by Angi Morgan
“I should probably get some running pants on before Dad comes looking for me.”
“Couldn’t we stay here? I hate to impose on your parents.”
“No imposition. We’re expected and we both need some sleep.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “If we stay here, we both know sleep is the last thing we’ll be getting.”
He lifted his laptop.
“Is it broken?” she asked.
“Nothing a good charge won’t fix. I’ll pack it up so we can get the list update from Heath or Wade in the morning.”
Slate got dressed, they gathered everything, straightened the room a little and then they settled in at the main house, where fresh brownies were waiting.
Vivian didn’t have to wonder how Slate became such an awesome guy. She was blown away by the generosity of all of the Thompson family. She’d never be able to repay their kindness but she was going to try.
Chapter Twenty-One
Abby put the final touches into the white-noise program for the patients who would visit the EEG lab the next day. Her time was limited in the Dallas lab. Her next round of patients would be in Arizona. The movers had been hired to pack up the house.
Of course, her sensitive research would travel directly with her. Not in the moving trucks her father had scheduled for the end of the week.
Sometimes it was great to have her father’s money. He was glad to pay for the move to her first job in Texas. Basically, it had been farther away from them in Florida. The Veterans Hospital in Arizona was one of the largest in the country and she wouldn’t limit herself to a certain caliber of patient.
As soon as she programmed the last two names on the sleep-study list today, she’d be ready to leave Texas.
It was hard to add an activity to her routine, but she wanted to know if Allan Pinkston had carried out his mission. There wasn’t a mention of an attack on a Texas Ranger, but she couldn’t rule him out yet. There was still time before he’d been programmed to eliminate himself.
She looked in the mirror, but the woman there was silent.
No voice of reason. Only thoughts of panic.
How had she failed?
She needed her answers. Maybe switching to another facility with additional patients wasn’t enough. She trimmed her cuticles, washed her hands, scrubbed under the nails and up her arms with her surgical brush. The stiff bristles indicated cleanliness. She strove toward that perfect sterile world and she’d get there soon.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Slate Hansom, it’s time for lunch. We’d like to eat and be cleared away before we leave for Oklahoma.” His mom untied her apron and left it on the back of her chair. “Investigative work sure does look boring.”
She’d cooked enough food to last them a week. She and his dad would be gone through Monday, and Slate really hoped he’d have this case wrapped up by then to keep his parents out of danger. Last night had been close.
“It not only looks that way, it definitely is,” Vivian agreed.
“We’ve gotten a lot accomplished this morning. It beats knocking on twenty doors, driving all over the metroplex and hoping people are home. Now we’ve got three solid interviews lined up.”
“Sounds good, son.” His dad patted him across the back before sitting at the table. He’d already finished his chores, packed the car and showered.
His father had worked all his life. Hard work on the ranch, holding off selling any of it until it was evident that he and his sister didn’t want to raise horses and give lessons.
“Did you get in touch with your half of the list, Viv?” Slate asked.
“We meet with the last one tomorrow at eleven during his lunch break.” She smiled and lifted an eyebrow. “You never did tell me why you’re called Hansom.”
“It’s a family name,” his mom chimed in. “Been in the family for generations. We think some family relative must have owned an English carriage. We haven’t connected the genealogy back to the man who invented it, though.”
“Oh, so you’re named after a carriage not your looks,” Vivian said for his ears only. She laughed and handed him her list.
It was good to hear her laugh, especially after the tragic stories he’d been hearing all morning. Together they’d found a lot of troubled veterans on the list. His call to the Rockwall PD wasn’t encouraging either. Allan Pinkston still couldn’t remember why he was stalking Vivian or why he’d attacked them twice. There was something about the wild look in his eyes that made Slate think he wasn’t completely in control of himself.
After the police conversation, he’d begun calling the men and women on the list to ask if they were having blackouts, periods of time they couldn’t remember getting to or from someplace. He sent a text message to the other rangers so they could add the question to their own lists.
Called to lunch a third time, Slate stopped at his dining table chair, sending another text about his and Vivian’s progress.
“Honey, I know you’re a grown man, but having your phone out at the table is just rude,” his mother reprimanded. “You know how much I dislike it.”
He turned his phone facedown and dropped his napkin in his lap. “If Heath or Jack call, I’ve got to take it, Mom. Just giving you a heads-up.”
Lunch was more like a full dinner, including cloth napkins normally reserved for Sunday. Chicken strips, mashed potatoes and gravy, along with corn on the cob and biscuits. He’d smelled the chocolate chip cookies and snitched a couple earlier while they were cooling. He’d even shared with Vivian.
They passed the food and his parents kept looking at Vivian’s almost-empty plate. “Aren’t you hungry, dear?” his mom asked.
“I’m still full from the wonderful breakfast you made us. I’m not used to eating every meal of the day.”
“Well, it’s good you’re with us then. We’ll get some meat on your bones.”
There was nothing wrong with the amount of meat on Vivian’s bones. She was excellent and he hoped he got another chance to tell her, to show her.
