Ranger Defender (Texas Brothers 0f Company B Series Book 2)

by Angi Morgan

  “Morning, Slate. Dad said you might want breakfast.” His mom opened her arms for a hug.

  “Yes, ma’am. Got extra?”

  “You been smoking cigars again, son? You smell all smoky.” She turned back to her skillet of scrambled eggs. “I thought Heath didn’t want anything.”

  “Actually, I have a houseguest.”

  “Oh.” His mother’s voice singsonged a variety of notes, which was a signal that she approved. “This is almost done.”

  “It’s not like that. I was checking out a hunch about this murder case and the accused’s sister was in a fire last night. She didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “So you brought her here. That’s admirable.”

  “Well, I thought so. Until I found out someone’s probably trying to kill her.”

  His mom faced him with both hands on her hips. “You’re worried about me and your dad? Or do you need our help?”

  “Yes and no. I think it’s a good idea that you’re leaving for a long weekend. I’m sure I’ll have all this cleared up by the time you get back Sunday night.”

  He better. The trial began Monday morning. That was less than a week.

  “I’m sure your dad will take whatever precautions you think are necessary. We’ll leave first thing in the morning. That’ll give you four days. In the meantime, I’ll let you take breakfast home so she won’t have to deal with meeting us today.” She set out plastic containers with enough breakfast to feed four people.

  Mainly because she knew Heath would eat no matter how many times he told her it wasn’t necessary to give him food. She enjoyed cooking...so why not let her? But she also included Slate’s guest without him asking.

  “You’re a great mom. You know that, right?” He kissed her upturned cheek.

  “And you’re a good son. Now, what else do you need?”

  Slate grabbed a slice of crisp bacon, shoving it in his mouth quickly before his mom snatched it back. “Clothes. Any of Sophia’s laundry still here?”

  “I’ll get it along with some clean towels. I’m sure you boys are running low.” She wiped her hands on her apron, heading to the laundry. “There’s an extra jacket hanging by the door. It should fit unless your guest is as tall as you.”

  “Vivian.” He opened his containers, put bacon and eggs on a biscuit and took three bites between words. “Her name’s Vivian Watts. And she’s not tall. Barely reaches my shoulders.”

  “Well, I look forward to meeting her. Will you be in for supper?”

  “Don’t count on it, Mom. This isn’t a social stay.”

  “There’s no reason to be rude, kiddo. I’ll make sure your fridge is stocked with girl food. You know, something that’s fresh and not frozen.” She set the food containers on top of the laundry basket and placed it in his hands.

  “I’m serious, Mom. She’ll probably want her privacy. She’s going through a rough time right now.”

  “She was in a fire, sweetie. I figured out the rough time on my own.” She held the screen door open and waved him through. “I’m a phone call or text away. All I’m doing is cleaning my sewing room today so if you need me...I’m here.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for breakfast.”

  “Don’t eat it all before you share it.” She let the screen close and he heard her mumble, “I swear it’s like I never taught him any manners at all.”

  * * *

  “THE NEWS SAID no one was injured in the fire. My building isn’t habitable any longer. All those people are homeless because of me.”

  “Not your fault,” Slate said with his full mouth, doing his best not to be rude.

  “I had already packed the few things Victor and I had left. Do you think they were destroyed?”

  “We’ll check.” He kicked the door closed and went to the kitchen.

  “Where’s your roommate? The one who thinks I’m a problem.”

  “He didn’t mean that.” Slate unloaded the basket he’d returned with. “You hungry? Mom made breakfast.”

  “I didn’t realize your parents live here. Look, if someone tried to kill me, then I should leave for the shelter. You can’t argue with me about this any longer.”

  “You’re staying. My parents are aware.”

  “You have to stop being so kind,” she whispered.

  She would have left an hour ago if she’d had money to pay a cab. Or shoes. Or even pants. Instead, she’d stayed with no phone. No laptop. Nothing to do except become more paranoid and aware of the burden she would become if she stayed.

  Taking advantage of Slate’s generosity was problematic. Nothing good could become of it.

  “Mom sent some of Sophia’s things. My sister has a habit of starting her laundry and not hanging around until it’s finished. To tell you the truth—” he took a bite of a biscuit “—I think my mom secretly enjoys folding it all up for her. Sure beats cleaning horse stalls.”

  Slate faced her with jeans, T-shirts and a jacket. “I figured we could stop by a store later to get you a couple of pairs of shoes and other stuff you need.”

  Vivian didn’t need a mirror to tell her what he was thinking. She concentrated on slowing her breath so she wouldn’t lose it. No more hyperventilating. There wasn’t a reason to react to kindness with a panic attack. She drew a deep breath through her nose and let it out through her mouth.

  “You want to eat or get dressed first?”

  “It’s the unknown.” She couldn’t ignore the fact that she was fighting to maintain control. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to be a charity case. I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

  Slate took plates out of the cabinet, added food and gestured for her to sit at the small round dining table. He handed her a fork before getting salt and pepper. Then he poured two cups of coffee before he joined her.

