by Angi Morgan
“I went to the library after you dropped me off and began my own research.”
“And?” He leaned against the wall, growing conscious of the dirty ranch clothes he’d thrown on to go find her.
“I didn’t have anything definitive. Nothing except a rise in violent behavior from veterans. Out of the fourteen news articles I read, at least half the relatives mentioned they thought the accused had been getting better since seeking treatment at the hospital.”
“Parker would make fifteen and your brother would be another. Sixteen men? All veterans? What time frame are we looking at?”
“I went back a year before I ran out of time. I don’t think you can call it a coincidence, Slate.”
“You went back to your apartment after the library. Was anyone acting suspicious or seem to be following you?”
“No. It was another hour or so before I got ready for bed. I wanted everything packed and ready to leave with me.” She pursed her lips together, a classic tell that she thought she’d said too much to him.
“Leave?”
“Oh, my gosh, I might as well tell you since you’re going to find out anyway.” She sat on the couch, resting her elbow on the arm and rubbing her temple with her fingers. “Victor’s lease is up and I couldn’t sign a new one. The manager increased the rent three times and told me he didn’t want me staying. So you might as well take me to the shelter. I’m going to be living there anyway.”
“You couldn’t afford to find another place?”
“I spent everything I had on cheap private detectives who didn’t connect any dots. You’ve gotten further in one day just looking at a sleep-study report.”
“I have special resources.”
“I plan on returning to Miami after the trial next week. I’ll try to get a job with the firm I worked for before all this began. I’m not sure if they’ll take me back, but they at least said to contact them.”
How much more bad luck could this woman take?
“And what do you plan on doing until then?” Slate could assume what the answer was. The thoughts running through his head went against everything he’d worked for, trained for. “You can’t be serious about staying in the shelter?”
“It’s conveniently located near the courthouse and jail.” She dropped her head to the back of the couch. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“What about your job? That’s a long way by bus and DART.”
“Tomorrow—I mean, today was my last day. The manager wouldn’t give me time off for Victor’s trial. Do you think anything survived the fire?”
She was on the verge of tears and collapse. Did she even realize she’d almost died? There was a high probability that someone had tried to kill her.
“We’ll take a look as soon as they give the go-ahead to get back in,” Slate promised.
“Oh, for the love of Pete, man. Ask her already,” Heath yelled from his room.
Slate turned to Vivian and covered her hand resting on the sofa. “Please take my room. You do not want to face him walking around in the morning. He’s a jackass before coffee.”
“Ask me what?”
“Good grief, I’ll say it.” Heath stuck his head out between the door and wall. “She can stay here and I’ll keep my mouth shut about it. No one from the Company will know. But I need sleep. Please go to bed.”
“I can’t possibly stay here. You know nothing about me and can’t open your home like this.”
“Look, this is easier than it seems. You can stay in the guest bunkhouse. My family runs a sort of dude ranch and gives riding lessons. We’ll get you set up tomorrow. But for now, Heath’s right. You need sleep. Come on.”
He gently tugged her hand and the rest of her body followed.
“I don’t like giving in.”
“Consider it a compromise. Both of us win.”
“Even me if I can get some sleep,” Heath said sarcastically as they passed his door.
“I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to be a bother.”
Slate closed his bedroom door behind them so his roommate could get back to sleep. Vivian’s voice shook like she was close to being hysterical or she was heading into shock. She also smelled like the fire. Smoke clung to her clothes and even her hair, which was loose and curly around her shoulders.
“Through there. Clean towels in the cabinet.” He pointed. He went to the bathroom door and opened it, gesturing for her to go through.
Vivian didn’t move. At least her feet didn’t. Her hands covered her face and the dam of tears broke. She cried silently into her palms. He watched her shoulders shake and her upper body begin to fold downward to her knees.
He did the only thing a good ol’ country boy could...caught her to him.
Holding her, it didn’t matter how late it was or that she smelled like smoke. All there was right then was defending Vivian from anything else crappy happening to her. She was right that he barely knew her. But she’d given up everything for her brother.
Everything.
That type of loyalty was worth staying up all night to help save.
“It’ll be okay, Vivian. Go ahead and cry. Get it out. You’ll be okay.”
* * *
THE STRONG ARMS wrapped around her gave Vivian a sense of belonging she hadn’t had since Victor left for his tour overseas. But this wasn’t her brother.
It was a stranger who had quickly become her lifeline. Her only lifeline that was keeping her from fending for herself on the street. It had been a while since someone showed her so much kindness.
The more she thought about it, the more she cried. The more she cried, the tighter Slate held her. She pushed at his chest trying to back away... He cupped the back of her head and encouraged her cheek to rest on his chest.
She didn’t care. If he’d hold her longer, she’d let him. Everything was just so... She didn’t have the energy to think how desperate her situation had become. The tears tapered off and she could finally get herself under control. Her body was aware of the strong muscles under her hands and against her torso. Naturally muscled from hard work and sweat.
