Fallen (18 page)

Lydia stood outside the tent with her cell phone pressed to her ear. She was checking on a patient, an elderly woman with stage-four cancer who had been in the ER on multiple recent occasions, including last night. Lydia had admitted her and started the paperwork to request her entrance into hospice. She’d grown fond of Phyllis Holt, with her sweet face and kind words despite the PICC line in her arm and constant medical procedures. There was little doubt she wouldn’t last much longer. Lydia wanted to get her status. Phyllis had no family to care for her, and the last thing she needed was to be discharged and sent home alone.

After waiting on hold for nearly ten minutes, she received confirmation the woman had been accepted. Disconnecting the call, sad for Phyllis’s final days but grateful she would have support, Lydia slipped the phone back into her purse. But instead of returning inside, she remained in the quiet solitude.

Admittedly, the evening had been lovely so far, the lavish gardens and dinner, as well as the limousine ride Rick had arranged. But no matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept straying back to the news.

Another officer murdered.

Lydia had come off two twelve-hour shifts, determined to lose herself in her work. She hadn’t listened to the Friday late-night news, instead falling into bed in exhaustion. Off for the weekend, she’d also slept in that morning and had learned of the latest shooting only as she made coffee in her kitchen with the television on. She hadn’t known Officer Boyce, but that was little consolation. Media broadcasts were now speculating a serial killer was targeting police.

Ryan had been briefly visible on last night’s footage from outside the latest crime scene, which seemed to be on a perpetual loop on the television screen. She’d wanted to call him, but Adam’s harsh criticism had stuck. Lydia had kept her distance.

“There you are.” Rick approached, emerging from the darkness in an elegant black tuxedo. He came to stand beside her, taking in the gardens with their ground-lit stone paths and reflection pool. “It’s serene here. Hard to believe we’re still in the city.”

He peered upward, and Lydia followed his gaze to the twinkling skyscrapers visible over the conservatory’s domed roof. Self-deprecatingly, he added, “Well, maybe not
that
hard to believe.”

He nodded back to the tent. “Serene isn’t the word for in there. Had enough, have you?”

Lydia felt bad for her lengthy absence. But Rick had been immersed in conversation with a philanthropist who gave regularly to the cardiac wing, so she’d taken the opportunity to slip out. “I just needed to make a call.”

“But you’re having a good time? I know you’ve been distracted by the police shootings.”

They’d talked about the latest homicide during the limousine ride.

“It’s been a wonderful evening,” Lydia assured him. She wore a beaded chiffon evening gown, drop earrings and high-heeled sandals.

“I’m glad. I have to be here because of my position, but you being here with me has made it more pleasure than business.”

Self-conscious under his gaze, she nervously tucked her hair behind one ear. But Rick reached for her hands and drew her closer. Lydia’s stomach flip-flopped uneasily as he lowered his head and kissed her. She closed her eyes and complied, disappointed that she felt no stir of desire.

“That’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” he said afterward, looking into her eyes. “And as much as I’d like to do it again, we should get back. We’re receiving some large contributions in there. The more the alcohol flows, so does the ink on checks.”

His hand low on her back, he guided her inside the air-conditioned tent and into the milling crowd. Elaborately set tables dotted the interior. A sea of small white lights hung from the ceiling, under which couples danced on a parquet floor. At the urging of a photographer covering the event, they posed for the newspaper’s society page.

Rick never drank, but he got her another glass of champagne, then led her to their table and pulled out her chair. What Lydia saw froze her in place.

Ian Brandt—in a crisp tuxedo, raven hair slicked back from his broad forehead—stood twenty feet away. He was in conversation with several of the hospital’s upper-level administrators, but his dark eyes pinned hers.

“You know him?” Rick spoke into her ear to be heard above the music.

“He’s … the husband of someone I treated in the ER.” Although her voice was calm, Lydia’s pulse rushed as she lowered herself into her chair. She hadn’t noticed Brandt until now, and she wondered where he’d been during the event. Turning her head, she looked discreetly around for Elise but didn’t see her. She knew she had been released from the hospital the day before.

“Well, you must have made a big impression.” Sitting beside her, Rick looped one arm around the back of her chair. “He just presented a check for fifty thousand dollars.”

Lydia had heard the applause while she’d been outside. Her stomach sank now at the reason. Brandt continued to spear her with his obsidian gaze, then dismissively, he returned his attention to the others.

*

Fortunately, no confrontation had occurred between Lydia and Brandt. He’d ignored her for the remainder of the evening, while she had taken care to keep on the opposite side of the tent.

She walked now with Rick in the tide of departing guests, traveling along the path through the rose garden. But as they were supposed to turn right toward the parking lot and their waiting limousine, he veered in the opposite direction. Capturing her wrist, he tugged her past a large sculpture and behind one of the tall arbors hung heavily with blooms.

“Rick,” she scolded, her heels sinking in soft grass as they slipped farther away from the others. “What’re you doing? There’s a sign back there that said to stay on the path—”

He pulled her to him and kissed her again, this time more hungrily than before. Lydia tried not to stiffen in his arms, keenly aware of their romantic surroundings. She fully understood how she
should
feel, and she told herself to try, at least. She heard the voice of her sister, Natalie—ever the free spirit—telling her to loosen up.

It’s only a lay, Lydia.
Sex can do a body good.

His hands slid over the curve of her bottom, and she closed her eyes more tightly, trying hard to garner some lightning strike of desire. But after a moment, she gently wedged a hand between them, separating herself and breaking the kiss before things got more out of control. Rick searched her eyes in the grainy shadows, breathing hard. “What is it?”