  Vivian tugged her robe’s belt tighter and made certain there weren’t any gaps. She was starved and the food smelled delicious. Slate didn’t wait for her to take a bite. He seasoned his eggs, buttered his biscuits and ate.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m not sure what’s the best way to get out of this situation. I kept thinking that a better job would come through. I was handling things paycheck to paycheck until the landlord decided he wanted me out.”

  “Let’s just take a day at a time. After I shower, we’ll check out your apartment, talk with the fire marshal, see what’s what. Then we decide what comes next.” He set his elbows on either side of his plate. “It’ll be easier for me and my team if you stay with me. If you insist on the shelter, that means I’ll be cranky from the crick in my neck.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You staying at the shelter means I’m awake most of the night watching the place from my truck. Then Heath’s even moodier, since I’m sure to twist his arm into helping me. It’s better on all of us if you can stay here. See? It’s really a very selfish plan.”

  She doubted that.

  “Is your roommate in law enforcement, too? I thought he was a ranch hand or something. Didn’t he go riding?”

  “Heath works and trains his mares every morning before being a Texas Ranger. He pays Mom and Dad a lower boarding fee by living here and helping out on the ranch. Every other weekend, he rodeos. He more than earns his keep and even helps out with giving riding lessons.”

  “He seemed upset that you brought me here.”

  “He’ll get over it. Mind putting that away while I get cleaned up?” He pointed to the food.

  “Not at all.”

  While Slate got ready for the day, she tidied up, then hurried into the borrowed clothes. There was a laptop sitting on the coffee table, but she couldn’t bring herself to invade the privacy of whoever owned it. She’d be patient.

  Time may be running out. But after waiting eleven months fo
r someone to help—or even care—she could wait another hour.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Arson. The thought had crossed her mind. Even though she’d brought up the possibility, she still didn’t want to believe it. Slate was speaking with the Dallas fire marshal and an arson investigator while she waited in his truck.

  On the bright side, Slate’s sister seemed to be taller, but was basically the same size. Heath had delivered a variety of clothing when he returned from his ride. He’d apologized for being rude or wary of her arrival, as he’d put it. At least she didn’t have to find free clothes.

  Or shoes. Slate had taken her to a store and wouldn’t let her go inside alone. Each time she picked one thing out, he put three in the cart. He’d spent way too much money, but she’d stashed the receipt in the small purse he’d chosen while she was in the dressing room.

  Her emotions were still bouncing everywhere. Hard to control—harder still to predict. The urge to feel sorry for herself was overwhelming. She really wanted to give in by binge-watching a series and eating a bag of chips and salsa.

  Adding to that self-pity was the fact that she didn’t have a couch or bed to crawl under the covers and watch anything. But she wasn’t a poor-poor-pitiful-me girl. She and her brother had faced hardships before. They could overcome this situation, too.

  Slate walked around her apartment building with his hands in his pockets. He’d taken his Texas Ranger star with him, showed it to the two men he was speaking with and then dropped it inside his shirt pocket. He’d mentioned during the drive that his involvement would need to be low-key. She wanted to join him, to look at everything, hear the words of the inspectors and see if anything had survived.

  The desire to walk the seventy or so feet to her former apartment and pull her suitcases from the fire remains was significant. So much so that she had her seat belt off and the door slightly ajar. She could overhear Slate coaxing the officials. Promising to give them any information he and she discovered. Assuring them that if she were the intended target, she was safer in his custody than anywhere else.

  The contents of her apartment had been cleared, since the fire had definitely been set on the outside of the building. She had her doubts about whether the laptop or phone would work again. Everything she or her brother owned would reek of smoke, but at least they’d have something.

  A head nod from one of the guys, and Slate walked directly to her two suitcases. He jerked them up like they were empty. Straight out of the mud and muck that now covered everything. She shut her door as he tossed them into the back of the truck.

  “They don’t have any idea who set the fire. It’s not unusual that no one sees anything or wants to get involved. Whoever it was...complete amateur. They had no experience, according to the investigator. Didn’t try to make the flames big or anything.”

  “From here, it just looked like one corner was burned.” She stretched to see if either suitcase was black. Neither was; they were just very dirty from the firefighters putting out the flames.

  “That’s right. They poured gasoline on the ground around the natural gas line, left the can and drove away. It’s only about ten feet from the parking lot.”

  “And at that time of night and in the rain, no one would think to be watching out their window.”

  “Right. But at least we have a place to start,” he said and lifted the corner of his mouth in a teasing grin.

  “No one saw anything. I don’t understand.”

  “Whatever we did yesterday caught someone’s attention.”

  “I know this isn’t in my wheelhouse like yours, but I still don’t see where that gets us.”

  “Trust me.”

  “Where are we going now?”

  “I made an appointment this time with your brother’s lawyer, told him it was about payment. That should get him in the office. Then we’ll head to the VA Hospital.” He turned the wheel, heading in the same direction as the day before.

  At least he’d gotten an appointment. The attorney had refused to see her several times, always stating that Victor didn’t want her involved. When had she lost her tenacity? Her determination?

  When had she allowed herself to be so defeated?

