LITMIR.BIZ

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been to—other than her chicken restaurant. She had agreed to come with him to dinner, but she wasn’t going to order anything. She couldn’t. The money in her wallet was bus fare to get her back and forth to court.

      “Sorry, I should have asked if you’re a vegetarian or vegan. Look, there’s a place every fifty feet around here. I’m sure we can find one for non-meat eaters.” He grabbed her hand again.

      The doorman stared at them.

      “I’m not a vegetarian,” she whispered. Then she leaned in closer to him. “This place is too fancy for me.”

      “Well, shoot. My mouth is salivating for a good sirloin.” He took a step away from the door, letting another couple pass through. “Wait. This is my idea. My treat. Can we eat here now?”

      As much as she’d lowered her voice to avoid embarrassing looks, Slate spoke loudly, not seeming to catch a hint of her embarrassment—at all. He tugged gently on her hand, backing up to and through the open doorway.

      The maître d’ recognized Slate as he turned around to face her. “We can seat you right away, Lieutenant Thompson.”

      The couple that was before them had just been told it was a forty-five minute wait. Vivian looked at the ranger and he promptly winked at her. He also still had hold of her hand. Firm grip.

      “They do have really good sirloin here.”

      “So this really is one of your favorite places. They know you on sight.”

      He bent close to her ear, his warm breath cascading over the sensitive lobe. “I sort of stopped a robbery one night. They won’t let me forget it.” He jerked his chin to a framed article hanging on the wall.

      Well, how about that. He was a real-life hero. She got closer, along with the couple now behind them in line, and read all about the armed robber who hadn’t made it out the door because a Texas Ranger had been dining here.

      “Thank God. That’s the first gun we’ve seen out in the open like this,” the woman in line said. “I didn’t know what to think. Do you wear your weapon when you’re on a date?”

      “Actually, ma’am—” Slate’s accent turned super slow and drawn out “—I’m required to have it with me at all times. Unless I’ve been drinking, of course.”

      The maître d’ returned and Slate’s heavily countrified accent disappeared as he spoke with Candace—he knew the young woman by name—and asked her how her son was getting along at his new daycare.

      Seated at a table for two near the corner, Slate held out Vivian’s chair and seated himself against the wall. He waved off the menus.

      “Mind if I order for you?”

      “Not at all.” She might as well let him. If he was buying, she wouldn’t have to look at the prices and wonder how she’d ever repay him.

      “Double the usual, Mikey. And how’s your kid brother? He going to pass chemistry?”

      “Yes, sir, Senor Slate. We got him the tutor and it was free. Just like you think.” The waiter raised his brows and looked at her. “You want a drink, Miss? And house salad dressing like Senor Slate?”

      “That would be great, and water’s fine. Thanks.”

      “He’s a good kid,” Slate said as Mikey walked away. “When his father was killed, he had to quit high school to support his family, but he got his GED.”

      She was almost speechless. Almost. “Are you for real? I mean, I thought there was some reason you were offering to help me. Some gimmick. Or something that you’re hiding from the police. But it seems like you genuinely care. Do you?”

      Slate Thompson looked surprised. No, he actually looked terrified.

      “I hadn’t... I...”

      “Don’t worry, Slate. Your secret’s safe with me.”

      There weren’t too many people in the world who truly cared about others anymore.

      “I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance to discuss the case with your—I need to take this.” He withdrew his phone and answered. “What’s up? No, I’m in Uptown. Yeah, twenty minutes with sirens. You’re certain? I’ll check it out.”

      “Don’t worry about me,” Vivian said, “I’ll take the bus home.”

      “There’s been a murder-suicide at the VA Hospital. One of the men in the same study as your brother.” He scanned his phone. “If you don’t mind waiting in the truck, I can take you home after. Easier than trying to find the buses in the rain. Come on.”

      He asked the waiter to make it a to-go order, paid the bill and left her to go get his truck.

      “He’s such a nice man,” the maître d’ said after the door shut behind him. “He saved my life during that robbery. The guy held a gun under my chin and said he was going to blow my head off. After the whole terrifying thing was over, Slate brought a counselor by to talk with me before my shift a couple of days later. There’s no way I’ll ever be able to repay him.”

      “He seems very kind.” Amazing is more like it.

      “Here’s your order,” the waiter said, handing her the bag of food.

      Right on cue, Slate pulled up under the awning.

      She climbed into the passenger side. “I don’t want to be a bother, Slate. You could drop me at the Rapid Transit station and I can get home from there.”

      “You’d ruin your shoes waiting in the rain. I promise, I won’t be long. Wade, one of the guys in my Company, gave me the heads-up.”

      “Do you believe it’s related to my brother?”

      “Another ranger thinks it’s one of the guys in the study.”

      “Right. No promises.”

      Get a grip. Slate Thompson had a job. He was doing it, and a side benefit was helping Victor. There was no reason to think any part of it was personal.

      No matter how often he held her hand.

       Chapter Seven

      There is more than one way to kill. There is more than one way to kill. There is more than one way to kill.

      Abby wrote in her journal, but scratched each sentence out quickly. She covered it with her hand so no one could see it. Even if she was alone and in a private office.

      That didn’t matter. The government spied on everyone through all sorts of devices, and the police were everywhere.

      Cell phones had cameras. Stoplights had cameras. Cars had back-up cameras. They were everywhere. She couldn’t get away from them.

      Spies were spies and had to be dealt with. But there was no one around. No one to deal with for the moment.

      The doctor had said journals were important. Dr. Roberts had a journal and had written about her as a patient, had written about them all. Abby had taken care of her in the best way she could. Not a perfect way, though. Abby hadn’t found that yet.

      Dr. Roberts had been right about that particular problem. Abby needed to find it soon. The day was getting close when she’d need to move and start over in another city at another hospital.

      “I am not crazy. Dr. Roberts told me I wasn’t. I can believe her,” she whispered.

      Abby needed another pencil. She’d scratched out her last journal sentence so hard, she’d broken the tip. She looked around, but there wasn’t another near her to continue. She rolled the chair closer to the small window facing the front of the building.

      It was two hours past time to go home. Catching her normal train wouldn’t be possible.

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