’s murder. The statement, along with numerous others from hospital staff, was in the file. The recent report...was not.
Nothing new.
Except there were names. Summaries of group sessions. No one was referred to as a subject and there sure as hell wasn’t a Subject Nineteen.
“Damn. They have the wrong guy.”
Chapter Five
“Your brother’s innocent.”
“I know.”
Vivian opened the door wider, no longer embarrassed that the one-room furnished apartment had a pullout couch and a kitchenette with half a refrigerator. She’d passed that stigma three months ago when she calculated she’d be out of money by the beginning of the month.
One more week before the trial and two more days with a roof over her head.
She gestured for the Texas Ranger to enter and wait on the cracked linoleum by the door. “Let me get you a towel.”
On the way to the bathroom, she shoved the bed into its couch position and tossed the cushions back on it. But another glance at the ranger confirmed that he was soaked to the skin...just like she’d been a couple of minutes earlier.
“There’s a fold-up chair behind you.”
“That’s okay, I don’t mind standing. And dripping.” He laughed.
Lieutenant Slate had a good laugh. Deep and sincere that crinkled the skin near the corner of his eyes. She pulled a clean towel from the shelf and caught herself checking what she looked like in the mirror. And then picking up the hand towel and wiping the nonwaterproof mascara from under her eyes.
She tossed the towel across the small area into the ranger’s hands. He took off his hat, looking for a place to set it, then carefully flipped it upside down into her—thankfully—empty sink.
Briskly, he brushed the worn cotton across his short hair, then used his hand to slick it back down again. “Sorry about the puddle.”
“No problem.” She sat on the couch, tucking her cold feet under her, seriously glad that she’d put on lounge pants instead of jumping into the shower.
“You’re very patient,” he said, shifting his boots into a wider stance. “If someone told me my brother was innocent after he’d confessed to a murder, I’d be chomping at the bit for an explanation.”
“I’m tired, Lieutenant Slate. That’s all. And you’ll have to forgive me for not being excited about your announcement that you are not reopening his case. I’ve known my brother was innocent from day one.”
“It’s just Slate, ma’am. Slate Thompson. And I get it.”
“And I’m Vivian. Definitely not a ma’am.” She gestured to the end of the couch. “Please sit. A little water isn’t the worst thing that’s been on that cushion.”
“If you’re sure?” he asked, but he was already shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it over hers on the back of the door.
When he turned around, she saw the file folder with the sleep-study report stuffed into the back of his jeans.
“That was one way to keep it dry.”
“Yeah.” He pulled it around front and tapped his palm with it several times. “So, this report sheds a new light on your brother.”
“I’m not a silly, inexperienced sister, Lieutenant Thompson.” By using his formal name, she wanted to keep things a little more professional than they looked in her shabby studio apartment. “Honestly, I turned over the original report to Victor’s attorney the day after it arrived here. He said there was nothing he could do with it. That it didn’t prove anything since the prosecution had already submitted the study as proof of his guilt.”
The momentary elation she’d felt in the coffee shop had long passed.
“I disagree.” He leaned forward, resting an elbow on his thigh in order to look at her and handle the copy at the same time. “This isn’t the report that’s in the file.”
Had she heard him correctly? “I’m not following.”
“This report was written by Dr. Roberts’s assistant and sent to the participants nine months after Victor’s arrest.”
“So it couldn’t be a major part of the prosecutor’s case, right? I’m so stupid.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“How could I have missed something that evident?”
“Look, Vivian, don’t beat yourself up. You don’t have access to the evidence. I wouldn’t either if it hadn’t been a ranger who made the arrest.”
She sat forward, close enough on the small couch that Slate’s heat rose like steam around him. There was no use trying to keep the relationship professional. He’d be a family friend for life when they got her brother out of jail.
“So what happens now? Do you need Victor’s lawyer or do you have all that information in the file? I should get dressed. I want to be there when you tell him.” She stood and realized he hadn’t moved.
He dropped his head and tapped the papers onto his palm again.
“What? I thought you said this would clear him?” She crossed her arms and wanted to look angry, but was afraid she looked a little ridiculous in her silky lounge pants and sweatshirt. Tapping her bare toe on the old carpet didn’t present too much power either.