  “Don’t you have work?”

  “I took a few days off.”

  She was in a far bigger debt to Slate Thompson than he could ever know or that she could ever repay. He was helping a stranger, giving her hope and courage. She was about to tell him exactly that when his hand covered hers.

  “This has got to be hard on you. I have a feeling you’ve been doing everything yourself. For the record, do you and your brother have any other family?”

  She shook her head. “This part of our story always seems to convince the police or lawyers that Victor is guilty. We’re a product of the system. I was raised by a normal foster-care family. My brother is five years younger and was placed in a different home. I managed to see him about once every three months or so. It got to where his foster family wouldn’t allow us much time on the phone or especially together.”

  “So everyone thinks he’s a bad product of a bad system.”

  “That’s the nice way to say it.” Vivian nervously rubbed the tops of her thighs. “Without anything—family, friends, a support system or money—our only option for a college degree was the army. By the time Victor turned eighteen, he’d had enough of school. He took his GED and left for boot camp.”

  “Wait.” He looked at her like he was confused. “You were in the army? You can shoot a gun?”

  “Can’t you?” she asked.

  “Yeah, but I’m better with a shotgun. I almost had to bribe someone during the last qualification.”

  He had to be kidding.

  He chuckled. “Aw, yes. I’ve seen your level of confusion before. A Texan, raised on a ranch, who can’t shoot? Okay, so I’m pulling your leg a bit. It’s not far from the truth. Continue.”

  “I’d been saving money and had no intention of letting him enlist, but he did it while I was overseas. We didn’t see each other for about six years. Oh, we wrote more often in the beginning. But the emails got fewer and took longer to send. Part of that time, I was in school at Florida State. Other times, I didn’t know what part of Afghanistan Victor had been assigned to. He mustered out in San Antonio, opting to stay in Texas to work with Dr. Roberts and her sleep study.”

  “The file said he had night terrors. That’s from the army?”

  “Yes. Pretty bad ones, from what I understand. But that doesn’t mean he’s a murderer.”

  “Agreed. It doesn’t.”

  The sun left his tanned face as he pulled the truck into a parking garage. She’d been so engrossed in the telling of her and Victor’s story that they’d arrived at the attorney’s office building without her realizing.

  “Let’s go see if we can find a place to start.”

  It didn’t take long to walk from the parking garage into the sleek glass building. The Public Defender’s Office was located at the county courthouse, but Victor’s lawyer was assigned by the court and in Uptown. The door to the office was locked and no one was inside. It wasn’t unusual.

  “Does he have a receptionist?”

  “The building might be nice, but in the past several months, I’ve never seen anyone working with or for attorney Ned Stevens,” she explained to Slate.

  He knelt at the door. At first she thought he was tying his shoe or something, but remembered he wore boots. Then he pulled out a small pocket-size case. “I am certain that breaking and entering is illegal in all fifty states, Slate. Some places in the world they even cut off your hands. You’re an officer of the law. You should know that.”

  “I’m tired of this guy never being in his office when he says he will be.” He twisted pick tools in the lock.

  “Why do you even have those tools?” she whispered.
r />   “Funny story. I was a resident assistant in college and—”

  “Someone’s coming. Your funny story will have to wait.”

  Slate slid his tools back in his jacket and they stood with their backs against the door, waiting for the footsteps to advance from around the corner.

  “Anyway, these two freshman football players got it in their head to change the locks on my floor,” Slate continued.

  “As in the doorknobs?” Vivian asked.

  A nicely dressed woman, carrying a briefcase, came into view and passed them.

  Slate acknowledged the passerby with a nod of his head. “Crazy, right?”

  “It doesn’t make sense. No one could do that.”

  “They could if they had a master key to the building.” He knelt down, pulling out his two picks.

  “You are not going to continue with this? Slate!” she whisper-shouted. “People are returning from court or lunch or wherever. Let’s just wait for Mr. Stevens.”

  “No time. Keep your ears open.”

  “We have...” she bent next to him “...no other pressing appointments.”

  “We only have five days.” He stuck picks back into the lock. “I imagine there are a lot of names on that list to check. We need to see what’s in your brother’s file. Today.”

  She cupped his shoulder. “Slate. This isn’t the way.”

  They stood. His eyes darted around her face. Hers probably did the same since she caught all the small crinkle lines near his eyes and the corner of his mouth. A tiny lift began on the left side of his mouth, then stopped. His lips parted slightly and she caught a whiff of coffee.

  She didn’t mind. He smelled good.

  Wait a minute! How did they get so close? He was practically a head taller than she was and yet somehow his eyes were now at her level. That meant so was his mouth. Their position shifted as subtly as his smile.

  One step forward, and his hands were planted on either side of her shoulders. He tilted his head and gently pressed his lips against hers. She did what any sane woman in her place would do...she kissed him back.

  Her arms were at her sides, but that didn’t stop them from reaching out and sliding around his waist to his back. Her fingers didn’t meet anything soft. Muscles were rock hard across his sides and under his jacket. His freshly pressed shirt was crisp under her fingertips.