by Angi Morgan
Vivian stood at his side. She may have looked uninterested to people who had no stake in the questioning. But Abby could see her taking notes on her smartphone. The woman was very astute.
Abby stood in line with no intention of consuming anything she bought, but she had to look inconspicuous. She had to appear to accidentally overhear the questions the man was asking. She had to obtain the introduction.
Looking on her phone, she took pictures of Victor’s sister and her accomplice. Texas Ranger Slate Thompson.
“Excuse me,” she said after a few minutes near them. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re asking about Rashid Parker. I can’t believe what happened yesterday. And to think he was in the EEG lab. I just can’t believe it.”
Abby imitated the worry, stress and astonishment that many of the people who’d seen Rashid the previous day had demonstrated. She concentrated on the expressions the others had shown or she covered her mouth with her hand to hide her lack of emotion.
“Slate Thompson and this is Vivian Watts.”
“Abby Norman. I assist the EEG lab technician.” She pulled her hands back to her sides before the ranger reached out to touch her. “He was such a nice man.”
“Can you tell us what an EEG lab is and what you do there?” Vivian asked.
“An electroencephalogram is a test that detects electrical activity in your brain. I help set it up for the technician, type up notes, get the patients settled. I have no idea why any of them need monitoring. You’d have to ask their doctors.”
“Thanks. You’ve been very helpful,” Slate said, then turned back to Vivian.
How dare he be so dismissive!
“Walk away,” said the voice from the mirror. “You know who they are. Now you can eliminate them both.”
Chapter Sixteen
After getting a handle on Rashid Parker’s day, they hadn’t discovered anything that would have set off a rampage. Vivian didn’t feel any closer to discovering why her brother had been accused of murder. Heath had narrowed down the list of names from the sleep study. Names, numbers and addresses were now being compared to crime reports.
“You look discouraged,” Slate said.
“Four hours in that hospital and, yes, I feel useless. Are we making any headway?”
“We have a list of names to check out. We also know that Parker just seemed to lose it over nothing. The guy was eating lasagna and salad one minute and stabbing someone the next. Other than that, no one can remember anything unusual about him. We know he wasn’t angry, wasn’t complaining, wasn’t talking to himself, wasn’t unusual in any outward way.”
“What does any of that tell us?”
“It sort of fits the description of your brother. No outward signs of distress. Parker seems to have just snapped.”
“You said several names on this list had committed violent crimes?”
“Yes.”
“Another reason to interview their family and friends.”
Vivian walked closely at Slate’s side. She was skimming the list on his phone, trying to find the names she’d discovered last night. They had parked in the hospital’s farthest southern lot, one of the newest overflow areas that still had construction machinery in the corner. It was away from the main buildings and garage cameras.
They were almost back to the truck when she heard a loud wail. A different type of dread took over her body. Fright of the unknown, but with the feeling of an attack.
Slate pushed her aside. She fell on her knees onto a median of newly planted grass. She heard running footsteps as the scream of attack got closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a large man hit Slate across his shoulders with something.
She rolled to her back, looking for the phone. Getting help was all she could think of to do. Their attacker lifted a piece of wood to hit Slate again.
“Hey!”
He had a wild, crazy look in his dark eyes. Longish hair, a green jacket with patches. She didn’t know how she focused on so much of him, but she took it all in. Army boots like her brother wore.
The shout came from her. She crab-walked backward on the grass to get away when the man faced her. But before he took two steps, Slate was on his feet, jerking the man’s arm to spin him around.
Slate looked like a man who was used to dealing with attackers. Each move seemed automatic, ready for the anticipated blow. Maybe in a normal fight, the other man wouldn’t have stood a chance. But the attacker looked like he was on drugs.
Wild-eyed and crazed. Slow but hard, deliberate movements. A car pulled through the drive, distracting the attacker. Spinning, Slate lifted his leg and let the force of his boot knock the crazy man’s piece of wood behind a backhoe.
Slate shoved a shoulder into the man’s middle. They both went down into a pile of construction rubble.
Their attacker grabbed a piece of loose rebar and charged. Slate blocked the crazy man’s swing, keeping the rebar inches away from his skull. They went down a second time.
Rolling over. Then back. Slate punched the man’s side until he cringed, giving Slate the split second he needed to throw him off and roll to a crouch. This time, the man shook his head, looked around, turned and ran.
By the time Slate was on his feet and running, a car sped out of the parking garage. Vivian couldn’t catch any of the license plate. Her eyes locked with the surprised look on the man’s face as he drove away.
This man might have answers to their questions. She ran after the car, but he turned the corner and was gone. Slate caught up with her and pulled her to a stop, swinging her around into his arms.
“You okay?”
She nodded and looked at the crowd gathering at the doctor’s entrance. Men were approaching, others pointing.
“Get in the truck,” Slate ordered. “Quick.”
“We’re not waiting on the police? Do you think we can catch him ourselves?”
