Fallen (19 page)

“I want to know where she is.
Now
,” he demanded with narrowed eyes.

Shoving down her fear, she answered coolly. “I’ve no idea. I did hear she was released from the hospital last Friday—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped. He wore linen slacks and an expensive-looking dress shirt left open at the throat, revealing dark chest hair. “She’s been gone since Saturday night.”

“Did you try tracking her through the taxi service? That seemed to work for you before.”

Brandt’s lips flattened at her sarcasm. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I’m not playing anything.” Lydia lifted her chin despite her racing pulse. “And you need to leave.”

“You
know
where she is.” The faint accent she’d noticed before had thickened in his anger. “She took your business card with her.”

“So? That doesn’t mean anything—”

“I put it in a locked drawer of my desk. She pried it open. The card’s
gone
,” he nearly growled. A vein stood out on his forehead. “Elise doesn’t have any friends or family. She’s not smart enough to disappear on her own. You’re the only one who would …”

He stopped short, shoving a hand through his black hair.

Help her?
Lydia wanted to finish his statement but bit her tongue this time. Of course Elise was alone without anyone to help, she thought, anger temporarily overriding her trepidation. Brandt had cut her off from everyone.

“I was at the gala on Saturday night with Dr. Varek, the hospital’s head of cardiothoracic medicine,” she pointed out. “
You saw me there
. So unless you’re suggesting he’s a co-conspirator in whatever it is you’re accusing me of—”

“Where’ve you been the last two days?” he interrupted. “You didn’t show up for work today. You haven’t been around
here
, either. I’m no fool. It’s no coincidence my wife dropped off the face of the earth at the exact same time.”

The fact he’d been attempting to conduct surveillance on her sent a shiver across the back of her neck despite the muggy heat. Still, Lydia looked at him with defiance. “Where I was is none of your—”

She gasped as he roughly grasped her arm, escorting her from the rear of the car and backing her against the passenger door where they would be less likely to be seen by anyone looking out from the building’s windows. Her purse and shopping bag fell to the asphalt as she struggled to wring free of his grip.

“Get your hands off me!” she cried, panicking.

He let go but still stood too close, towering over her with legs planted wide and blocking her escape. Her voice, when it finally emerged, shook despite her best attempt. “I’ll call the police.”

Her phone was inside her purse, which now lay at her feet. Brandt’s leering smirk felt like a knife pressed to her throat. Lydia wore shorts, wedge sandals and a sleeveless top. But his eyes on her made her feel exposed and vulnerable, nearly naked, as he leaned in closer. His hot breath, smelling of spearmint gum, fanned her face. “And it would take what? Five minutes for them to arrive? Three if you’re lucky and there’s a patrol car nearby.” His voice lowered. “Lots of things could happen to you by then,
Lydia
.”

The threat coursed through her veins.

“Where is she?” he demanded again, his fist slamming onto the Volvo’s roof hard enough that she jumped.

“I-I can’t help you!”

“You all right, Dr. Costa?” Franklin, the building’s concierge, called from a short distance away. An older, genteel man with café au lait skin, a reed-thin frame and gray hair, he’d apparently just come outside with a bag of trash for the Dumpster. He stood under the building’s rear portico.

Brandt backed off at Franklin’s arrival. He pointed a finger. “If you know where she is, you’re going to tell me.”

Lydia watched as he returned to his car. He sped from the lot once the gate opened to release him. She was trembling, she realized, the metallic aftertaste of fright like bile in the back of her throat. She knelt to gather the items that had rolled from her shopping bag.

“You know that man, Dr. Costa?”

She glanced up. Franklin no longer had the trash, and he held her runaway can of tomato paste. She felt thankful he’d appeared when he had and that Brandt hadn’t seen the suitcase in her trunk. The last thing she wanted to reveal to him was that she’d made a trip out of town. It would only stoke his suspicion.

“Yes,” Lydia managed to get out. Rising, she took the can and returned it to her bag.

“You all right?”

She gave a faint nod. “I’m fine.”

“He was in the lobby asking questions about you yesterday. And about that blond woman who was waiting on you Saturday night.”

Her eyes shot to his. “You let her in?”

“No, ma’am. But I went through the lobby’s security tape after he left, since he was insisting she’d been here. He showed me her photo and said for me to call him if I remembered anything. Slid a hundred-dollar bill across the desk and told me there was more where that came from.”

He frowned, peering off in the direction the car had taken. “I didn’t take it. I told him to leave the property.”