“Come on, Mom. She’s not ten. She’ll eat if she’s hungry.” As soon as his plate was loaded, his phone rang. He picked it up along with a chicken tender and walked to the porch.
“Thompson.” Unable to resist, he took a large bite of the tender.
“Jack and I are on our way to the ranch,” Heath said, like that was the plan.
“Don’t eat. Mom cooked.” Heath would know there was enough here to feed an army. Slate’s mother never cooked in half measures.
“Works for me. You’re not going to believe what we’ve stumbled into.”
“I think I will. What’s your ETA?”
“Less than twenty.”
Back at the table with his phone facedown again, he shoveled the food into his mouth. “Eat up, Vivian. The guys will be here to combine all the data. We’ll clear and clean, Mom. You guys need to hit the road before traffic.”
And before his coworkers arrived. His parents finished and hugged him goodbye. Then they hugged Vivian. No surprise. She was officially part of the household...almost family by his mother’s definition.
“Good luck with your brother’s case. We’ll be thinking about you and praying that you both stay safe.” His dad was normally the succinct man of few words. Sometime that morning, he’d gotten Vivian to talk about what they were doing.
“Take care of yourself, Slate. We told your sister to stay at school this weekend and we’ve canceled the riding lessons. Remember that you’re in charge of the livestock.”
“Yes, ma’am. Heath and I will take care of it.”
“I’ll help. You guys have a safe trip.” Vivian waved from the porch.
And then they were gone. He was once again alone with Vivian. Not for long, but alone. He’d botched his apology last night and then she’d cleaned his knees. She’d insisted on taking a lo
ok at them this morning and debriding them again. His mom got a look and told him to go to the doctor.
The morning’s events flashed through his mind in the couple of seconds it took to walk back up the three steps to the porch where she stood holding the screen door open. But a vision of the future beckoned to him of her doing the same thing.
Why? He barely knew this woman. But he wanted to know her better, wanted her to stay and be comfortable. Not only at his place, but also his parents’ house. That meant something, right?
He wasn’t a monk. Far from it. He’d had his fair share of dates and girlfriends. But never anything this intense, this fast. Proven last night when he’d forgotten about their situation and let his guard down.
Dammit. He liked Vivian Watts. A lot.
“Time to clean up?” Vivian asked.
“Huh?” He literally had to shake himself to stop dwelling on how fast this was hitting him. “Um, not yet. I told the guys there was food.”
“I hope they have a plan. Victor is running out of time.”
They went back to the den where they’d been making their calls. There was still a landline in this room for emergencies, which Vivian used. She checked the list and had the receiver up to dial.
“Wait,” he said. “You know we’re getting closer. Think where you were three days ago. You were just waiting for the trial to happen with no hope.”
“All I can see is how far we still have to go.”
“You have help now. People who care about making certain justice is carried out and that an innocent man doesn’t stay behind bars.”
He meant it. They both made another call. The families on the other end of the line were anxious to talk with someone about the injustices their loved ones had experienced. It was disheartening to listen to the same story—different variations, but basically the same story—about forgotten heroes.
The porch screen door squeaked open and closed.
“Do I smell chicken?” Heath didn’t wait for an invitation to enter.
Jack followed Heath to the table. Both of his friends filled their plates and said no when Vivian offered to warm up the food.
“Something is definitely wrong with this sleep study. Almost half of the men and women on our list have had an altercation with the police in the past six months,” Heath said, dipping his chicken into the gravy. “Man, your mom can cook. Let me see your list.”
“It’s about the same,” Vivian said. “Almost half. We each spoke with a wife who had lost her husband in a murder-suicide. One killed a stranger and one killed a stranger off the street.”
“I had one,” Jack said. “He killed a grocery clerk for giving him the incorrect change, according to witnesses.”
“What are the odds of that happening to three men in the same sleep study?” Vivian asked.
“Pretty damn low,” Jack threw out.
“Are we one hundred percent certain that we have all the correct patients?” Slate put the question out there, but Heath nodded as he ate, acknowledging he’d done the work correctly. “Man, name after name kept coming up with a problem. One’s involved with a brawl and the next is associated with a domestic dispute. By the time I got to the fifth name on my list, it was clear something was wrong.”
“Good grief.” Heath held up all three lists. “Did you realize that the only man affected out of alphabetical order is your brother?”
“Do the dates they had a brush with the law match alphabetically?”
Heath arched his eyebrows as he read and began nodding. “Pretty much.”
“How can someone be getting these honorable men and women to break the law? Do you think it’s without their knowledge?”
“Hypnotism?”
“Or something worse. It’s a damn sleep study. What if someone’s experimenting on them?” Heath was serious.
“That’s ridiculous. It couldn’t possibly happen without someone knowing about it,” Vivian said. “Right?”
“I just looked it up and found a dozen sites on sleep programming to rewire your brain. I guess it’s not so ridiculous.” Heath kept typing on his laptop.
“Do you think Dr. Roberts was brainwashing veterans during a sleep study?” Vivian asked.