“No. He’s gone. I’d prefer to go home and not hang around to talk with the VA or DPD.”
“Aren’t we going to check out these names?”
“We’re going home.”
“But what if—”
“Dammit, Vivian. You may not need to regroup, but I just took a two-by-four across my shoulders. My jaw hurts like a slab of concrete hit it. Oh, wait—it did. I need an ice pack, aspirin and a shower.”
* * *
BACK AT HIS HOUSE, Slate didn’t waste any time before putting three aspirin into his palm, swallowing them and jumping into the shower. He was sore but with no permanent damage. The forty-minute ride back from the hospital had been pretty quiet. Vivian plugged in his phone for power and searched through the list.
He didn’t mind. His head was full of questions. Had their attacker been hypnotized? Drugged?
The first thing that was clear to him was that he’d never seen the man who’d attacked them before. The second thing was that the man had been intent on doing serious damage, not robbing them.
Coincidence?
How many times had he hated that word? When he was working a case, it just didn’t feel right as an explanation. There was only one logical answer. Someone in the hospital was related to the murder of Dr. Roberts and the suicide of Rashid Parker.
But how?
What did one have to do with the other?
The quick shower he took did nothing for the soreness between his shoulder blades. And nothing to answer the many questions he’d racked up on the drive home.
The steam of the shower in the small bathroom didn’t cover the smell of his mother’s fajitas from the other room. Spicy chicken and beef, fresh salsa and warm tortillas... His stomach growled while he dressed and listened to laughter in the kitchen.
“Okay, I hear Slate. I better skedaddle.” His father gave him a thumbs-up before he pulled the front door shut behind him.
“Feel better?” Vivian asked.
“Cleaner at least.” Slate gestured to the closed plastic containers. “You eat?”
“I was waiting on you. It smells delicious.”
“Mom’s a great cook. She still hasn’t passed on her special marinating recipe. Hungry?”
“Starved. I think we skipped lunch.”
“My stomach doesn’t have to think about that. It knows the answer.”
Vivian was dressed the same but seemed more relaxed. Had his dad accomplished something in the last ten minutes that Slate hadn’t been able to do by being with her all day?
He passed her a plate and pulled lids off the containers. His mother had gone all out. He recognized the homemade guacamole and knew how good it would be. What he didn’t know was if his parents really understood that Vivian wasn’t a girlfriend.
They dug into the food.
“This is really delicious.” She took another bite, then another. “So what do we do next? I have some names and—”
“Eat. We eat. I’ll grab my laptop after and see what Heath recommends.”
“Oh,” she said, swallowing a bite. “I didn’t mean to read the texts, but you gave me your phone to work on and they kept popping up.”
He finished off his first fajita and made a second while he waited on Vivian to barely touch hers. He stretched his arms, then rolled his neck trying to relieve the tenseness.
“You have a road rash.” She set her plate aside and retrieved his cold pack from the freezer, wrapping it in a dish towel before holding it against the side of his face.
He winced, pulling away. She gently cupped his chin to keep him from moving.
“It didn’t look as bad as that makes it feel,” he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth that he could move.
“Thanks, by the way.”
He replaced her hand with his to hold the cold pack against the scrape. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. One word and you turned that guy’s attention away from splitting my head in two.”
“Then you kept him away from me. I don’t understand the why of it all. Do you think he was the one who set the apartment fire last night?” She sat and picked up her fajita.
“I don’t know. I was too slow to catch any of the plate number.”
“Me either. Do you think he’s on this list?”
“I don’t know what’s connecting all this together. It just keeps getting stranger. Eat up. It’s better hot.”
They ate and each downed a bottle of water. He wiped his lips and rolled his neck again, making a note that a chiropractor visit may be in his future.
“Do you need to see a doctor?” Vivian asked.
“Not yet. Hey, what did Heath say in that text?”
“That he was called to a scene and not to expect him home.”
He snapped the plastic lids back onto their containers. Before he could stand, she already had them stacked and in the refrigerator.
“Do you think it would hurt you if I rubbed your neck a little? I don’t want to make it worse,” she said while washing up their dishes.
“Go for it.”
She rubbed her hands together to warm them. He didn’t care when they were still cool against his skin. She kneaded around the neck of his T-shirt, then across to the top of his shoulders.
“That feel okay? Nothing seems out of place.”
“No. Just sore. I feel stupid that I let someone run up behind us with a two-by-four.”
“We’ve had a long day. There’s nothing to feel bad about.”
“I am running on a couple of hours of sleep. I haven’t done that in a while now. Most of my job lately has been eight to six.”
“That explains it then.”
He felt some of the stiffness melting away. It was a little sensitive where the board had hit, maybe bruised, but with each squeeze and knead of the muscle, it relaxed.
“It’s a lot better. Thanks.”
“Would you mind if I used your laptop? I could sign on as a guest if you have anything I shouldn’t see.”
