Page 35 of Lone Star Witness

“Letting Annalisa knife me might be less painful than this,” he muttered.

Then, he had to fight back the image of the woman lunging that knife at Marise. That gave him a fresh jolt of anger over the attack, and while he should probably cut Annalisa some slack since she was a grieving widow and all, the slack didn’t exist because of how close she’d come to hurting Marise.

Since the report currently on the screen was the latest from Ruby on Annalisa, Slade knew the woman had not only been arrested, she was in the process of having a psychiatric evaluation. What she wouldn’t be doing was roaming the street with another knife, searching to avenge her cheating husband.

That was one less worry off this plate.

But there were three other big-assed concerns. Stephanie, Julian, and, of course, the dipshit Sonny.

Thanks to the info Jace had given them, the cops were now interested in talking to Julian and Sonny. The problem? Neither of them was responding to SAPD’s attempts to contact them. Stephanie was the only one of the three who had bothered to return any calls and texts. Good thing, too, because now her fake meeting with the colonel was all set up for eight pm.

About four hours from now.

That way, it’d be dark enough for neighbors not to get suspicious of the unfamiliar vehicles and alert Stephanie. If they found blood in the office, then Stephanie would be located and taken to SAPD headquarters for questioning while the house got a thorough going over from the CSIs.

There was the possibility though that there’d be no blood. That’s why they hadn’t gone full out with cop and CSI involvement. If Rosa had hallucinated the attack, then they’d have to then try to figure out how and where Carlyle Hutton had been murdered.

He gave the voice command to switch the monitor to the internal camera in the hall outside the guestroom. Because the door was open, he could see Colonel Rosa exactly where he was a half hour earlier when Slade had checked.

Asleep on the bed.

Clearly, the man was exhausted and would hopefully sleep until it was time for them to leave.

Them.

As in Marise, too.

Slade had debated that. Oh, had he. Part of him wanted her tucked safely away, but there was no safe place where he was positive Sonny wouldn’t be able to get to her. At least if she was with him, Slade could make it his priority to protect her.

The plan was for Marise, Rosa, and him to meet Jericho, Jace, and Jace’s foster brother, Detective Angelo DeLuca, at the colonel’s house. They wouldn’t proceed inside until he had visual confirmation that Stephanie was all the way across the city at his townhouse. If Stephanie took the bait, then they’d go in.

“All right,” Marise said, finishing up the torture cleaning by applying a fresh bandage to the wound. “Strip off your shirt so I can check the stitches in your arm and the bruises.”

“Always happy to get naked for you,” he muttered because he thought they could use the laugh.

But there was no laugh. Not really even a smile. Because, hey, that was so close to the truth that it bombed as a joke.

“Always happy to see you naked,” she countered.

However, she was in full nurse mode, and as he peeled off his shirt, she was scanning his face for any signs of pain from the movement.

And there was pain all right.

“Just a little stiff and sore,” he let her know.

She gave him a flat look. “A lot stiff and a lot sore,” she amended on a sigh, and she got busy changing the bandage on his stitches.

Despite the arm being the worst of his injuries, it hurt the least, only a few twinges when he moved it. But if it came down to a physical fight with Sonny, some aches, pains, and twinges weren’t going to hold him back from kicking the man’s ass. Sonny might be out for payback for Bodie’s death, but Slade had some payback of his own he wanted to deliver.

For his mother’s murder.

Yeah, Sonny’s day of reckoning was coming up fast. Slade just didn’t want Marise to be the in the path of that particular shitstorm.

He felt Marise’s hand on his back, and that yanked his attention back to her. She had gentle hands. Well, now she did anyway, and she was gliding her fingertips on his skin.

“Well, you are healing,” she concluded. “A riot of bruise colors are popping up, but I don’t see much swelling or anything else that needs to be stitched up or cleaned.” She paused. “This is going to sound like an invitation for sex, but a soak in your hot tub would make those sore muscles feel better. Just keep your stitched arm out of the water.”

He looked at her, their gazes colliding. “It’s not an invitation for sex unless you’re willing to join me in the hot tub.” And that wasn’t a joke.

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