him. They were police officers. They dealt in evidence and reality, not hypnotism.
“Been better,” the witness grumbled.
“I see,” she continued, that easy, calming tone to her voice never changing. “Can you tell us a little bit about your problems?”
“Nah.”
“You know, you’re safe here, Mr. Herman. You can speak freely. This is a safe place where you can unburden yourself.”
Vaughn tried to tamp down his edgy impatience. He couldn’t get over them wasting their time doing this, but it hadn’t been his call. This had come from above him, and he had no choice but to follow through.
“Yeah?”
The hypnotist inclined her head toward Vaughn and Bennet. It was the agreed upon sign that they would now take over the questioning.
“It’s not a bad gig,” Herman said, his hands linked together on the table in front of him. No questions needed.
Yeah, Vaughn didn’t believe a second of this.
“Don’t have to get my hands too dirty. Paid cash. My old lady’s got cancer. Goes a long way, you know?”
“Rough,” Bennet said, doing a far better job than Vaughn of infusing some sympathy into his tone. “What kind of jobs you running?”
“Mostly just messages, you know. I don’t even gotta be the muscle. Just deliver the information. It’s a sweet deal. But...”
“But what?”
Vaughn could feel the hypnotist’s eyes on him. Something about her. Something about this. It was all off. He wasn’t even being paranoid like Bennet too often accused him of. The witness was too easy, and the woman was too jumpy.
“But... Man, I don’t like this, though. I got a daughter of my own. I never wanted to get involved with this part.”
“What part’s that?”
“The girls. He keeps the girls.”
Vaughn tensed, and he noticed the hypnotist did, as well.
“Who keeps them?”
Vaughn and Bennet whirled to face Ms. Torres. She wasn’t supposed to ask questions. Not after she gave them the signal. Not about the case.
“What the hell do you think—”
“The Stallion,” Herman muttered. “But I can’t cross The Stallion.”
Vaughn immediately looked at Bennet. He gave his partner an imperceptible nod, then Bennet slipped out of the room.
The Stallion. An idiotic name for the head of an organized crime group that had been stealthily wreaking havoc across Texas for ten years. Vaughn had no less than four cases he knew connected to the bastard or his drug-running cronies, but this one...
“What do you know about The Stallion?” Vaughn asked evenly, though frustration pounded in his bloodstream. Still, hypnotism or no hypnotism, he wasn’t the type of ranger who let that show.
“You don’t cross him. You don’t cross him and live.”
Vaughn opened his mouth to ask the next question, but the damn hypnotist beat him to it.
“What about the girls?” she demanded, leaning closer. “What do you know about the girls? Where are they?”
Vaughn was so taken aback by her complete disregard for the rules, by her fervent demand, he couldn’t say anything at first. But it was only a split second of shock, then he edged his way between Ms. Torres and her line of sight to the witness.
“Get him out,” he ordered.
Big brown eyes blinked up at him. “What?”
“If this is hypnotism, unhypnotize him.” Vaughn bent over and leaned his mouth close enough to her ear so he could whisper without the witness overhearing. “You are putting my case at risk, and I will not have it. Take him out now, or I’ll kick you out.”
She didn’t waver, and she certainly didn’t turn to Herman and take him out. “I’m getting answers,” she replied through gritted teeth. Her eyes blazed with righteous fury.
It was no match for his own. Vaughn inclined his head toward Herman, who was shaking his head back and forth. Not offering any answers to her too direct line of questioning.
“Mr. Herman—”
Vaughn nudged her chair back with his knee. “Take him out, or I’ll arrest you for interfering in a criminal investigation.”
Her eyes glittered with that fury, her hands clenched into fists, but when he rested his hand on the handcuffs latched to his utility belt, she closed her eyes.
“Fine, but you need to move.”
When she opened her eyes, he saw a weary resignation in her slumped posture, a kind of sorrow in her expression Vaughn didn’t understand—didn’t want to. Any more than he wanted to figure out what scent she was wearing, because when he was this close to her, it was almost distracting.
Almost.
“If you say one word to him that isn’t pulling him out of the hypnotism, you will be arrested. Do you understand?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in it?” she snapped.
“I don’t, but I’m not going to have you claiming I didn’t let you do your job. Take him out. Then you will be talking to my supervisor. Got it?”
She sneered at him, like many a criminal he’d arrested or threatened in his career. He wasn’t sure she was a criminal, but he wasn’t affected at all by her anger.
She’d ruined the lead. The Stallion wasn’t nearly enough to go on, and she’d stepped in with her own reckless, desperate questions, invalidating the whole interrogation.
She was going to pay for this.
* * *
NATALIE SAT IN the waiting area of the Unsolved Crimes office. She wanted to fume and rage and pace, but she didn’t have time to indulge in pointless anger. Not when she had information to find.
Who was The Stallion? Could this all possibly be related to her sister? She’d waited three years for this. Three years of dealing with sneering Texas Rangers hating that their higher-ups involved her in their investigations. Three years of hoping against hope that the next case she’d be brought in on would be Gabby’s.
Just because the witness had talked about missing girls didn’t mean it was her sister’s case. As a hypnotist, she was never given any case details, legally bound to secrecy regarding anything she did hear simply by being in the room.
She’d lost her cool. She knew she wasn’t supposed to jump in like that, but the interrogators had been asking the wrong questions. They’d been taking too much time. She needed to know. She needed...
She needed not to cry. So, she took a deep breath in, and slowly let it out. She focused on the little window with the blinds closed. Inside, three officers were talking. Probably about her. One definitely complaining about her.
She was angry with herself for breaking rules she knew Texas Rangers weren’t going to bend, but she’d rather channel that anger onto Ranger Jerk.
Immature, yes, but the immature nicknames she gave each ranger who gave her a hard time entertained her when she wanted to tell them off.
The problem with Ranger Jerk was she could nearly forget what a jerk he was when he looked like...that. He was so tall and broad shouldered, and when he was always crossing his arms over his chest in a threatening manner, it was obvious he had muscles underneath the crisp white dress shirt he wore.
Like, the kind of muscles that could probably bench-press her. Not that she’d imagined that in those first few minutes of meeting him.