Slate smelled of smoke, hay and clean dirt. His skin had a natural muskiness that completely matched the nice-cowboy image he portrayed.
The smoke, she soon realized, was totally her. Remnants of a building burning around her. Oh, my gosh.
“If someone wanted to kill me, they didn’t have to follow me home. They already knew where I stayed because that’s where Victor lived when Dr. Roberts was murdered.”
“That makes sense.” He leaned back, looking at her and swallowing hard like he was confused. “You ready for that shower now? I don’t have any flowery soap, but you’ll get clean.”
“Yeah, I probably should.” She stepped back and then turned around, catching a huge whiff of smoke into her lungs.
The visceral reminder of how she’d narrowly escaped hit her. In fact, she hadn’t really escaped at all. Whoever called 911 for help—and the sheer luck that her door faced the street—had brought the firefighters to her rescue first.
“I’ll be fast.” She had to get the smoke off her. Now.
She marched to the bathroom, shut and locked the door, then turned only the hot water on. Steam began building up immediately. She coughed and coughed, clearing her lungs until she could breathe easier. Then washed her hair until she lost count of the number of rinses it took to get the smell out of it.
Afterward, she dried with a fluffy yellow towel that matched the bath decor and wrapped it tightly around herself.
It was a small bath of soft yellows and blue and the steam seemed to turn to smoke. It was just her imagination. She’d been unconscious for the entire incident. She didn’t have any memories of the actual fire. It didn’t make sense that she could know it wasn’t real and still panic.
That didn’t mat
ter.
The fear of being trapped in a burning building surrounded her, taking over any logic she’d ever maintained. She burst out of the small room, unable to catch her breath.
“Oh, my...God. I...” she huffed. She cupped her hands over her mouth like Slate had that afternoon but couldn’t keep them there.
The closed bedroom door opened, banging against some western gear. Slate took one look at her and pulled her to him. His calloused hand, stuck between his shirt and her lips, didn’t let any air to her lungs, forcing her to slow her rapid intake through her nose.
He held her tightly but managed to tilt her eyes to look at him. Holding her gaze, he counted in a whisper.
“Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, ninety-two, ninety-three. Count with me, Vivian.”
“Ninety-four, ninety-five,” she mumbled under his fingers.
“That’s right. Six, seven, eight,” he began.
“Nine, ten, eleven.” She stopped, breathing easier if not completely normal.
“You’re good, now?” He hugged her tight, then shifted his hands to cup her shoulders. “Two in one day. You said you’ve never had this happen before? Back up a bit, darlin’. Yeah, just like that.” He guided her elbows. “Okay. There. Sit. You’re right by the bed.”
“I’m okay,” she managed in spite of the heavy wheezing. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Now’s not the time to think about it. You should squeeze between these covers and try to get some rest. Your body will feel better in the morning.”
“I...I can’t.” She self-consciously tucked the towel tighter, unsure what she could ever think about that would make her close her eyes again.
“Is a T-shirt okay? I’ll wash your stuff in a minute.” He patted her clumsily on the back.
The man hadn’t hesitated when he’d flattened her to his body to stop the hyperventilating. Now his awkward hesitation brought a smile to her lips. He took out a clean—almost starched—white T-shirt and placed it in her hands. Did a double take, then switched it out for a dark navy.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
The door shut and she was alone. She dressed, hung the towel over the shower bar and dropped her head onto a pillow that reminded her of comfort and safety.
It smelled just like Slate.
Chapter Twelve
“Your problem’s having another nightmare, man.” Heath kicked Slate’s foot that had fallen off the end of the couch. “Time to get up anyway.”
No daylight came through the windows. Just the light above the coffee maker had been flipped on. In the moment it took Slate to register why he was on the couch, he heard Vivian’s cries.
“My problem?”
Heath was dressed for ranch duties. “I still can’t believe you let Wade talk you into helping him. You know what happened when Jack helped.”
Slate sat up, scratching his head. “Hell, Heath. Jack got a commendation from the state.”
“I mean Wade’s on desk duty. If he’s caught working on this...he’s done.”
Vivian cried out again. Slate headed her direction.
“Just think hard before you dig yourself—and Wade—into a deeper hole.”
Slate knocked softly on the door, waiting to see if Vivian would settle down or wake up. There was no reason for her to wake up as early as him and the other ranch hands. He’d rather have a plan of action in place, too. But it didn’t matter.
Vivian alternated between a whimper and a cry. It was obvious she was having a nightmare. He peeked inside the door and saw that the sheets were caught around her legs. Her hair was tangled around her neck. Her face was damp with sweat.
He left her momentarily and retrieved a damp rag, a bottle of water and a robe that his mother had given to him three Christmases ago. Rarely worn and long enough to cover her better than the T-shirt.
God, he was glad he’d switched the color. As he approached the bed, he could see only the outline of her breasts through the dark blue instead of embarrassing her with see-through white.
