by Angi Morgan
The suspect came to the door with a forced smile on her face.
“Miss Norman? I hope you remember me from the hospital cafeteria.”
“Of course I do. You’re the Texas Ranger who asked about Rashid. Did you discover why he went crazy like that? Did you need more information about his visits?”
“No, ma’am. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Oh?”
Her expressions had a well-rehearsed sense to them. He’d seen practiced sentences before, but this took it to a whole new level. Now that he was paying attention, he understood what Vivian had picked up on.
“May I come in?”
“Certainly. Do you mind if we have our discussion here in the foyer? I don’t often have guests and don’t have a formal room to entertain.”
“I was wondering, Miss Norman, if you came to work today. There’s been an incident.”
“Oh, no. Not another murder.”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“After all the commotion yesterday, my patients—I mean the ones that come to the lab—were canceled. The hospital was fine with me staying home.”
He stood, traditional hat in hand, trying to observe everything about the house. Looking for a possible struggle, listening for any signs of Vivian.
Nothing. He had no probable cause.
Nothing besides everything shouting at him that Vivian was here.
His phone vibrated inside his jacket. “Excuse me a second.” He took it out and bent his head to read.
Slate didn’t see what slammed into the side of his head. All he saw was a blur and had no time to duck.
Chapter Thirty-One
Vivian heard the casual conversation. Abby had invited someone with a deep voice—who sounded a lot like Slate—inside the house. Muffled words kept her from hearing what was said. Her present semidrugged state kept her from crying out. There was a crash and then a slam against the polished floor.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Was he unconscious or even...dead?
Vivian felt the bubble of panic forming in her chest. The cloth over her mouth helped keep her from hyperventilating. What wild imagination had ever convinced her she could find a murderer or help her brother? She should have stayed in the truck or better still, stayed at Slate’s house.
Now she’d gotten him killed. He needed her help. Suddenly, the power of suggestion that she couldn’t get up was gone. She was free. She could move. She felt sick, but she could move.
She ran to where she’d heard noises. It was Slate. Facedown on the floor, a silver tray and broken glass around his head. Abby was picking up the pieces and neatly stacking them in a trash can.
Vivian skidded to a halt as Abby grabbed one of the larger pieces and held it to Slate’s neck. The madwoman pushed it just under his ear. It was sharp enough to draw a drop of blood.
“No! Don’t...don’t hurt him. I’ll...I’ll do whatever you want.”
Abby handed her a small bottle of water like the drugged mineral water from the day before. She continued to pick up the glass and missed that Vivian poured most of the water onto Slate’s pants leg. He had a huge knot on his head. She instinctively reached to help him, but Abby snapped to attention.
“She said we need to leave. We’ll drive to the airport. I can change my ticket.”
“Why are you doing this? What are you getting from killing all these people?”
“Remember, Vivian. You don’t have an appointment. Do as I tell you.”
Vivian sought Slate with her eyes but couldn’t will her body to move toward him.
“My reasons are far above the intelligence in your average mind.” Abby reached onto the credenza and pulled out a pair of disposable gloves, then handed them to Vivian. “Put these on. You can’t contaminate my things with your germs.”
Abby had done something to control her. A posthypnotic suggestion that was working.
“Remember, Vivian. You don’t have an appointment. Come with me.”
They left the house and slowly made their way across a new sidewalk. There seemed to be a certain place on each square that Abby had to walk. She didn’t let anything touch her and the only thing Vivian had been handed was a single key to a car.
The garage door had a code, which Abby punched in. The door lifted to show some type of very expensive white sports car. Vivian was getting a little punchy. It was harder to focus than usual.
One piece of information kept repeating in her mind. Do this and Slate is safe. She pinched herself while getting into the car, trying to wake herself up.
“Good thing I’m not driving,” she said, feeling kind of weird. Or drugged. She explained why automatically. “I can’t drive stick.”
Abby carefully put everything into the car. Vivian automatically latched her seat belt. Her abductor didn’t for some reason, but Abby backed out of the building and the driveway anyway. She put the car in gear and took off.
It must have been fast because Vivian was pushed back in her seat for a second or two. “I need out of here.” She tried to open the door, gaining more control of her mind. Pushing away the suggestion that she needed to obey.
Abby clicked the auto lock button.
“No. No. No.” Vivian tried to reach across the other woman to unlock the doors. She tried to grab the steering wheel but her fingers slid. She stretched again, leaning against the other woman.
Abby screamed when she was touched, throwing up her hands. She lost control of the sports car, which went flying off the road.
Vivian was stunned. Literally. The seat belt jerked her backward. The airbags went off. A cloud of white powder coated everything, hanging in the air.
Abby began screaming hysterically. And kept screaming. Vivian covered her ears, it was so disturbing and bad. Horrible.
Even in a slightly drugged or hypnotic state of mind, Vivian could tell the older woman seemed to be having some sort of mental break.