Heath shook his head. “The timing is off. Her murder was eleven months ago. The police reports don’t go back that far.”
“So we’re still looking for Subject Nineteen,” Slate pointed out.
“If you take Victor out of the equation, what’s the connection? Who wants her dead?” Jack asked before munching down on another cookie.
“All of Dr. Roberts’s associates were accounted for—they had alibies. She didn’t have a boyfriend. She didn’t have a husband or ex-husband or even an ex-boyfriend. We need to find Subject Nineteen. Male or female, this person is the key and probably the murderer.” Slate paced around the room, very aware that everyone was listening.
“We have to go to the old man.” Jack leaned back from the table. “This isn’t just about seeing if Victor Watts is innocent. We need an official investigation.”
“How long will that take?” she asked. Heath and Jack looked away. “My brother’s trial begins Monday.”
Slate barely had the courage to look her in the eye. “What choice do we have? We need an official investigation to get through the door, to ask doctors, nurses, janitors if they think something weird is going on.”
“That might take weeks. If he enters a plea of guilty, he loses his right to appeal. No. There has to be another way.”
“First, we get assigned the case. We talk with the VA OIG.” Jack was the practical ranger. The one who knew the rules and how everything worked.
“Who?”
“The VA’s Office of Inspector General. They’d handle complaints and investigations to see what’s going on,” Heath explained. “They don’t like to share or play well with others.”
“And if they say no? What then?” Vivian asked.
Slate crossed the small distance to stand next to her and face his friends. “She’s right. Whatever happens with the bureaucracy, it’ll be too late to help Victor. He’s innocent.”
“You hope he’s innocent.” Jack shrugged. “We all hope he’s innocent but our hands are tied on this now. Whatever strange thing is happening in connection with the sleep study these veterans are a part of, we have to build a case by proceeding with authority. We need permission to get at those doctors and the rest of the staff.”
“The VA inspector isn’t going to cooperate.” Heath shook his head before standing and ticking things off on his fingers. “The first thing they’ll do is shut down the study. Then they’ll drag their feet because they lack the staff or need to bring in a specialist from DC to ask the questions. In turn, that will alert whoever’s messing with these veterans. They’ll disappear before the investigation even gets started.”
“That’s not necessarily the case.”
Slate shot Jack a get-real look. They all knew about government bureaucracy.
“What I meant...” Jack shrugged and continued “...is that we could get someone into the study undercover before we tell anyone.”
“It’s too late for that,” Heath countered. “First, the person manipulating these people probably knows all about us. And second, the study’s nearly over. They won’t let anyone else enter it at this point.”
“But my brother is out of time. Face it, this explanation doesn’t sound believable enough for the sci-fi channel to make a movie about it. Who do we approach and how do we get them to believe us?”
“I think we should go to the old man with a plan. It’s too important to just wing it.” Slate knew it was the only way. He’d call and set up an appointment. He would take all the heat.
No one would get in trouble for working on this case without authority...except Slate.
“We get Major Clemen
ts to convince them to send one of us in undercover. Has to be tomorrow. We find out what tests are required from the sleep-study patients, get us moved to the head of the line and get a handle on all the personnel.”
“It should be me.” Heath dipped his chin but raised a finger. “I’m the least likely to be recognized. They obviously know who you are, Slate. Jack, your father just won the senate race and you were in the news again last week. So it has to be me.”
“Fine,” Slate said at the same time Jack agreed.
“I’ve got all the data together and will print out the summary for Major Clements.” Heath slapped Slate on his back on his way out the door. “By the way, you’re not taking all the heat on this. I’ll be at the meeting.”
“So will I.” Jack gripped Slate’s hand. “We’re in this together.”
“You know, statistically, every ten days a murder is committed that won’t ever be solved.”
“Coming from Heath, that’s probably true,” Jack said before getting into his truck.
Vivian stood next to Slate, waiting for his friends to leave. Slate wanted to put his arm around her, to offer comfort. But that was too dangerous now that they were alone.
“Killing by a stranger. Do you really think someone is programming men to kill people they don’t know? It’s like Strangers on a Train. There’d be no way to connect the murderer to the murder.”
“If it worked, if the veteran never remembered anything or if they commit suicide, then we might be looking at the perfect murder.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Vivian had reluctantly been allowed in the back of the major’s office after she’d promised not to interject information or beg for her brother. It was hard, but she’d managed. Jack and Heath had also managed not to say anything, even with all the harrumphs the older ranger had made throughout Slate’s convincing argument.
“Domestic violence, drunk and disorderly conduct, trespassing, voyeurism, and then there are the three murder-suicides in the past six weeks,” Slate stated their case.
Or maybe it was a plea. If she’d been allowed to speak, Vivian would be crying and begging, attempting to convince the older Texas Ranger that her brother had to be innocent. There was a possibility that had occurred to her on the ride over to Company B. She didn’t voice it out loud and didn’t want to think about it. But her brother might have committed the murder after being brainwashed or reprogrammed.