Fallen (28 page)

Mateo took a seat at his desk, loosening his tie. “Glad to see you’re avoiding the temptation to deliver it yourself.”

He would have liked nothing better, but for now he was adhering to Thompson’s dictate to keep his distance. Lydia had been anxious at the courthouse, but she’d dutifully followed his instructions about being explicit with the judge. The one exception was that she hadn’t volunteered her role in Elise Brandt’s disappearance, only stating that Ian Brandt had accused her of being complicit because she had been the one to report his wife’s injuries to the police. Thinking of Brandt, Ryan felt his jaw clench. The temporary CHO—civil harassment order— was good for only fifteen days. Following that there would be a hearing where Lydia and Brandt would both be required to be present. She would have to come clean about her involvement under oath if the judge allowed Brandt’s attorney to take questioning that far.

If Ryan’s strategy worked, Lydia might never have to face Brandt in a courtroom. He tucked the business card he had located in his desk drawer into his shirt pocket. He’d already left Noah Chase a message and was waiting for a return call.

There was no going back now.

Some time later, after re-interviewing two of Nate’s informants to no avail, Ryan headed with Mateo down the corridor to the rear parking lot. They would catch a bite of dinner before going to talk to the remaining staff at The Grindhouse, those who hadn’t been working the night Ryan had been there.

“You must’ve gone by your place while you were out, too,” Mateo said, the heat and humidity hitting them like a steam room despite the later hour as they pushed through the doors to the outside. “You’ve shaved and you’re not wearing yesterday’s clothes.”

Ryan gave him a look. “You’re the fashion police now?”

“I
am
a detective. So, yeah, I noticed.” Tentatively, he added, “Did you stay at Lydia’s last night? I mean, it would be understandable after what happened. Brandt’s a twisted SOB to use a kid to try to gaslight her like that.”

Thinking of the situation with Lydia, Ryan held out his palm as they approached the Impala. He needed to be in control of something. “Give me the keys. I’m driving.”

Mateo tossed them over. “You sleep on the couch or somewhere else?”

He didn’t respond until they were both inside the vehicle. Ryan started the engine, watching in the rearview mirror as he backed from the spot.

“I don’t think it meant anything,” he said quietly.

Mateo sounded dubious. “Just a lay for old times’ sake? I don’t know.”

“She was emotional and needed someone, that’s all.”

The truth was, he had been with Lydia for several hours at the courthouse. They had talked about Brandt, the overcrowded legal system, as well as the young officer who had ended his life. But neither had brought up what had happened between them last night. He wondered if they were both going to pretend it had never happened. The thought caused a dull ache in his chest. He had parted ways with Lydia at her car, making her promise to call if Brandt disobeyed the order or if anything else occurred. She had thanked him, her soft-brown eyes seeming to search his. Then she’d briefly touched his still-bandaged arm and somberly gotten inside.

“The Grindhouse. You’re like a dog with a bone,” Mateo said, breaking into his thoughts. “You really think it’s a factor and not just some weird coincidence? I’ll admit it’s an odd place, especially for Nate, but who knows what anyone does off the job?”

None of Nate’s CIs would admit to using the club as a meeting place, something Mike Perry had confirmed, as well, but Ryan was undeterred.

“I mean, we were wrong about the gang involvement, apparently,” Mateo reminded.

“And by we you mean
me
.” Lips pressed together, Ryan felt the heat still coming off the leather steering wheel. The evening rush-hour traffic was moving like molasses as the workforce escaped the city.

“I gave Matthew Boyce’s ex-wife a call while I was waiting for you to get back from the ME,” he revealed. “She insisted he was a diehard country music fan. The old-school stuff. He wouldn’t listen to anything else.”

Mateo looked at him, the revelation making an impact. The Grindhouse was a well-known venue for some of the more
out there
forms of music—indie-rock bands with small labels, as well as metal, punk and electronica. It was a place for emos and headbangers, not off-duty policemen who were big on Waylon and Merle.

“I think they were both there to see someone,” Ryan said.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“
A
dminister another round
of Albuterol with the nebulizer and check her oxygen level again in fifteen minutes,” Lydia instructed the nurse. It was Sunday night, and an older woman experiencing a severe asthma attack lay on the exam table, gasping. “If it hasn’t come up, page me.”

“Yes, Dr. Costa.”

“We’ll get you breathing better, Mrs. Tegert, so you can enjoy the Fourth tomorrow,” she said, laying a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

Exiting the bay, Lydia felt her cell phone’s vibration inside the pocket of her lab coat. She took it out, tension gathering across her shoulders as she viewed Rick’s name on the screen for the second time during her shift. She returned the phone to her pocket.

It wasn’t Ian Brandt, at least. But it also wasn’t whom she had hoped.

Three days had passed since the restraining order had been served, and so far, Ryan had been right. There had been no sign of Brandt, and the phone calls had halted. Lydia had feared the order would provoke another complaint to the hospital, but Ryan had adamantly believed that Brandt would keep silent, not wanting it known that a judge had taken her concerns seriously enough to serve an injunction against him.

It had also been nearly that long since Lydia had heard from Ryan. He’d called the night of the issuance, about Brandt and what to do if the order backfired. Neither had spoken of what had happened between them. If anything, things had seemed strained.

She didn’t know where to go from here.

Lydia felt old remorse constrict her lungs. She well understood she had no right to insert herself into his life again. But in her need, that was exactly what she had done.

By all accounts, he had finally been moving on without her.

As she reviewed the patient-tracking board inside the ER, Lydia chewed her bottom lip. She’d also considered that Ryan simply viewed their sleeping together as a slip-up. It could happen between two people who at one point had been in love. Ryan still cared about her—she knew that—but he’d given no indication he wanted to press one night of sex into something more.