“Sure, and it’s totally my personal files. Mainly ranch inventory, stuff like that. I don’t bring office files home for my laptop.” They moved the short distance to the living room, giving him time to realize she was the work-related file that he’d brought home. “I’ll go get it.”
He grabbed the laptop from his dresser and hobbled back to Vivian just in time to catch her rubbing her own neck.
“Did you get hurt when you fell?”
“No. It’s just normal stiffness from sleeping on a couch and working as a waitress.”
He set the laptop on the coffee table and walked behind the couch, which sat in the middle of the room, separating it from the kitchen. He could easily reach Vivian’s shoulders from there.
“Sit back. Let me return the favor. I got this.”
At least, he thought he did. Right up to the moment he touched her curly hair and dropped it to her left shoulder. Right up to the time he touched the tense tendons across her back. Maybe right up to the moment he saw his fingertips dip under the edge of her shirt.
Or it might have been the exact moment he realized Heath wouldn’t be coming home.
Chapter Seventeen
Slate’s right fingertips skimmed the supersensitive part of her neck that curved into her shoulder. His left fingers joined in on the opposite side before all ten gently but firmly massaged.
For the first minute, Vivian couldn’t really think. It had been so long since she’d had the muscles in her neck artfully manipulated. Strong fingers hit a knot and immediately began to untangle it.
“How’s that? Too much?”
“No,” she said, keeping it simple. If she didn’t, she’d be blathering about how absolutely wonderful it felt.
He pushed his hands under the loose neck of the T-shirt and kneaded the tops of her shoulders. He never broke contact with her skin, just kept kneading and stroking.
“You’re really good. Have you had lessons about how...to do this?” Her eyes had closed somewhere after the first minute or two.
“Nothing professional.”
“Should you be doing this?”
“I’ll stop if you want me to.” His hands paused. She shrugged and he began kneading her shoulder blade.
Why have him stop? This was innocent enough. Just a shoulder rub. Nothing unprofessional. No. Wait. Everything about it was unprofessional, but was there anything about their relationship that should remain segregated? Hadn’t they already crossed a line since she was staying at his house?
If she were honest, she’d wanted to cross a line when she’d first seen him sitting in her booth at the wings restaurant. The desire grew with everything they did together.
“I hope you don’t expect one of these in return. You’re turning me into mush.”
“Good. You need a little relaxing.”
“I admit that eleven months of sleeping on that lumpy pullout called a mattress has done horrible things to my muscles.”
“I can tell.” Slate shook her shoulders a little to emphasize his words. “Come on, relax a little. You know you’re safe here.”
Yes, she was safe. But it was still hard to let go of the stress caused by trying to free her brother. Stress and the guilt of being free when he wasn’t.
“There you go again. Tensing up. Stop thinking about it.” His strong fingers slid confidently across the loose shirt and the flesh underneath. “None of this is your fault. No matter how much you try to take the blame.”
“For someone who wants me to forget about Victor, you sure are saying a lot to remind me.”
“True.”
Slate’s fingers stopped kneading. She heard his booted footsteps leave his place behind the couch and go into the kitchen. Listened to the fridge open, to a glass clink.
Okay, so relaxation was over. She closed her eyes and tried to stop her brain. Stop it from racing down the path of helping her brother. That wasn’t completely true. Her pulse was racing because of Slate’s touch. Because she wanted more than a shoulder rub.
She desired the human contact he provided. Shoot...she desired him. Back in Miami, she might have already invited him to dinner at her apartment. She might have slid her hands around his neck and suggested a long good-night kiss.
It was comical how much she wanted to just be with him.
Actually, there wasn’t anything funny about her desire. All he had to do was sit next to her in his truck and her body trembled.
Aching for him was the easy part. Would there be a future? Did she have the right to think about what came next after Victor’s trial?
“You’re thinking about the case again.” Slate offered her a beer.
“How can you tell?”
“You crinkle your forehead and flatten your lips.” He gestured for her to scoot to the middle of the couch.
She moved, then took a sip of the ice-cold ale. “That look doesn’t sound very pretty at all.”
“On the contrary. I have a sister. I can imagine what you’ve been going through. I don’t think I could put it on the back burner either.” He turned to where his back was against the arm of the couch. “Come here.”
She was surprised, but then again, she wasn’t. She stood so one of his legs could stretch the length of the cushions, then she sat between his legs, resting against his chest.
They sipped their beers in silence.
Slate’s free hand played with her hair, curling it around his finger.
The curtains blew away from the wide windowsill, cracked open to cool the sunshine that had been pouring into the living room. No one was around. Slate’s parents were at the main house. Heath was at Company B headquarters.
Horses whinnied and the breeze blew through the trees. Other than something buzzing against the glass panes, there wasn’t any noise. Very different from the low-income apartments where she’d heard every word of her neighbors. And very different from the apartment she’d had in Miami with the high-end stereo that drowned out every plane or argument.