Ranger Defender

Nothing personal, he’d said. Of course it was, she’d replied. And that was the end of the conversation. One more day to feel greasy. At least she’d be clean while standing on the precipice of bankruptcy.

Was it really bankruptcy if you didn’t own anything to be lost? Probably not. So technically, she’d be homeless without two shiny dimes to her name. Technically.

If all else failed, she could reenlist in the army. Who knows, this time she might be a commissioned officer since she’d earned her degree. She really didn’t want to go back into uniform. Of course, it would be better than wearing this little chicken wing thing.

She dropped the dirty stuff behind the bar, stuffed her last tip into her apron, grabbed a water and snatched a menu on her way back to the new table. It would be another single instead of the four-top that just filled up.

“Here you go. Can I get you something else to drink?” The nice hands taking the menu drew her to take a closer look at her latest customer.

Beautiful blue eyes shone bright in a tanned face. Very clean-shaven cheeks and chin, which was unusual with the beard fad for the twentysomething crowd. Crisp, overly starched shirt. There was a cowboy hat resting on the table to go along with the open badge of a...Texas Ranger.

Open in the way they identified themselves. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“I get it, Miss Watts, and I’m sorry to bug you at work. I’m not here in an official capacity.”

“The badge looks pretty official to me.”

“Yeah, I get that. I wanted you to know who I am and that I’m legit.” He pushed the badge back into his pocket. “I know now’s not a good time, but I’d like to ask you a few follow-up questions at your earliest convenience.”

“That also sounds very official.” She glanced around at the emptying tables. “If you aren’t going to order anything, I’d appreciate you leaving. The manager is particular about wait staff fraternizing with the customers. He particularly hates it.”

“Oh, I’m ordering. I’m starved. I’d like a basket of ranch habanero wings, side salad, fries and sweet tea.”

“This is a real order. You’re not expecting it on the house or anything? If you want the cop discount, I have to get the manager or it comes out of my check.”

“Real order. Real tip. Especially if the tea glass never runs dry.” He handed her the menu. “I’m Slate, by the way.”

“I’ll be right back with your tea.”

A week before Victor’s trial and a Texas Ranger shows up saying it’s unofficial business? Hope. A slim chance of it bubbled into her heart. Just as quickly, her rational mind took out a needle and popped it.

It had been over a year with no hope. A year of visiting her brother and faking a positive attitude so he didn’t lose all hope. She wouldn’t allow this one man who was here in an unofficial capacity to rattle her heart.

All the emotional strength she had left was reserved for her brother. Period.

Tea and salad to the table. Menus to another. Sneak a look at the ranger who’s watching something on his phone. Clear and wipe down a booth. Salt shakers filled for the next shift. Order up. Wings for the ranger.

“Need anything else?” she asked, sliding the basket in front of him.

He performed an ordinary shake of his head just like many customers had before him.

“Why should I talk to you without Victor’s lawyer present? Not like he’d know what to do if I wrote it all out for him. Why should I listen to you?”

“I just have a question.”

“For me?” She stuck her thumb in her chest, realizing too late that it drew his eyes to the bulging cleavage her waitress outfit emphasized. “Not Victor?”

The ranger dropped his hands in his lap and looked at her. Really looked at her, like very few people had in the past year.

“I can’t make any promises, Vivian. I just picked up your brother’s file this morning, but I have a question that I hope you can answer. Maybe it’ll lead to another question. That’s all I’ve got at the moment.”

Honesty. Clarity.

And a trickle of hope.

“I...uh...I get off at two.” She was about to cry because of that one snippet of misplaced emotion.

“Can I meet you—”

“I no longer own a car, officer.”

“Slate’s fine. There’s a coffee shop three doors down. That okay?”

“Sure. I’ll get your check.”

She turned quickly and used the corner of the bar towel to wipe the moisture from her face. Maybe he hadn’t seen it. Who was she trying to fool? Looking at her—really looking and connecting with her eyes—that’s why she was crying.

He’d seen it.

She punched in his ticket number and waited for the printout. No one else noticed her shaking hands or her racing heart. No one noticed anything except her hurrying through the rest of her shift.

Slate finished his wings with half a pitcher of tea still on his table. She’d dropped it off so he wouldn’t run out. He paid and was gone forty-five minutes before she finished up.

She grabbed her jacket and wished she’d brought a change of clothes. Having a serious, even unofficial conversation in the short, revealing T-shirt would be hard. She could keep her jacket on.

Sure. Coffee. That’s all this was. One Frappuccino and one question.

With the stupid hope that it would be another...and then another...

And then the reopening of her brother’s investigation and surely proving that he was innocent. No trial. They could go home.

Oh, my gosh. That was why she hadn’t let herself hope during the past year. One small peek at the possibility and she was back to leading a normal life in Florida. She couldn’t do this to herself and certainly couldn’t do it to her brother.

