by Angi Morgan
“Then you go out that door first,” she said, matter-of-fact. “You go, you fight if necessary, then you pull me out.”
Logical and right. He nodded. If someone had done this deliberately to get at them, then it made sense they would be waiting for them to escape or be rescued.
The fire seemed real. At least, the black smoke swirling above their heads did.
It circled inside the elevator.
The doors were pried and propped open, first in the hallway, then on the elevator itself. The whole process seemed to take hours, but it was just a matter of minutes.
“I’ll reach in and get you,” Slate promised. “I’ll give you a thumbs-up.”
She affirmed with a nod. He planted himself between her and the opening, hoping to shield her in case someone just opened fire with a weapon. That was where his mind had gone. Everyone in the hospital was a potential suspect.
But the men who’d pried the doors open were orderlies evacuating everyone off the floor. Good men who pulled him through the opening and helped him do the same for Vivian.
“You okay? Can you walk down the stairs on your own?” one of them asked.
“Thanks and yes,” Slate answered, wrapping his arm around Vivian.
The smoke gathered like a fog at the high ceiling but it was still hard to breathe as they got closer to the exit. The sting blurred his vision and his eyes watered. Patients shoved, trying to get through the stairwell door, while hospital employees in scrubs helped those who had fallen or were in wheelchairs.
Slate held his ground, not budging, letting the crush sweep past them. They’d be safer if no one was around. He could protect Vivian better.
“Stay with me,” he told her.
Vivian didn’t answer so he turned back to check if she was okay.
He didn’t see it coming, but he sure as hell felt it hit his shoulder. And it wasn’t a stranger. The only person close to him was Vivian. Slate fell to his knees and lifted his arm just in time to deflect another blow from an IV pole that had been left by a patient.
Her eyes were blank, sort of crazy like Allan Pinkston.
“Vivian!”
She threw a jab. He countered with a block. He tried to grab her arms, she evaded. It was like their practice the night before. Almost precisely. What if he repeated his last move?
He took one of her punches to his solar plexus. She wasn’t holding anything back, that was for sure. He caught her left arm to her side and struggled to loop his around her right but managed it.
“Vivian!” he shouted, leaning back to avoid the head butt. “Get free, Vivian!”
After a few more seconds of struggling, of lifting her knee and missing, Vivian relaxed like she had the previous evening. There wasn’t a kiss, but her head fell against his chest. Her body went slack and suddenly, Slate was struggling to keep her on her feet.
He swung an unconscious Vivian into his arms and joined others walking down the stairwell.
The bastards had gotten to her. Sometime while she’d been out of his sight, someone had hypnotized her or done something to make her attack him.
God, he hoped she could remember who. It might be the only way he’d forgive himself for not keeping his promise to keep her safe.
* * *
“WHAT TIME IS IT?”
Vivian awoke, searching for the microwave clock that should have shown the time in its bright green illumination in the kitchen. She sat straight up, unsure where she was or who had a heavy arm across her midsection.
“You okay?” a male voice asked. “Have another nightmare?”
It all came back to her in the blink of an eye. No amnesia. Along with no possessions, no money and no bad guy. This wasn’t a nightmare. It was real life. It was her living the hand she’d been dealt.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She glanced around, recognizing that they were in Slate’s bedroom. “Shouldn’t I be at the main house?”
“Heath’s there. We came here because you were sick. It seemed the easiest way to get us both cleaned up.”
An alarm clock across the room indicated it was around one in the morning. She felt like someone had beaten her up. And her mouth felt fuzzy with a hint of rubbing alcohol. “Do they know who set the fire at the apartment building?”
“You mean the hospital?”
She got out of bed with the intention of using her new toothbrush. She desperately needed some water and... Oh, my gosh! She needed clothes.
She stumbled to the bathroom and without turning on the light, found a towel to wrap around herself.
“Slate. I thought we—were we stuck in an elevator?”
“That’s the last thing you remember?” He flipped on the light next to his bed.
There was blood on his pillow. She looked at his head, where a bandage was stained and leaking. He saw the direction of her eyes and touched his temple, then looked at his pillow.
“No reason to be upset. It didn’t even need stitches.”
“Who did that?”
His raised eyebrows gave her the answer. She had. And she couldn’t remember any of it.
“Why are we naked?”
“We’re not. You vomited a couple of times on the way home. The doctors said you probably would, but it still got all over us the last time. You really don’t remember this?” He shifted the blanket aside, showing his sweatpants.
He looked around the bed, then over the side and pointed to the floor. “There’s the T-shirt I had you in. You kept telling me you were burning in a fire.”
“Nightmares?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re sleeping with me because...?”
“You couldn’t sleep without me. You coming back to bed?”
“I...I need...” She snatched up the large T-shirt and retreated into the bathroom.
After the time it took to take a shower—because something was making her hair a greasy mess—she expected Slate to be sawing logs in a dark room. But he wasn’t. He was scrambling eggs in the kitchen.
