Fallen (29 page)

Ryan thought of Brandt’s strip clubs and wondered if he might be more directly involved in the trafficking himself. Regardless of the threat to Lydia, placing Ian Brandt behind bars would be a public service.

“We owe you, Ryan. We have a team that’s had its eye on Brandt for a while but hasn’t had much luck getting evidence. If Elise Brandt testifies to what she knows, we might actually have a case.”

“How quickly do you expect to move?”

“Depending on things, we should have enough for an arrest by midweek, maybe sooner. Brandt has contacts outside the States, obviously. He’s a flight risk, so we’re hoping bail will be precluded.” He added, “You can tell your ex-wife to relax. WITSEC has never lost a witness who followed protocol.”

Ryan clasped the back of his neck. “Thanks, Noah.”

“Look, I’ll keep in touch on this. Stay safe yourself, all right? Your
Hotlanta
serial killer made the national news.”

“Yeah,” he rasped, already aware. Officer Parham’s shooting of the panhandler and subsequent suicide had kicked up another round of media coverage, this time focusing on the rampant paranoia among police. They talked a bit about the situation and said good night. Tossing the phone onto his desk, Ryan released a tired sigh. He’d been out late with Mateo, following up on yet another lead. But just like the wait staff at The Grindhouse a few nights earlier, it had been a dead end.

He wondered how long before they had another man down.

He clicked off the light he’d turned on in the sunroom. Dog-tired, he was ready to see this day over.

Ryan would have to tell Lydia tomorrow what he had done—if she hadn’t learned of it already by then. Thinking of her, he felt the persistent knot in his stomach grow larger. He
did
want to talk to her, but he’d been giving her space, giving them both time to try to process things. And now he’d compromised her confidence by reaching out to Noah Chase. He hoped she would see it was for the best. If things worked out, it could solve Elise’s problem permanently.

And if it didn’t, it could get her killed.

He had to trust that the US Marshals Service would protect her.

Ryan went to the foyer to set the security console and retrieve the day’s mail that Tess always left on the small table near the front door. Afterward, he planned to grab a shower and fall into bed. But as he stood leafing through the various bills and junk mail, Max rubbing against his ankle, something caught his eye through the door’s beveled glass. He squinted, his scalp prickling at what looked like a lone figure loitering in the grainy darkness a little farther down on the other side of the street.

He had already set the security system. Entering the code on the console, Ryan opened the door and quickly stepped onto the porch for a clearer view. But whatever he thought he’d seen earlier was no longer there. Still, removing his gun from his holster, he jogged tensely down the steps and waited for a car to pass before moving across the street. Senses heightened, he strained his eyes to see some movement farther down the sidewalk or in the yards of the neighboring bungalows.

Nothing. Just darkness and the steady chirp of cicadas.

He walked cautiously up and down the muggy street, keeping his gun at the ready as he thoroughly searched the shadows before finally going back inside.

It could have been anyone, Ryan rationalized, half-annoyed with himself. A neighbor out for an evening stroll—or hell, the corner fencepost with the overgrown butterfly bush moving in the breeze behind it, playing tricks on an overtired mind.

He thought of Todd Parham and what had happened.

He didn’t like to think the paranoia was starting to get to him, too.

Chapter Twenty-Four

While the Peachtree
Road Race started each year near Lenox Square, the medical tent where Lydia was assigned had been set up farther along the route in Midtown. She had taken the rail system there to avoid congestion. She’d worked the first shift, during which she had treated two cases of heat exhaustion, a runner who had fallen and scraped her shin, and numerous blisters and pulled muscles.

Lydia was returning home, leaving the Buckhead terminal, when her cell phone sprang to life inside her backpack. Pulling it out and seeing it was Natalie, she answered, “Happy Fourth.”

She stopped walking at what her sister told her, placing her hand over her free ear to shut out the noise from the exiting passengers.

“When?” she asked.

“Late yesterday. With the holiday, I just now checked my messages,” Natalie told her. “Sister Patricia said a man from the FBI and two US Marshals came to talk to her in private. She packed her bag and left with them.”

“She’s sure they were legitimate?”

“She called the local field office and confirmed their identifications.”

Running a hand through her hair, Lydia paced on the sidewalk as she listened to what little else Natalie knew. Elise had discarded her cell phone before leaving Atlanta, so she had no way of contacting her to find out if she was all right. Despite the shorts and tank top she wore, the summer heat felt suddenly sweltering. People spilled around her, some of them sporting the coveted race T-shirts that proved their participation.

“It sounds like she went voluntarily,” Natalie offered. “But how did they find her?”

“I don’t know.” She had a suspicion, however.

“Do you think they want her to help make some kind of case against her husband?”

Lydia had been thinking the same thing. Once she finished with Natalie, she called Ryan’s cell but got his voice mail. She left no message, unsure of what to say that wouldn’t sound like an accusation.

In her building’s lobby, she absently greeted Franklin—who smiled at her from behind the concierge desk—then went up the elevator to her unit. Unlocking her door and pushing it open, Lydia froze. Rick was inside, fussing with a basket he’d placed on her dining table. The aroma of coffee and something savory wafted in the air.

“Lydia,” he said, sounding nervous. “Surprise.”

Caught off guard, she couldn’t keep the tautness from her voice as she closed the door behind her. “How’d you get in here?”

“Don’t be angry with him, but I talked Franklin into letting me in. I knew you were working the race this morning, and I wanted to treat you.” He indicated the basket. “I stopped at Henri’s for freshly baked croissants—no small feat with the race crowds, let me tell you. There’s also a frittata warming in the oven.”

She wasn’t angry with Franklin. He’d seen Rick with her numerous times and probably assumed he was playing cupid to some romantic gesture. “I thought you were in Dallas through the holiday.”

