Fallen (22 page)

“I’m going down to security to view the footage of this delivery guy. Where’s the box?”

“They took it. Said they were going to look into it.”

Which meant at least a half-dozen people had handled it by now. If the box had contained anthrax or a bomb, police as well as the GBI would have been everywhere. But no one considered a box of wasps to be a deadly weapon. Except him. His jaw hurt, and Ryan realized he’d been clenching his teeth.

Eyebrows clamped down, he gave Roe his business card. “Call my cell the second she’s out of that briefing.”

*

The M&M had been brutal. They usually were. Lydia had presented on one of the cases, an intestinal obstruction misdiagnosed as food poisoning, which had led to a perforation and bowel contamination some twenty-four hours later. The patient had survived the surgery to repair the fissure but remained hospitalized, fighting peritonitis, a life-threatening infection. Although the error hadn’t been hers, the diagnosing resident was under her charge, and Lydia felt responsible.

Her energy flagging, she stopped in the cafeteria for coffee before heading back to the ER. As she entered, carrying the thick paper cup covered by a plastic top, Lydia felt her heart skip a beat. Her eyes connected with Ryan’s very blue, very serious ones across the lobby. Upon seeing her, he’d halted in midpace at the admissions desk. She exhaled a rough breath, her intuition tingling.

Shit. Shit.
He knows.

Her gaze swung accusingly to Roe, who stood behind the desk but quickly turned away, busying herself with something on one of the monitors. Ryan approached.

“We need to talk,” he said tensely.

She didn’t need to ask about what. He stood with his hands on his lean hips, weapon in his shoulder holster and gold shield clipped to the belt at his waist. From the rigid lines of his body and glint of hot anger in his eyes, it was clear he’d kicked into full protective mode. She hadn’t wanted Ryan involved in this. With a hard glance at Roe’s back, she said, “I told her not to call the police.”

“She didn’t. I was here on business, and she just assumed you’d called me. Which you should have. Or if you don’t want me here, at least someone with an actual shield.”

“Please don’t make a big deal out of this—”

His features hardened, his voice lowering further. “Someone sending you a bunch of wasps
is
a big deal, Lydia. We’re talking harassment at the least, if not attempted deadly assault. This isn’t something you just palm off to the jackasses in hospital security.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got this under control—”

Ryan clasped her upper arms. His stormy eyes searched hers. “Lydia, talk to me. What’s going on?”

The worry on his face eroded the façade of strength she’d been holding on to for the last several days. But a series of beeps over the intercom announced a code blue. Patient in cardiac arrest.

“I-I can’t talk now,” she choked out, her head turning at the rush of staff scurrying to the bay with the dome light flashing above it. Ryan’s hold on her tightened.

“Roe took you off the schedule for the next half hour. Let someone else handle it for once. I’m not going away, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Marcus Gambrell—another attending on duty—rushed inside the bay. Lydia glanced at the patient-tracking board by the admissions desk. Sure enough, her name had been erased from its top.

“Just tell me you haven’t had any more contact with Ian Brandt.”

Reading her face, he let go of her and released a soft curse.

*

“So tell me.”

Seeking privacy, they had ended up in the physician lounge, which had been occupied by two residents clandestinely studying for boards. Both had closed their textbooks and hurried out upon Lydia and Ryan’s arrival. She stood across from him as he leaned against the counter in the efficiency kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest and somberly waiting.

“He came to my building last night, asking about his wife. She’s disappeared, and he thinks I’m involved.”

“Are you?” he asked, faint lines of tension deepening around his eyes.

Lydia looked at the remains of her birthday cake on the counter. Then with a sigh of resignation, she told him about her journey to New Orleans with Elise. She had left her in the capable hands of the Sisters of St. Monica, a women’s shelter located in an ancient Catholic cathedral a few blocks from Lake Pontchartrain. As Ryan knew, Lydia had personal ties to it. Her mother volunteered there and Natalie—an attorney who provided pro bono legal aid in the Orleans Parish—referred battered women. As a child, Lydia herself had lived at the shelter for a time after Nina Costa left her abusive husband, taking her daughters with her. Lydia trusted the sisters completely.

Once she finished her confession, she squared her shoulders as Ryan rubbed his forehead tiredly, seemingly trying to process what he’d been told. Lydia expected him to lay into her, to remind her that he had warned her against further involvement with Brandt. But instead, she saw what looked like compassion in his eyes.

“You couldn’t just refer her to a shelter here? Atlanta’s a big place.”

“Elise was certain he would find her. He has people working for him, Ryan. And not the kind who are on an official payroll. He considers Elise his property. I promised to help her.”

“She could press charges against him.”

“She won’t. She’s too afraid.” Lydia hesitated. “Ian Brandt … had another wife. She died nine years ago in a boating accident off the coast of the Black Sea. It was ruled an accidental drowning.”

“I’ve done some looking around on Brandt. Nothing like that came up—”

“That’s because that wasn’t his name then.” Lydia’s heart beat harder as she repeated what Elise had confided to her. “He had it legally changed eight years ago when he came into the United States. Brandt’s real name is Ion Bojin. He’s Romanian, although he holds US citizenship now. He was involved in drug cartels there, but he’s attempted to legitimize himself—at least on the surface. He likes to consider himself fully Americanized.”

She took a breath before telling him the rest.

“He told Elise what
really
happened to his first wife to keep her in line. Her name was Ruxandra. She wanted a divorce and threatened to testify against him—to tell the Romanian authorities what she knew about his operations if he didn’t agree to it. He held her on a yacht, torturing her for days before finally killing her and feeding her dismembered body to sharks. It was presumed she fell overboard and drowned at sea.”