She hated...hope.

Chapter Four

Meeting Vivian Watts at work seemed like a smart thing to do, until Slate remembered the waitress uniforms at the restaurant. But that was after he’d walked through the door and asked for her section. Immediately noticing how smoking hot she was stopped coherent thought.

And then she’d cried.

Mercy. He was just like any man wanting to do the right thing. He wanted her to stop crying.

He knew he could help make that happen. All he had to do was find a murderer.

Choosing a table in the far back corner of the coffee shop, he opened a file no one in the room should see. The chicken wings sat like a lump in his gut. Maybe the acid from the strong brew would help with the digestion. Good thing he didn’t have a weak stomach or he’d be losing it all by studying the murder scene pictures.

He wanted to help Vivian and Victor Watts. But it did all boil down to one question that no one had ever asked her brother.

“Officer.”

He flipped the file shut and stood, pushing back his chair. “You want something?”

“No. I’m fine.” Vivian sat and pulled her coat tighter.

It was sweltering hot inside the shop despite the November chill that hung outside. Well, she was wearing hot pants and half a T-shirt.

“It’s Slate. Lieutenant if this was official, but again, I can’t make any promises.”

“I stopped believing in promises about the time my brother was arrested for murder. Every promise that was made to us by the Dallas police was broken. And then there’s been the three court-appointed attorneys who promised they’d find the real murderer.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this experience. It doesn’t feel fair, but the evidence does point to your brother.”

“Spare me, Lieutenant. Until you’ve lost everything you’ve had and are about to see your only family convicted of murder in a state that has the death penalty... Please, just ask your question so I can go home.”

“Sure.” He opened the file to a copy of the murder victim’s journal entry. “Can you tell me if your brother ever participated in a study performed by Dr. Roberts?”

“The answer is already in your file. He was seeing her for a sleep disorder. Night terrors. Yes, he knew the victim. Yes, he had an appointment with her the day she was murdered. No, he’d never mentioned that he had a problem to me. No, he never mentioned wanting to kill anyone. No, he hasn’t been the same since he was discharged from the army.” She pushed away from the table. “Thank you for taking a look at Victor’s case. But I really have to get home—”

“Subject Nineteen. Was that your brother’s number?”

“What are you talking about?” She sank back onto the metal chair.

“No one’s ever mentioned how your brother was linked to the murder before?”

“All I know is that my brother was participating in a VA-approved sleep study sponsored by Dr. Kym Roberts. She was one of the doctors conducting the study where she was murdered.”

“That’s all in the file.”

“So what does this subject number mean?” It was actually the answer he wanted to hear.

Watts was a part of the study. The police had verified that much. But there was nothing in the file verifying he was Subject Nineteen. What if it was a different person? They’d have another suspect. But he couldn’t share something like that. It would wreck the prosecution’s case. Slate wouldn’t get “box” duty like Wade. He’d be looking not only for a different job, but a different profession.

No one would hire him if he shared that type of information.

“I can’t show you the evidence.”

“You mean whatever made you question Victor’s innocence?”

“Yes. So you’ve never heard of his status in the study as a subject number?”

“As far as I can tell, it wasn’t a blind study if that’s what you’re referring to. I have a copy of it at home. It doesn’t include the names of the participants but it has information specifically for Victor. Do you need it? Could I bring it to your office tomorrow?” Vivian scrunched her nose, sort of grimacing.

“You said you don’t have a car. Perhaps I could give you a lift home.”

“There’s an office supply store around the corner from my apartment if you need copies.”

“That’ll work.”

“Lieutenant, I know you said you weren’t reopening Victor’s case. It does sort of sound like you’ve found something new.” She bit her lip, pulling her jacket even tighter around her.

“Why don’t you show me the copy of the report you have? That’s the first step.”

The sky broke open in a severe thunderstorm that had been threatening all day. Slate stuck his hat on tight, tucked the file into his shirt and gestured for Vivian to stay at the door. “No sense in the both of us getting soaked. I’ll be right back.”

Slate ran the two blocks to his truck, dumped his hat in the back seat, locked the file in the middle compartment and drove back to the coffee shop. A little over ten minutes. But when he pulled up outside, Vivian wasn’t standing near the door. He waited a couple more minutes. Then he pushed on the flashers and ran inside to see.

“Hey.” He got the attention of the barista. “Where’s the woman I was with a few minutes ago?”

“You left. She left. I don’t know where.”

“Well, if that don’t beat all.”

Cranking the heat once inside the truck, he dialed Wade.

“So?” his friend asked first thing.

“I met with her. How ’bout you look at the list of things in the evidence file?” Slate paused, slapping the file against his thigh waiting while Wade pulled up the rest of the information.

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.”