Fatal Distraction by Diane Capri Page A

husband had died rather than reveal anything that might help Taylor, it seemed unlikely that Vivian would spill everything to Jess.
    Too many questions, too little information, few answers, no time to think things through. And a grimmer thought occurred to her: If Governor Sullivan was hurt, maybe incapacitated, how would Jess get the sketchy hints she’d gleaned from Vivian Ward into the right hands?
    Jess realized she was wasting precious time continuing to analyze. She had to act. Now. Go with her gut and deal with the consequences as they arose. What should she do? What ?
    Before she could choose, a noise drew her gaze to the diner window. Outside, another SUV pulled into the parking lot. This one was painted royal blue and was covered in advertising for a local news station. It had a satellite feed on the roof.
    The SUV parked; a reporter and a photographer opened the two front doors and stepped out, rushing to gather their equipment. In a few seconds, they’d be inside the diner, filming for the late night news, she guessed. Footage she didn’t want documenting her presence here, or Vivian’s wild ramblings.
    Jess’s choice was made by providence; her chance to press Vivian further had passed. At this point, all she could attempt was damage control.
    She lowered her head and whispered to Mike, “I’ll be right there. Don’t even look at those two. Don’t say a word to them. I don’t even want them to know who you are.”
    She nodded in the general direction of the news van outside, put the flat of her palm onto Mike’s back and pushed him toward the SUV.
    To his credit, the kid caught on fast. He moved toward the door.
    Jess returned to the table where Vivian still played solitaire, still smoked, coughed and spit. Jess leaned in closer and lowered her voice as she stuffed her notebook, recorder, and pen into her bag. She scanned the table to be sure she’d left nothing behind.
    â€œVivian?”
    â€œWhat, sugar?” She never looked up from her cards.
    â€œI’ll be back to talk to you in a few hours. As early as I can get here. And when I do, I want to know everything . We can’t let them execute the wrong man. We can’t leave Mattie Crawford’s real killer out there. You know that.”
    Vivian shrugged. “Taylor ain’t the wrong man to die, far as I can tell.” She flipped over another three cards, played the red queen on the black king.
    Jess looked outside, saw a perfectly-coiffed reporter and his cameraman striding toward the diner. “Are you going to tell them that?”
    â€œIt ain’t no secret, sugar,” Vivian said.
    That cinched it. She’d gotten as much as she could out of Vivian, at least for the moment.
    â€œTomorrow,” Jess promised Vivian one last time. “Early.” And she hurried out the door.

Chapter Eleven
    Thornberry, Florida
    Thursday 10:30 p.m.
    HELEN LEANED OVER OLIVER’S MOUTH and felt his breath touch her lips. Smoke had blackened his cheeks and forehead and tracked down from his closed eyelids.
    â€œDon’t leave me, Oliver,” she whispered. “You’re all I have left in the world. Please don’t leave me.”
    Until she noticed her tears mingling with the black soot on his face, she hadn’t realized she was crying. It had been a long, long time since she’d allowed herself to cry, and she never cried in front of anyone.
    She wiped his face with her hands and tried to stop crying, but Oliver was alive, and the tears kept flowing.
    She heard Frank Temple calling her name, closer now, and shouting directions to the rescue workers. In moments the paramedics swooped in with oxygen, fluids and a gurney.
    Helen moved aside only to let them work. They seemed competent, but she watched every move they made. One of them tried to examine her; she pulled away.
    â€œMy husband first. He’s hurt badly.” She wondered at the tone of authority her