“I took the red-eye back last night.” He walked to where she stood, lightly touching her arms. “I couldn’t wait any longer to see you, to talk to you, Lydia, and try to clear up this mess between us.”

She released a tense sigh, in disbelief he’d parlayed his acquaintance with her building’s concierge to get himself into her home.

“At least have breakfast with me. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble here, trying to spoil you.”

She hadn’t wanted to hurt Rick. She still didn’t. But she now wondered if his ego just wouldn’t accept that things were over between them. His persistence unnerved her. Removing her volunteer ID badge, Lydia dropped her backpack into a chair and lifted her damp hair off her nape. The last thing she wanted was to have another argument with him here in her condo.

“Just let me take the frittata out. Sit down, Lydia. Give me a few minutes—I’ll be back with juice and coffee.”

Her posture rigid, Lydia stared in frustration at the table he had already set. As he disappeared into the kitchen, she felt the slow beat of a headache begin behind her eyes. She started to trail him into the kitchen but instead went to look through the peephole when a knock sounded at the door. Her stomach flip-flopped in surprise.

“Ryan,” she stammered as she opened the door.

He stood in the hall, dressed in suit pants, tie and shirt, his badge at his waist and shoulder holster on. He’d run the Peachtree in years past, but he was obviously working today.

And Rick was in her kitchen.

“I saw you tried to reach me, but I was on another call and couldn’t get to you.” He hesitated, shifting his stance. “I was on my way here, actually. I went by the hospital, but they said you weren’t working. We need to talk—”

“About Elise Brandt?” She stepped out into the hallway with him, closing the door partway behind her.

“You already heard. I figured as much.” He cupped the back of his neck. “Look, I know you feel responsible for her, but she’s going to be fine, Lydia. Hiding her down in New Orleans in a women’s shelter was only a temporary measure, anyway. WITSEC’s a better, long-term solution …”

He stopped speaking at the noise coming from inside her condo unit. Ryan reached past her to push the door open wider as Rick appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray with a juice carafe and two coffee mugs. Lydia felt dread slide through her.

“Detective Winter,” Rick said with a strained smile when he saw them. “Lydia and I were about to have breakfast. Brunch now, I suppose, considering the time.”

Lydia’s stomach knotted at Ryan’s expression, aware of how the other man’s presence was being misconstrued. She’d been hoping Rick would stay put until she could explain why he was here. Ryan’s jaw had hardened, his blue eyes darkening. He disregarded Rick’s salutation and looked at Lydia.

“I’ve come at a bad time.”

“Ryan,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Not at all—”

“Since you already know, there’s nothing for us to talk about anyway.” His tone was flat as he took a step back. “It’s
done
. I did what I thought was best for her and you.”

He turned and walked away. Anxiety coursing through her, Lydia followed his brisk path down the hall to the elevator, calling his name. She understood how he’d jumped to conclusions—she and Rick having breakfast in her home on her day off. It looked as though they were still together, that Rick had very possibly spent the night.

“
Ryan
,” she pleaded once he’d stopped in front of the elevator and pressed the button. Touching his arm, Lydia nearly felt a jolt at the upset radiating from him. “If you’ll just give me a chance to—”

“I don’t give a damn anymore, Lydia.” He shrugged off her fingers and took the stairwell instead. At nearly the same time, the bell chimed, and the elevator doors parted. Throat tight, Lydia decided to ride it down, hoping it would be faster and she could intercept him. She felt a small panic that he would refuse to listen or wouldn’t believe her. To her dismay, the elevator stopped on another floor for passengers, slowing her descent. When she reached the lobby, she glimpsed his broad shoulders exiting through the glass doors onto the plaza.

Nearly running, she caught up with him at the tiered fountain.

“Ryan! Please, just stop, all right?”

He halted, his shoulders rigid, but didn’t turn around.

“I worked the race this morning. In the medical tent,” she explained in a breathless rush. Her heart squeezed with the need for him to understand. “When I got back, he was here. The concierge let him in. Will you at least talk to me?”

He turned to her, his features hard. Then Ryan closed the distance between them. Lydia’s neck whipped back at the intensity of his kiss. Heat emanated off his body as his lips ravaged hers. She anchored her fingers in his shirt to hold on to him, his aggression sending a hot spike of desire through her. When he finally pulled away, Ryan spoke hoarsely, his face flushed and inches from hers as he pointed back to the building.

“You tell me you have one
ounce
of the passion with him that
we
had, Lydia. I don’t care if he is a goddamn surgeon.” He shook his head, his eyes stormy and pain-filled. “Seeing that pompous jackass up there, knowing you’re still with him even after what we—”

“I’m not with him,” Lydia broke in, her pulse still racing from his kiss. “And Rick and I were
never
together, not like that. We never will be.”

Her stomach fluttered at his pinched expression. “I called it off with him days ago. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Ryan. He’s upstairs
without
my invitation. I was trying to figure out a way to get him out gracefully when you showed up.”

His skin bunched around his blue eyes as he seemed to process that information. For a time he stared off at the line of crepe myrtles edging the property before looking at her again. He released a strained breath.

“I’ve been trying like hell to figure out what happened between us the other night … what it meant to you.” He swallowed hard, his voice roughening into a low rasp. “But I
know
what it meant to
me
.”

The intensity of his words shook her. Lydia felt a pang deep inside her.

“It … meant something to me, too, Ryan.” She stumbled over the words, her face hot. “Something
real
.”

A nearly overwhelming wave of emotion ran through her. She fisted one hand against her chest, tears suddenly burning behind her eyes. “It … felt like coming home again, being with you. But I’ve made so many horrible mistakes where we’re concerned. I-I feel like I don’t have a right to come back into your life. Not after the way I walked out of it—”