Lydia felt her flesh pebble. “He’d talk about it to Elise while they were having sex, describing what he’d done to Ruxandra. She said talking about it … excited him. He’s warned that something similar could happen to her.”

Ryan paced the kitchen’s narrow width. “His current wife probably knows a lot about his business dealings
here
, too. Which I’m betting aren’t all legitimate.”

Lydia nodded faintly. She had been a police officer’s spouse long enough to know what she had relayed was hearsay, inadmissible in court. And Elise herself would never testify to what she had told her. Brandt had terrorized her into silence.

“Elise isn’t a strong person,” she said emphatically. “She’s been beaten down for too long. She doesn’t want to bring Brandt to justice. She just wants out.”

“Brandt sent you the wasps.”

Lydia fell silent but agreed with the likelihood.

“Did you look at the security footage, at the guy who dropped off the package?”

“I didn’t recognize him.” She had been taken to the hospital’s security office to view the recording. The shabbily dressed man looked like anyone—a homeless person, a drug addict—who could have been solicited off the street and handed a twenty-dollar bill in exchange for delivery.

“I had the digital video file e-mailed to the precinct. Hopefully, we’ll match the face to someone in our system,” Ryan said. “I’m also confiscating the shipping container and gift box. Forensics might be able to pick up some prints.”

Lydia had seen the unwrapped box in the security office. Tiny holes had been punched in it to allow in air. There was also a larger opening on one side that had been closed with duct tape. Probably where the wasps had been piped in. She ran a hand over her face. If she had taken the package somewhere to open it in private … she didn’t want to think about what might have happened. But she also knew Brandt was too smart to leave behind incriminating evidence.

She went to where Ryan stood. “If you can’t find any proof Brandt’s behind the package, there’s nothing that can be done legally. You know that. I don’t want to keep stoking the fire.”

His scowl deepened. “So your plan is to just ignore him and hope he goes away?”

“He
will
, eventually. I was careful. He’s just guessing about my involvement, and he can’t trace me to Elise’s disappearance. In time he’ll give up and start looking elsewhere.”

“You believe that,” he said dubiously.

She implored him with her eyes. “You have enough going on with your job and the police murders. I don’t want you to get tangled up in this because of me—”

“Let me worry about me,” he said roughly.

They stared at one another. Her throat went dry as Ryan sighed, then took her fingers in his. His voice softened, although his features remained tight with concern. “Your bravery is one of the reasons I fell in love with you, Lydia. But it scares the hell out of me sometimes.”

Emotion swirled inside her. Despite everything, she still felt a bond with him.

“It seems almost sarcastic to say it now, but happy birthday,” he said in a low voice. “I … saw the roses out front. They’re from Varek?”

She gave a faint nod, deflating at the admission. Ryan was a cop. He noticed everything. Not that the ostentatious bouquet was hard to miss.

He offered a weak smile. “That must’ve set him back. There’s enough out there to open a floral shop.”

He took a step away from her, and Lydia wrapped her arms around herself.

“Is there anything else I need to know about the situation? With Brandt, I mean.”

Lydia thought of what Brandt had said in the parking lot of her building. If Ryan knew he’d put his hands on her, no good would come from it. There had been no bodily injury, not even a bruise, so she doubted even a simple battery charge—a misdemeanor—would stick. Nor did she mention the unidentified phone calls. Lydia feared turning this into a legal issue would create further animosity with the hospital. Ultimately, it might even require her to divulge Elise’s whereabouts, especially if she had taken Brandt’s money—something she was determined not to do.

Nor did she want to get Ryan further involved. He deserved to be free of her problems. Gnawing at her lip, still fervently hoping this situation would die of its own accord, she shook her head.

“No,” she said softly.

Ryan looked at her. His blue eyes were serious. “You know I still care about what happens to you. I always will.”

The words drove into her heart.

“I want you safe. No more contact with Brandt. If he comes anywhere near you again, you call me.”

The door to the room opened. Rick stood in the threshold, wearing scrubs, a surgical mask hanging around his neck. Seeing the two of them, he appeared surprised. “I hope I’m not interrupting? I was told I could find you in here, Lydia. I just got out of surgery and heard what happened.” He walked in and stood beside her. “Detective Winter. I suppose you’re here about all this?”

The two men shook hands.

“You’re not interrupting.” Ryan peered somberly at Lydia. “And I was just leaving.”

She made a final, quiet appeal. “Please stay out of this, Ryan.”

He tossed his reply over his shoulder as he exited. “Like hell.”

Chapter Eighteen

Darkness had fallen
outside the hospital windows. Turning the corner into the corridor, Lydia stopped short at the sight of Rick, out of scrubs and dressed in a sports coat, slacks and tie.

The ER had been short-staffed, and she’d extended her shift into the evening, partly out of necessity but also as a way to wiggle out of Rick’s dinner invitation, although it had been more
proclamation
than invite. After Ryan’s departure, Rick had informed her that he’d made reservations at The Magnolia Room for seven p.m. He had been disappointed, even a little sullen, when she had broken the news a short time later that she couldn’t go.

Lydia had assumed Rick had already left for the night. Upon seeing her, he straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wall and approached.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, of course. I checked to see when your shift was ending.” He gave an authoritative smile. “We’re going to celebrate your birthday, Lydia. Even if you’re not in the mood after this morning’s shenanigans. Have you heard from Detective Winter?”

“No,” she admitted. He had been on her mind, however, his parting statement worrying.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll let you know if he makes progress.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Since it’s a weeknight, we’re in luck. The restaurant was able to accommodate the change in reservations to a later time. They stop serving in another hour, but we can make it if we go now.”