“I need to be perfect. This can’t be happening. My research. Everything’s ruined. I’m ruined. Get out!” She pulled a knife and cut Vivian’s seat belt, then plunged it into the airbag screaming, “Out! Out!”
Grabbing hold of Vivian’s hair, she dragged her across the console and out the driver’s side door. She kept the knife on her, holding her close.
“We’ve got to get to the train. I need...I need...my perfect death.”
* * *
SLATE COULD FEEL...and he could still see. He pushed himself up from the floor. Or sort of tugged himself upright using the credenza that he’d been lying beside.
Putting his hand to his head, his fingers came away bloody.
Vivian! Where had they gone?
He stumbled through the small, sterile house. No Vivian. No suspect. He took out his phone and called Wade while he stumbled out the front walk. There across the parking lot at the corner farthest from him were the two women. Abby Norman led Vivian away from the station.
Toward the oncoming train.
He started running.
“Get out of the way! Train! Let her go!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“No, Ranger Thompson. I won’t,” Abby shouted. “No one will see this for what it is. I need the perfect death and none of you are going to stop me from obtaining it.”
Abby Norman was strong for a woman of her slight build. That or she’d drugged Vivian again. Vivian didn’t have a mad, glazed-eye look but she wasn’t struggling. Maybe it was part of Norman’s programming the day before.
He saw the wrecked car at the end of the road. Vivian seemed sort of stunned. Then he saw the knife at her throat.
But she wasn’t fighting back. Why? Was she in a trance like before?
“Vivian, honey, how did you get free?” he asked loudly, not caring if Abby Norman heard him or not. “If you get the chance, get free. Remembe
r how you got free from me. Wake up!”
The Rapid Transit train whistle blew. It was at the previous block, crossing the intersection. They didn’t have much time.
“Vivian! Fight!”
Slate ran across the parking lot for the stairs leading up the hill to the train stop, keeping his eyes on the women. No one was at the stop so he couldn’t call for help. No one was there to stop a madwoman from walking onto the tracks in front of the train.
The steep incline up to the train stop was reinforced with a concrete wall. He couldn’t climb it so he had to follow the sidewalk from the parking lot. Up two sets of steps and around to the loading area before he could run onto the track and follow them.
He was on the first set of steps. The whistle was blowing nonstop. The brakes were screaming, trying to stop...
“What are you doing? Let go of me.” Vivian was alert and finally fighting. She knocked the knife out of her opponent’s hand but couldn’t get her hair free.
Slate hit the top of the second set of steps and began running. The fastest way was straight down the track. He waved, he shouted.
And he watched as Vivian threw several punches that her captor couldn’t recover from. Abby fell, still holding Vivian’s long hair and bringing her down to the track, too.
“The train is coming!”
Screeching brakes. Earsplitting whistle. Car horns blared. People screamed.
Vivian was on her knees.
Abby had a perfect smile on her face.
Slate got to Vivian with seconds left, just as the former army soldier kicked out and freed herself.
He grabbed Vivian around her waist and fell out of the train’s path. It barely missed them. It didn’t miss Abby Norman.
Lying on the track as she was, she died horrifically and instantly. The train slid to a stop. There was nothing the conductor could have done. People from across the street ran toward them. There was blood on the track under the train.
Slate dragged Vivian into his lap. She was crying and mumbling incoherently.
“It’s okay. You’re okay.” He repeated the same words over and over again. While rocking her in his lap, he kept her face pressed into his chest, kept his hand over her eyes.
There was no reason for her to ever have a memory of what was in front of them. He’d keep the unpleasant scene in his head for legal reasons, but Vivian didn’t need it.
She’d have enough nightmares based off of the actual event. The feel of having her abductor yanked from her hand, hit by the train. Hell, she was probably more equipped to handle the whole ordeal than he was. She’d been in the military. Had served overseas. No telling what she’d seen or had to do there.
But still... He could keep her from seeing this particular incident. No reason to force more into her mind.
Life had enough horror.
* * *
SLATE’S HEAD HAD A LUMP the size of Rhode Island on the side of it. Being hit with what felt like a brick wasn’t pleasant, but he wasn’t dead. The EMTs gave him a green light to be checked out by his own doctor. He might have stretched the truth a little about passing out.
So he’d be more truthful with his own doctor...but later.
He needed to get back to Vivian. He’d been keeping an eye on her, but she was sitting in the back of the major’s SUV. At least the heater was running for her. Wade sat in the front but wasn’t talking. He was actually texting Slate, who could only read and not respond.
She’s fine. Doesn’t want to talk about it. Wants to wait for you to give her statement. Would rather stay in the SUV until you’re done.
Four texts, several minutes apart. If they’d moved her, Wade would have let him know.
“Sign here that you’re refusing transport.” The EMT stuck a clipboard and pen in front of Slate. “I really think you need stiches, Mr. Thompson. I’m taking a wild guess here, but I think you’ve got a concussion. So if you start vomiting or lose consciousness, find an ER, stat.”