She felt a flush stain her skin. “It’s just … we shouldn’t be back here.”

He released what sounded like a sigh of impatience, although his voice was gentle. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while now, Lydia. And I’ve been taking this slow, haven’t I?”

“Rick,” she begged softly, not wanting to discuss it here.

“I know what you’ve been through, and I’ve been doing my best to give you the time you need, to wade in slowly—”

Interrupted by an electronic staccato, he frowned.

“My phone,” he said apologetically, digging into the inside pocket of his jacket. “That’s the hospital’s emergency tone. I’m being texted.” His brow furrowed as he read the screen. “I’m being called in.”

Lydia smoothed her gown, shamed by the relief she felt at the disruption. “I thought you weren’t on call tonight.”

“I’m not, but Beau Wilkins is experiencing a possible MI.”

Lydia blinked. A myocardial infarction. A heart attack. Wilkins was head coach at the University of Georgia and a football legend. He was also seventy-two years old. “How bad?”

“I’m waiting on a patch-through from the paramedics. He’s being airlifted from a weekend fishing expedition in Tallulah Gorge. I’ll need to meet the helicopter.”

She understood. Rick was on a prestigious list of specialists to be called in case of high-profile emergencies. While at Mass Gen in Boston, he’d performed open-heart surgery on an Academy Award-winning actor and placed a stent in the heart of the vice president of the United States.

“This wasn’t how I’d hoped the evening would end,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

As they returned to the path, he placed his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll have the limousine service drop me off at the hospital and then take you home.”

A short time later, they slid onto the backseat. As the chauffeur closed the door behind them, Rick turned to her. “I remember the first time I saw you, Lydia. I’d just agreed to take the position here. You were in scrubs, your hair in a ponytail, shouting out orders and wrestling a patient.” A smile curved his lips. “She had a good forty pounds on you.”

Lydia remembered. The patient had been high on bath salts, something they’d been seeing more of, and the ER had been filled to capacity. It hadn’t been an ideal situation for meeting the new head of CT.

“I knew I wanted you then,” he whispered.

Rick’s phone rang again as the chauffeur entered on the driver’s side. He answered, switching instantly to business mode. Judging by his side of the conversation, it was the patch-through to the paramedics en route by helicopter to the hospital’s roof. Even as he asked questions and gave instructions, Rick’s fingers played possessively with hers on the seat. Her throat felt tight. She had expected that sooner or later, he would become more insistent. That he would want a physical relationship to grow from their friendship. It was only natural.

A short time later, the limousine rolled to a stop in front of the sprawling downtown hospital building.

“We
will
continue our discussion,” Rick promised, voice low. He brushed a quick kiss against her cheek and got out. She watched him stride toward the main entrance like James Bond on a mission.

As the limousine started back into motion, Lydia felt a growing despondency.

Before Ryan, she had never considered herself overtly
sexual. She’d been too serious and hardworking, too focused on her medical training and student loans. She had believed passion was something she wasn’t capable of, not really.

Involuntarily, her mind flashed to their very first coupling. Ryan’s mouth on hers, his hands pulling her sweater over her head, his body trapping hers against the inside of her apartment door as her trembling fingers struggled with the buttons on his shirt. The heat between them had been immediate. Intense. Even later—even with the mundane arguments that married couples had, the stress of two high-pressure jobs and then a child to rear—their physical mating had always been a regular, carnal need. But all that had ended with their loss.

She hadn’t been touched intimately by anyone since they had come apart.

Her lack of arousal with Rick frightened her. She wondered if that part of her had died, too.

A short time later, the chauffeur opened the passenger door in front of her building. Lydia got out and, using the pass code at the main entrance, made her way into the lobby. It appeared barren, the lights on the chandelier lowered and the concierge already off for the night.

Walking toward the elevator, she realized she’d been wrong about the lobby being uninhabited. A lone figure huddled on the settee under an oil painting in the far corner. A woman. She sat outside the halo of a nearby lamp, casting her hair and features in shadow. But Lydia’s pulse began to thrum with realization. Had the concierge let her in before leaving?

Elise Brandt stood and limped closer. Her flaxen hair was flat, her eyes sunken and face pale. Fresh bruises were visible on the slim column of her throat. Lydia’s medical training kicked in. She went to her.

“You said if I needed anything …” Her voice trembled. “Please help me, Dr. Costa.”

Chapter Fifteen

Dusk had begun
to settle over the city. Entering the pass code to the gated parking lot behind her building, Lydia waited for the arm to lift and drove inside. She’d gotten off the interstate and gone directly to the grocery to purchase coffee and a few other staples, as well as enough produce to make a salad for a late dinner. Fortunately, there hadn’t been too many shoppers on a Monday night.

The past two days had been long ones.

Parking, she got out and opened the Volvo’s trunk for her canvas shopping tote. Hefting it over one shoulder, she reached inside again for her overnight bag. But the deep voice that called her name startled her, causing her to leave it there. Lydia quickly snapped the trunk closed and turned.

“This is a private lot. What’re you doing here?” she demanded as Ian Brandt approached, hoping the stern question masked her unease. A glance around told her they were alone.

“Where’s my wife?”

Brandt had apparently emerged from the black Lexus sports coupe with dark-tinted windows. Its driver-side door hung open, the engine left running. Lydia knew how easy it was for a second car to slip inside the lot before the sluggish security arm went back down. Building management had warned tenants to be alert. Had he followed her in and, preoccupied, she hadn’t noticed? Or had he been here already, waiting for her? Either way, the speed with which he had traced Elise to her was unnerving.