Lydia was called back to the bay that held the asthma sufferer. This time, she administered a steroid injection in an attempt to reduce airway inflammation. Once the woman began to show improvement, she left her in the charge of a resident, attended to another two patients and then prepared to leave for the night.

Her phone vibrated as she changed clothes in the physician lounge. Rick again. They hadn’t spoken since their breakup, and he had been thankfully away at a cardiology conference in Dallas for the long weekend. The tone on her phone indicated he had left a voice mail this time. With a feeling of dread, she finished dressing and retrieved the message.

“I didn’t want to leave this on a recording, but you’re giving me no choice,” he said. “I
miss you
, Lydia. I’m sorry for the way things went on your birthday. You’d had an exceptionally bad day, and I pushed too hard.”

She heard background noise on the recording—other voices, as if he was in a public place. “I’m still in Dallas, but I’ll be home soon. I want to talk.”

“I’m …” He cleared his throat. “Not ready to give up on us.”

The message sat heavily inside her.

As she walked from the lounge with her backpack, she passed Roe in the corridor.

“You leaving, Lydia?”

“I’ve already signed out. I’m off tomorrow, too.”

“Lucky you, off for the Fourth. But you’re still working the tent tomorrow morning, right?” she asked, referring to the medic stations the hospital hosted each year at the Peachtree Road Race. Lydia had agreed to take one of the volunteer shifts for the event that attracted more than sixty thousand participants each year.

She nodded. “Tent six. Bright and early.”

“I thought I saw your name on the list.” Roe hesitated, her expression turning somber. “Services for the little Barker girl are being held at the Greek Orthodox on Clairmont. Wednesday at three. I figured you’d want to know.”

Staring down at her hands, Lydia thanked her. Jessica Barker had been declared brain dead and taken off life support the day before. As she boarded the elevator, her mind remained on the parents and how much their situation mirrored hers.

God had a plan. He wanted that sweet child back.

There’s another angel in heaven now.

Lydia thought of all the things well-meaning people had said, trying to provide comfort. Those statements had cut at her.

She wouldn’t attend the service. But she would contribute anonymously to the fund that had been set up to help the family pay medical bills. It was just something she felt the need to do.

Going through the lobby, her mind heavy, she pushed through the doors into the humid twilight of early July. But instead of going toward the parking deck, Lydia began walking in the opposite direction. She couldn’t help looking over her shoulder more than once. Due to the situation with Brandt, she was hyperaware of her surroundings. Thankfully, because of the holiday weekend, there were still enough people out that she wasn’t alone. A block farther down, she stopped at the crosswalk and waited for the light to change.

The last few days hadn’t been easy ones.

She heard Ryan’s voice in her head.

I’m just worried about you, Lyd.

With a tense breath, she consulted the scrap of paper she held in her hand.

Cars slowed to a halt, and the crosswalk light sprang to life to shepherd the small number of waiting pedestrians across. Lydia hoisted the backpack’s strap higher on her shoulder and continued.

She went another two blocks and then turned onto a side street, aware that the foot traffic had thinned here. A small chill traced over her skin despite the night’s warmth. She looked around but saw no one following. No Ian Brandt lurking in the shadows.

Lydia stopped in front of the aged community center building. Although its double doors were solid, she could see interior lights leaking around their edges. She wet her lips nervously, a fluttering feeling inside her.

Her father had been an alcoholic.

And she herself was obviously struggling with something dark and self-destructive inside her.

As she hesitantly entered, a few among the dozen or so people seated in folding chairs turned to glance at her before returning their attention to a man up front. He was thin, with a receding hairline, and he nodded to her before continuing.

“Welcome. There’s coffee, hon,” a woman said, laying a hand briefly on her shoulder in passing.

Her face hot, Lydia thanked her, grateful for her kindness but not quite able to meet her eyes.

She wanted only to listen. She scraped a hand through her hair as she took a seat in back.

*

Cell phone against his ear, Ryan paced in the bungalow’s sunroom as he listened to Noah Chase’s update. A heavy darkness had fallen outside the window, enabling him to make out his own reflection in its glass. He still wore his work clothes as well as his shoulder holster and shield clipped to his waist. His phone had begun ringing as he’d entered the house and, seeing the caller’s name on its screen, he’d answered immediately.

“So it’s a done deal?” he asked tensely. He only hoped he’d done the right thing.

“For the most part. She’s agreed to be deposed under oath. We just moved her from the women’s shelter to a safe house in the Quarter. We’ll be flying her up to DC in the morning,” Noah said. “Your ex-wife was right. She’s scared, and considering what we know about her husband, she should be. It took some hard convincing she was better off with us than the nuns.”

Ryan rubbed a hand over his jaw, thankful Elise Brandt had complied. “I know you can be persuasive.”

Noah chuckled. “So can the US Marshals Service. We have two of them watching over her—big, brawny sons of bitches. I think Mrs. Brandt was convinced no one can get to her without going through them. The nuns might have God’s ear, but they don’t have SIG Sauers on their hips.”

Ryan’s connection to Noah Chase went back several years. They’d worked together on a major case that had been jointly handled by local Atlanta law enforcement and the FBI. Noah had been a senior field agent then, but he’d been on the fast track and was now a deputy assistant working within the Department of Justice’s Criminal Division. His law degree from Princeton hadn’t hurt his upward mobility within the organization.

“She’ll qualify for WITSEC?” Ryan asked, referring to the US Marshals’ Witness Security Program.

“At least for the course of a trial and probably permanently if we believe any of Brandt’s associates pose a danger. According to our agent in New Orleans, the preliminary interview indicates she knows plenty about her husband’s activities, including eye witnessing his money laundering for sex traffickers bringing women into the country from Russia and Romania.”