“Yeah. We good?”
The EMT shook his head but turned back to his vehicle. Slate hightailed it to the dark SUV.
“You can’t be alone with her, Thompson. You know we have to take your statements independently,” Major Clements said.
“I want her to have a lawyer.”
“Good idea. So you think she needs one?” Jack asked.
“No. But it’ll keep anyone questioning her in line. She shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’ll call mine.”
“Thanks. Now have Wade roll down the window.” No, it wasn’t a question asking for permission. It was a demand that he expected to be met.
The window went down without a word. Three rangers besides himself were listening to the conversation. Wade got out of the driver’s seat and joined Major Clements, Jack and Heath in a semicircle that prevented anyone from interrupting them.
“I know what you’re going to say,” she said with very little emotion.
“You do?”
“This was all my fault. Abby would be alive if I’d just waited in the truck.”
“I was going to say...” he pulled a twig from her hair “...they’re going to ask you what happened. Be honest. Jack’s calling his lawyer—”
“You think I need a lawyer?” she asked, panicked but still avoiding looking at him.
“No, I don’t. I just don’t want you to be alone.” He wanted to open the door and pull her into his arms. He couldn’t. Too many eyes were watching. “A lot of departments will be asking you the same questions. Don’t get frustrated or hyperventilate. Having a lawyer there will help.”
She should have reacted to his tease about hyperventilating. She didn’t move, but the men around him did. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw their hands go up, heard his commander say, “Give him a second.”
“I’ve got to go, Vivian. Jack will take care of you. All the guys will. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
She looked pale, unusually still as the window slid up between them.
“You sure you’re both okay to face these guys?” Jack asked. “Maybe the hospital should be our first stop?”
“I think she’s in shock. Any chance of getting the questions postponed?”
He shook his head. “You know this jockeying-for-position battle is out of my hands. I’m not leaving and will get her out of there as soon as I can.” He nodded to a group of officers coming toward them. “You take care of business.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Done. Over. Another case for the files. And freaky as hell. Slate couldn’t remember anything more weird or strange happening to people he knew.
Martha Abigail Norman Toliver had been a very sick individual. Major Clements and the VA OIG had notified her parents in Florida. He was curious to hear what they thought of their daughter.
Slate had changed and was at home when he called Wade for an update, knowing he’d be working his way through the punishment files so he could get off desk duty sooner. His friend really needed a reason to leave the office.
“Any word on the why?” Slate asked. “Clues to what motivated her?”
“The forensics team is still cataloguing items,” Wade said. “This case is three jurisdictional-messed-up nightmares. Nobody knows who to report to so getting any information is crazy.”
“But you went to the house. What was it like?” Slate had seen through the door. Everything was white, sterile. It almost looked vacuum sealed.
“Her parents verified that sessions with Dr. Roberts was part of their agreement with Abby to pay her bills. Dr. Roberts’s office confirmed our mild-mannered lab assistant was a patient. She must have helped herself to the Subject Nineteen records. The circumstantial evidence against Victor was that he had an appointment with the victim. Then he confessed and everyone stopped looking further.”
“That should clear
Victor Watts. Vivian’s going to want her brother out of jail pronto. How long do you think it’ll take?”
“Days. But I don’t think we’ll have to wait long. But I got my doubts about sending him back on the streets.”
“That’s where I’m collecting on my favor, man. I did you one, now it’s your turn.”
“You got it.”
“Take a look into Victor’s attorney. I want to know if he’s getting a kickback from the investigators he recommended to Vivian. She and her brother will need money to live on. And are there any places hiring where we can give them some recommendations?” Slate swallowed hard.
They’d known each other less than a week, but he didn’t want Vivian to move back to Miami. A different city in Texas...he could handle that. Texas was a big state and rangers transferred companies from time to time. But breaking into another law enforcement agency in Florida...that was another story.
“You’re using your favor on this? I thought you’d want something harder. Or the truth about Jack’s girlfriend.”
“This is important. It’s going to be a fight to get her brother into a facility that deprograms minds—if there is such a place. In fact, all of the veterans who were exposed to Abby Norman are going to need it.”
“I know, man. I’ve got your back and theirs. I’ll make sure it happens.”
Slate pressed his lips together and nodded. “Vivian will need to be checked out, too.”
“Get this, the parents told us she had OCD and several other phobias and disorders.” Wade changed the subject. “And apparently, she had a psychotic break recently. No one confirmed schizophrenia, but it was suggested that’s why she was being observed by Roberts.”
“I don’t envy the team having to look and sort through all that.”
“Hey, before I let you go. Norman had several files on the laptop they found in the wrecked car. They seem to be different stages of her—for the lack of a better word—brainwashing files she played for the vets. Looks like she’d drug them and play the files while they slept.”