“Vivian.” He touched her foot a little more gently than Heath had kicked his. “Hey, Miss Watts. Time to wake up. Everything’s okay.”
“What?” Her eyes popped open wide and she immediately began to cough.
He twisted off the water bottle top and stuck the bottle out in front of her. She nodded her head, dripping with sweat like she’d actually been in a fire. He moved to the side of the bed and knelt to her eye level.
“You okay?”
“Where—oh, right, the fire. What time is it?” She tugged at the sheets, then the T-shirt. “I’d get dressed, but pajamas aren’t going to get me very far.”
“I’ll throw them in the dryer in a minute. I do have this robe.” He patted the end of the bed, then handed her the damp cloth. “And this.”
“Thanks. Slate, you’re being far too kind. Maybe you can take me to the shelter. I’m sure they have clothes but I might need to borrow something to get there.”
Grateful and definitely independent.
“Sure...on the clothes. No to the women’s shelter.” He checked his phone. “We don’t need to go over this again. Okay? It’ll be easier on everyone if you’re close by. I need to call Wade and the office. Be right back.”
Dialing the number, he left the room before she could object again.
“This better be good,” Wade said, sounding asleep.
“I thought you’d be up and on your way to the office. In fact, get your butt up. I need some answers.”
“Answers for what exactly?”
“I need to know if arson is suspected in a fire.”
“I’ll need more details than that. Like where and why do you suspect arson?”
“I believe someone tried to kill Vivian Watts last night. Her apartment building caught fire around midnight. Fortunately, no one was injured.”
“If you were trying to get me out of bed the same ungodly hour that you do, you’ve done it. Now stop kidding around.”
“No joke, man. She lost everything. I picked her up from the hospital—”
“What do you mean, you picked her up?”
“She didn’t have anybody else. Look, I’m taking a few days off to check this out. But you’ve got to do some legwork with the police, fire, et cetera.”
“So the hunch was right?”
“No time to gloat, man. Get me some answers. I gotta go feed the horses.”
He cut off the call during Wade’s next word. “I need coffee,” he muttered to himself. “I think I’ll even drink Heath’s strong stuff this morning.”
The smoke-scented clothes he’d slept in would be good enough for barn work. He filled his travel mug, yanked on his boots and headed outside. First light, and Heath was already saddled and working his mare in the paddock.
Slate climbed to the top of the fence and watched, sipping coffee that he normally watered down. A lack of sleep and the need to think a bit faster this morning got him used to the thick-as-mud mixture pretty quickly.
“Stardust is looking pretty good there, Heath. You taking her this weekend?” Slate’s dad asked his roommate, then turned to greet him. “Morning, son.”
“Morning, Dad.”
Heath eased up the mare and sauntered her to the fence where Slate’s dad was leaning.
“Naw. Probably withdrawing this weekend, sir. I think my caseload just got heavier.”
Heath cut him an I-can’t-believe-you’re-pulling-this look.
His dad turned to him. “You pulling out, too, son? That mean your mother and me can take off to the casino?”
“Yeah, I’ll be around to take care of things.”
“If you can’t, your sister will be around to give her lessons. Hot diggity.” His sixty-year-old father did his version of an Irish jig with muddy boots and his jeans tucked inside them
. Then a quick look back to Heath. “Sorry you won’t be competing, guys. But we have this free weekend stay and upgrade at the casino in Oklahoma.”
“Don’t worry about things here, Dad.” Slate jumped from the top rung. “I better get started. Hey, is Mom up?”
“Is that a real question?” His dad slapped the wood rail. “You boys want breakfast?”
“Early morning for me, sir.” Heath took Stardust around the paddock again. “Thanks anyway.”
Slate nodded. “Let me feed the horses and I’ll be right up.”
“Mind getting the gate?” Heath asked.
Slate walked the same direction as his roommate while his dad headed back to the house. “Before you say a damn word. Yes, I’m going to tell him I’ve got a guest. There’s no reason to keep it a secret.”
“I was just going to remind you that it’s very possible someone attempted to kill your guest last night and you might warn your dad to sleep with his gun loaded while she’s here.”
Slate laughed. “No need to tell him to do something he’s already doing. But I’ll mention it.” He closed the gate behind his partner, watching him ride into the field.
Finishing his chores, he texted Wade for an update as he scrapped his boots outside the back door of his mom’s kitchen.
One word came back: ARSON.
Had he brought danger into his parents’ lives? Stupid question. Of course he had, by bringing an unknown back to his home. He’d never once thought that his law-enforcement career would put anyone at risk other than himself. He was helping, bringing justice to the innocent.
Did that trump safety? Dammit.
Not only did Vivian’s brother need him to find the real murderer, he now needed to protect his family. Solving this case fast benefited everyone.
He’d need more background on Vivian, her brother, the victim and who benefited from the doctor’s death. All things Wade could look up. He texted him to ask. Wade responded with another one-word answer: DUH.
The smells of bacon, fresh biscuits and eggs drifted through the screen door. The smell alone made his stomach long for food.