Ranger Defender

“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.