“The doctors who looked you over said soft foods. Scrambled eggs are soft, right? You think you could eat?” He turned around, pan in hand, still stirring the eggs. He arched his eyebrows and grinned. “You look much, much better. I hope that’s a good sign.”
“Maybe. My teeth aren’t furry and my hair isn’t greasy anymore.”
“Eggs?”
She put her hand over her stomach as it growled. “I think so. But if I stop eating, I’m sure it’s no reflection on the cook.”
“Well, that remains to be seen. But what self-respecting bachelor can’t scramble an egg?”
He filled two plates already on the table. One place had a bottle of water and another had a beer. She took the place with the water bottle.
“So what happened?”
“You were obviously drugged. We won’t know with what until the labs come back. Doesn’t really matter since we don’t know who did it to you.”
She put her hand to her head. “Fuzz. It’s all just a big blur.”
“Sort of like Allan Pinkston and half of the sleep-study vets who had altercations for no reason.” He smiled, but it was stiff and forced.
The humor was lost on her and she didn’t quite understand what all the veterans had to do with her.
“So do you think that somewhere during the day someone drugged me and told me to—oh, God, you said I hit you. What did I hit you with?” She wanted to run to him, to get a closer look under the bandage at his temple.
“An IV pole. That was after the elevator stopped when the fire alarm went off.” He shrugged like it was no big deal.
“So we were stuck in an elevator. Was there an actual fire? Did anyone get hurt?”
“Yes, we were. Yes, on the fourth floor. Only scrapes and bruises during the evacuation. And yes, they caught two vets.
One set the fire and one pulled the alarm on a different floor.”
“Two more men from the sleep study?”
He shook his head and took another bite of eggs. “You aren’t eating and you should drink. They said you’d be dehydrated.” Another bite. “No. These two are regulars in the ER. They said someone wearing a mask asked them to help with a drill.”
“They believed that?”
“They were sort of out of it.” He finished his last bite and started on his beer. “High on the oxy they’d been given.”
She nibbled when he pointed toward her plate again. “Did I ruin everything?”
“Hell, no. We’ve got a list.” He grinned, then pointed his beer toward her. “A limited list of people who had access to you. Whatever knocked you off your feet had to be ingested.”
“But I don’t remember anything.”
“Believe me, Vivian. The rangers have worked with less. Whoever messed with you today underestimated just how good we are.”
“And how humble.”
He winked, tipping his beer at her. “Damn straight.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Vivian loved seeing Slate’s face smiling. In the past few days, when that deep furrow appeared across his brow, it had been because of her. Smiling was good. Smiling was great.
Avoiding her attraction to him wasn’t. It made her feel all squishy inside. He was probably right about trying to begin something under these circumstances. But he was just so darn loveable.
And good Lord, that grin!
“Can I ask you a question?” She turned sideways in her chair to face him directly.
“Sure.”
“When am I supposed to make a big deal out of being attracted to you? When’s the correct time?”
“What? Where did that come from?” He looked totally surprised until he did his adorable eyebrow thing.
“From the fact that you are just so darn cute when you smile and waggle your eyebrows like that.”
“Well, I don’t think this is the best time. There’s no telling if those drugs are affecting you some way.”
She didn’t care. At all. It was almost a compulsive need to be close to him. “I can write a note stating I’m of sound mind and drug free if you want me to.”
“For what?”
“For now.” She used her feet to push his chair away from the table and was quickly sitting across his lap.
There was just something about him. Something honest and refreshing and strong and safe. She wanted to discover everything and what made him who he was. So it made perfect sense to kiss him again.
And maybe again.
“Did I finally come up with a way for you to say yes?” she asked.
“Was I saying no?”
“Man alive. Each and every time we get close to releasing all this tension between us. There’s a definite no from you.”
She leaned in to kiss him and he leaned back. She shook a finger in front of his face, then pushed her body completely against his, holding him in place. He couldn’t escape her lips connecting with his.
“Say yes,” she pleaded against his lips.
Slate’s chest began to rise and fall faster under her hands. “Bad, bad idea,” he said before crushing his lips to hers.
The Texas Ranger in him might think kissing her was a bad idea, but the man hauling her hips to his left nothing but good sensations behind.
“If this is your idea of bad...” she whispered, leaving the rest to his imagination. “You are such a good kisser.”
“You make me crazy,” he said. His lips covered hers completely.
They stopped talking. He pushed her arms higher around his neck and stood, keeping her next to him with his hands under her butt as he moved them from the kitchen to his bedroom.
The bed was still disheveled from where they’d slept earlier.
“You’re sure? This isn’t a funny reaction to drugs or confusion or something like that?”
She nodded, afraid that answering him aloud would somehow make him misinterpret her reply. The luxurious kiss she gave him should be answer enough. She couldn’t let him go this time. Just to be loved...even for a moment.