His hesitation only made her angrier and more anxious.
“Mr. Thompson, please.” She let her arms drop to her sides, afraid the tears would return and she’d totally lose it this time. “Just tell me.”
“I’m not supposed to be here.” He finally made eye contact with
her. “I work for the other side. You get that, right?”
“And you’d want to sentence my brother to death even knowing he’s innocent?”
“No. That’s not it.” He jumped to his feet.
The small room had never seemed as small as at that very moment. It wasn’t that Slate towered over her. She wasn’t a short woman, but the panic she’d been warding off consumed her. It covered her like a suffocating blanket and she had a hard time breathing.
The more air she took in, the less she could breathe.
“Vivian, look at me. I’m not going to hurt you.”
His hand covered her mouth. She dug her fingernails into the side of his hand attempting to remove it. It wouldn’t budge. She felt the panic of not being able to breathe but forced a small amount of air through her nose.
“Listen to my voice. You’re hyperventilating, Vivian. I’m going to help you slow down your respirations. Try to count backward from ten in your head.”
He tugged her one direction and went the other. Ending the move so they faced each other. “That’s it. Deeply through your nose.”
She shook her head, feeling the panic again with the lack of oxygen. Ten.
“In.”
She sniffed as best as she could.
“Now let it out.”
The sound of her breath hitting his fingers was weird.
“In.”
It was broken, but she managed, catching the hint of coffee on him. Nine.
“Deeper,” he whispered closer to her ear. “Let it out slowly.”
She obeyed. Eight.
“You got this. Now I’m going to take my hand away. Just keep breathing in and out.”
Freedom washed over her as he dropped his hand and took a step away.
“In. Out. Just think calm.”
Seven. She covered her face, unable to look into his obviously concerned eyes.
“You okay now?”
“I think I can... That’s...that’s never happened to me before.”
“I apologize for the up close and personal, but I didn’t have a paper bag in my pocket.”
She swayed and his hands darted out to steady her. “Whoa. I think I’m a little light-headed.”
“No surprise. Why don’t you sit again? I’ll get you a bottle of water.” He helped until the back of her knees bent against the couch and she sat.
“Tap. Glasses...” She pointed above the sink. The dishes were on an open shelf. He wouldn’t have trouble finding them. “That was...so embarrassing.”
Slate moved his hat out of the sink and filled a glass, then handed her the water. “Do the panic attacks happen often?”
“Never.”
He looked at her like that was hard to believe, but he didn’t say the words. “I figure this is a lot to take in. You’re gonna have to trust me.”
“Does that slow-talkin’ cowboy act work on a lot of the girls?” She watched his puzzled reaction. Had she miscalculated him? Was he for real? “Look. I don’t trust anyone anymore. Victor and I have been screwed over by the best of them. Just tell me what’s wrong with this report and why aren’t we on our way to the attorney’s office?”
“Yeah, about that.” He grimaced slightly while sucking air through his teeth. Then he arched his hand down the back of his head and scratched his neck. Then he put his hands in the air like he was stopping her from moving. “You’re not going to have another attack, are you?”
She crossed her arms and legs in answer.
“My buddy was checking the file to make sure everything on our end is ready to go next week. Heath might have arrested your brother, but no one in my Company had anything to do with the investigation.”
“So?”
“I don’t actually have permission to be working the case.”
“Oh. I understand. You’d rather not be involved so you’re going to let my brother hang.”
“No, that’s not exactly what I meant.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket.
“Mr. Thompson, it’s time for you to leave.” She stood and pointed to the door.
He held a finger up in the air with one hand, bringing his phone up with the other. “One second. Just give me—Wade. Look, your hunch was right. Yeah, I’ve got a good lead, but I’m going to need some time. No.” He brought his light blue eyes up from looking at the carpet to meet hers. “I did not get food poisoning. I’ll put in for the time off. I just wanted to be sure you’d be around for tech support. Yeah, man. One of the best.” He disconnected, shaking his head then rubbing his forehead right between his brows.
“What was that about?” she asked, trying not to feel pleased or excited or both.
