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I take a deep inhale and blow it out with puffed-out cheeks. Ready? No. There will never be a time I’m ready to relive that nightmare. But I nod because I want them to catch him. There’s not much for me to tell them, and the little I remember will not help find the guy. I never saw his face, his car, nothing.
Moments later, two Rangers walk in with serious expressions, both wearing khaki slacks, white button-up shirts, and ties. They have guns on their hips and the Ranger five-pointed star badge on their chest, and white cowboy hats on top of their heads.
They really look like that.
I’ve heard about them, but I’ve never seen them in person. The short, stalky one, who looks old enough to be close to retirement, comes over and extends his hand. When I lift my bandaged hands up from under the covers, he just nods and drops the gesture. “Ms. Stevens, I’m Major Martinez. This is Ranger Clark. We’re with the Texas Rangers.” Clark tips his hat in a sharp nod as he stands across the room, accessing me from a distance. Martinez sits down in the chair next to the bed, taking out a tiny notepad from his front pocket. Glad it’s small since I have very little to fill it with. “Because you were taken across county lines and found in a rural county, they’ve asked for our assistance in the case.” I nod, relieved they’ve called in the big guns. “Now, let’s find the bastard who did this to you.”
I like this guy already.
“Let’s start with if there was any reason someone would want to hurt you—an ex, stalker, money, enemy?—”
Oh no. His words fall off when I shoot up out of bed, my socked feet hitting the linoleum floor, and I search the small room. Where are they? They helped me into a hospital gown as soon as I got here, so what did they do with my clothes?
“What’s wrong, Ms. Stevens?” the taller guy asks. I already forgot his name.
“Where are my clothes?” My head jerks left and right, searching the room.
“They’re being processed. They might have some clues on them,” he replies.
A tiny whimper escapes the lodged panic in my throat. My stomach bottoms out. Martinez stands aside with furrowed brows.
“We found nothing in the pockets.” He guesses the reason I’m two seconds from a full-blown panic attack.
They didn’t look in the right pocket.
At least I hope it’s still there.
Dr. Betty comes over, puts her hand on my back, trying to diffuse the panic attack. “Kali, breathe.”
“My bra,” I say, finding my voice. “Did they look in my bra?”
The two Rangers exchange discerning glances. “What was in your bra?” one asks.
I collapse onto the bed, my body heavy with defeat. He didn’t want the money because he already had it. How did he know where to look? Tears stream down my face. I can almost hear his mocking laughter when I offered him money.
I’m broken and broke.
“Kali,” Dr. Betty softly interjects, redirecting my focus to her. “What was in your bra?” she repeats the question.
“Four million dollars,” I deadpan.
“What was that?” Martinez asks, and I lift my gaze. Yep. It’s hard for me to believe, too. “What exactly do you mean?”
“I won the lottery last weekend. The winning ticket was in my bra.” My voice lacks any emotion. The excitement drained out of my soul, left back on the curb in Blackburn.
The tall Ranger pushes off the table and leaves the room, the other scoots his chair closer. “Ms. Stevens, who knew about the money?”
“Just Pearl Livingston.” He notes her name on the pad. “But she had nothing to do with this. She’s my best friend,” I plead. I don’t like that he doesn’t say anything. She’s going to hate me. She’ll think I sent the cops to question her.
I glance at what he writes, but his handwriting is terrible.
He flips back a page and lifts his head. “Let’s go back to Friday night. You left the bingo hall and walked home alone. That was about ten?”
I nod.
“Other than it being darker than normal, you didn’t notice anything out of place?” He repeats what I already told him.
I shake my head.