He laid her on the bed, tugging off her shirt as he did. He pulled his off quickly, then unbuttoned his jeans. He lowered himself on top of her, dipping his tongue into her mouth, then slipping across her chin and skimming...everything.
Frantic touching and hurried clothing removal got them completely skin to skin for the first time.
Heaven.
She tasted the salt on his skin, nipping the curve where his shoulder muscle met his neck. She tilted her head back, encouraging him to taste her more, sending additional shivers of anticipation down her spine.
He lightly scraped his teeth across her breast before settling into the hollow of her throat. He quickly replaced his lips with his fingertips, stroking the edge of her bra. Then he caught her mouth to his again, plunging his tongue inside. He captured her whimper as their hips pushed against each other, searching for more.
“There’s no turning back.”
“Ranger Thompson, are you going to kiss me or talk me to sleep?”
He didn’t debate the situation after that.
Desire was evident from both of them. There wasn’t any need to delay what they’d both wanted and needed. He shifted and was inside her, filling every bit of her with every bit of him.
There may be consequences in the morning, but at the moment, all she could think about was the undeniable satisfaction. And how soon they could do it all again.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, consequences arrived with the dawn and a clear head. Only a couple hours of sleep for Vivian and then she was sipping coffee, watching the sunrise when Heath began feeding the horses. She joined him, pitching in without a word.
She’d volunteered to help. Heath treated her with what seemed like a little more respect. In spite of the fact that it was her fault Slate’s roommate was taking on extra duties. Heath managed to feed the horses and chickens without much more than a grunt. But it was a respectful couple of grunts from the man of few words. He walked with her back to his house and kicked the couch as he passed to wake Slate up.
“You coming to work or going to sleep in?” Heath asked before going to his room.
Slate looked blurry eyed at his watch. “I’ve only been asleep a couple of hours. I came out here earlier to keep watch.”
Heath didn’t laugh much, but he did all the way into his room. Slate had to laugh since he’d fallen asleep keeping that so-called watch.
“We’ve got a psychopath to catch today,” Heath yelled through his closed door. “But you can go back to bed if you want.”
Slate was already sitting on the couch, rubbing his eyes, then stretching his arms above his head. “You doing okay?” he asked Vivian. “Get some shut-eye without fire nightmares?”
“Yes. I woke up about the time you fell asleep. Let me get you some coffee.”
“Nice. Heath feed the horses?”
“We just finished.” She handed him a cup and stepped back.
She wanted to know Heath’s story. It seemed like he had one. But right now, today, he was very correct.
They had a psychopath to catch.
Vivian was ready to leave. It didn’t take long to put on jeans, a pullover sweater and a pair of tennis shoes. Showers stopped as she cleaned the kitchen and tried to remember what had happened last night. She’d remembered most of what had happened in the waiting room and elevator.
No one had told her anything or pushed her to remember. Slate had explained that after Allan Pinkston, he’d been advised against saying anything to her. Anything that might create a false memory. But why couldn’t she remember all of the tests the EEG lab had done on her?
As soon as Slate
was out of the bedroom, she was ready to get started. He, on the other hand, was gathering his things and looking toward Heath’s room.
“Why do you seem like you’re waiting for backup?” she asked after several minutes. “I’m not being left behind. What if I remember something?”
He glanced at his phone again. “The guys are kind of worried you might hit them over the head with an IV pole.”
“Oh. I hadn’t considered that.”
“Look.” He gripped her shoulders. “You’re not getting left behind, but we still don’t know who’s doing what. So we have to take precautions.”
“That’s understandable. I agree. I’ll sit in the truck.”
“I was thinking more like you’d sit in the office with Wade.” He patted her arms, making her feel twelve.
“Okay, Wade can sit in the truck, too.”
“Oh.” He pointed a finger at her. “You’re funny. Very funny.”
“And serious. I might remember more if I’m at the hospital.”
“Might. Might not. There’s no guarantee you’ll ever remember.” Again, Slate didn’t act too concerned. “We have units collecting all the remaining sleep-study patients. Even your brother’s been put into a separate holding cell under surveillance.”
She let his words sink in. It made sense. But he was keeping it almost too low-key. No one knew what the patients had been programmed to do if something went wrong. And no one knew what she’d been programmed to do.
Oh, God!
Last night, she’d made it back to the waiting area before she got sick. There was no telling what she might have done if a knife or gun had been available when she attacked Slate.
“I’m not going to hamper your investigation by doing something selfish and stupid. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Slate released a long sigh of relief, and right on cue, his phone rang. She heard Heath’s phone buzzing and vibrating in his room.
“What’s happened?”
“Let’s get moving,” Heath said, coming out of his bedroom. “Looks like you’re going to the hospital. We all are.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Vivian was left waiting in the truck at the front entrance of the hospital. The rangers were parked one after the other on the street. Police cars blocked the entrance and both roads coming to either side of the VA.