“I’m going to help you.” He took off his badge hooked on his shirt pocket and tucked it away with his ID. “I just can’t be a Texas Ranger while I do.”
“You’re really going to help me? Help Victor?” That bubble was back, ready to pop with his next words.
“I didn’t sign up for this job just to step aside and see an innocent man go to prison.” He stepped back toward the kitchen and picked up his hat, now on the two-burner stove. “Now that you know the logistics on my end, let’s go see Victor’s attorney. I’ll be in the truck while you dress. It’s still raining out there. You might want to bring an umbrella.”
Was that a wink while he secured that Stetson on his head?
It didn’t matter. She felt years older than Slate Thompson. And her heart was a little short on...
Well, everything. It was depleted. Empty. Desperate for any human kindness.
The tears came as soon as Slate pulled the door shut behind him. Just a short, easily controlled attack while she gathered clothes.
Who knew what they’d be doing later. And she meant they. There wasn’t any way in the world she was letting that cowboy get out of her sight until she found out everything he knew about Victor’s case.
Slate had only met the poor, pitiful, chicken wing waitress in dire need of help. He had no idea what she became when she put on her business suit. It might be her last one, but she looked and felt like she was in control.
Normal.
Chapter Six
Half an hour passed. Then another ten minutes. Slate was stepping out of the truck to see what was keeping Vivian when her apartment door opened.
It was one of those jaw-dropping moments that didn’t happen very often in his life. He’d kept it together and hadn’t cracked a smile in his Department of Public Safety days when a girl took off her top trying to get out of a speeding ticket. The man who thought his clothes were on fire and spit a bottle of water all over his uniform—he’d handled it all with a straight face and no disgust.
But seeing Vivian Watts step onto the wet sidewalk in a blue suit made him take a second look. And maybe a third. Her wild dark brown hair was neatly tucked at the back of her head. He noticed because he ran to her side of the truck and grabbed the umbrella she’d brought with her.
Helping her onto the front seat, he politely waited for her to put down a towel. It gave him plenty of time to admire the line of her calf and the height of the matching blue heels. Not to mention a close-up view of the shapely behind in her tight-fitting skirt.
The wolf in him came out. His lips were all puckered to let loose a howling whistle when he caught himself and kind of sucked air through his teeth. She noticed. Yep, she smiled, knowing what was blowing through his mind.
He ran to his side of the truck, chucking the umbrella in the back seat. His tie had been off since he’d left for lunch, but the way she was dressed almost made him feel guilty enough to put it back on.
Almost.
“I’m assuming we need to go to your place for you to get dry clothes. I’m fine with that by the way.”
“I live west of the metroplex on a ranch. It’s sort of out of the way.”
“That’d be me.”
“You don’t mind being wet?”
“Well, I’ve been worse. Beer once. Now that’s sticky when it dries.” Slate had already looked up the address of the attorney in Uptown.
“As much as I’d like to hear about you covered in beer... I think you take a left here.”
“Not around this time of day. It really is a funny story.”
“I gather.”
Slate tapped on the radio, immediately turning it down. “You don’t have to worry. I looked at directions and traffic before you got in the truck.”
“Do you think we should talk about what happens now? How do we get the report if Victor’s attorney didn’t keep the copy I gave him? Are you sure you know how to get to his office? I think you missed another turn.”
Lots of questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. “Let’s just take it one thing at a time. First step is to get there and ask for a copy of the study. We compare. We might get lucky.”
“Lucky? How long have you been a ranger?”
“Almost two years. I was fortunate to be stationed here in Garland. That’s close enough to help out my family. How about you? What did you do before you came to Dallas or have you been here awhile?”
“I studied international business and had an internship at one of the top companies in Miami.”
“You gave all that up to come help your brother.”
“That didn’t sound like a question.”
Slate stated fact. He admired her for it. She didn’t know there was a personal financial report in the file. One reflecting she and her brother were broke. He’d read her statement to the police, an interview that confirmed most of the information obtained through the VA.
“Are you going to tell Victor’s attorney that you’re reopening his case?”
“One step at a time, remember?” Slate didn’t have permission to do anything. Unfortunately, the attorney would know that. “Why don’t you tell me about your brother?”
“As in...?”