Apparently, some kindhearted tenant must have let Elise into the lobby after Franklin had already gone home for the night. Lydia knew a hundred dollars was a lot of money to him. He was already working well past retirement age. She opened her purse, grateful. “Thank you for your discretion. Let me give you something.”

He shook his head. “You’ve been good to my wife and me, Dr. Costa. You help people who’re hurting, and I figure that woman needed your help, too. She sure looked like it on the tape. Whoever comes to see you, that’s your business alone.”

Franklin had asked for Lydia’s assistance that past winter when his wife, Callie, had become severely ill. Their insurance was minimal, and initially she’d been sent home from her doctor’s office with nothing more than pain medication. Lydia had interceded, calling in favors to make sure she was seen by the proper specialist, had the right tests performed to diagnose the reason for her persisting pancreatitis.

“If he comes back—”

“I’ll bounce him right out,” Franklin offered fiercely, despite his slight build and advanced years. He patted her shoulder, concern in his eyes. “He was trespassing back here. I can call the police and file a complaint.”

Security cameras were posted in the building’s lobby and in the rear parking lot. Ian Brandt had no doubt been captured on the footage, but so had Elise. In fact, there was probably video of her leaving with Lydia in her car in the very early hours of Sunday morning. She considered asking Franklin to find the footage and erase it, but she didn’t want him to do anything that might get him into trouble with the building’s management. Nor did she want to further raise Brandt’s ire by pressing charges.

Lydia shook her head. “No. I’d prefer to just drop the matter.”

The surrounding twilight had deepened. They went inside the building with Franklin insisting on carrying her shopping bag into the lobby. She would have to come back to her car for her suitcase later, and that was only if she was certain she wasn’t being watched.

Upstairs in her unit with the door closed and locked behind her, Lydia went into the kitchen and heaved the shopping bag onto the counter. The vegetables had provided some padding, so none of the jarred or bottled items appeared broken. Brandt’s intimidation hung over her, but she still believed she had done the right thing. She had lost any appetite for dinner, however.

And Brandt had been wrong about Elise. She
had
been smarter this time, sneaking away from their Tuxedo Park mansion through the bedroom window so the live-in maid hadn’t noticed. She had walked to a bus stop and taken three transfers around the city before disembarking ten blocks from Lydia’s building.

When she couldn’t locate Lydia at the hospital, and when the answering service wouldn’t provide her personal numbers, Elise had found her home address using her cell phone’s Web browser. Then she had turned off the phone and thrown it away before stepping onto the bus.

Brandt had promised to kill her if she ever sought help again, Elise had tearfully divulged as Lydia examined her fresh injuries. He’d beat her again as punishment for calling in the police, an act that Lydia herself had been responsible for. Fresh guilt speared through her. Brandt had warned Elise that if she ever again considered having him arrested—if he couldn’t get to her, one of his men would. Elise had finally made the decision to leave, but Lydia hadn’t been able to persuade her to file charges. Instead, with a haunted expression, Elise had haltingly told her about what had happened to Brandt’s first wife.

Lydia had been sickened.

She’d found the only solution the frightened, battered woman would agree to. She had driven Elise to New Orleans—to safety—under the veil of darkness, an eight-hour trip by car. No bus or airline reservations to leave a trail. Lydia had returned alone.

Nerves frayed, muscles stiff from the long drive, she opened a bottle of pinot noir from the wine rack. Pouring a glass, she contemplated the winking light on the phone console. The luminescent digits indicated six messages. Instead of hitting the voice mail’s
play
button, she picked up the handset and scanned its caller ID, noting that three of the messages were apparently from Rick. He had been calling her cell phone as well, so she’d finally picked up on the drive back from New Orleans and assured him everything was fine, telling him only that she’d been called away by an old college roommate having a personal crisis. The lie had been a necessary deflection. Still studying the screen, she noticed two more calls were listed as unknown. With a twinge of unease, she wondered if the mystery caller had been Ian Brandt. She skipped over Rick’s messages and went to the next two, but they were only stretches of silence culminating in disconnections.

The most recent message was from Natalie, left less than a half hour ago. Although Lydia had hugged her good-bye just that morning, she felt her heart constrict at the sound of her sister’s voice.

“I tried calling your cell, but you didn’t answer. I just wanted to let you know everything’s fine,” Natalie said, being purposefully vague. “Happy birthday again, big sis. I hope your gift arrives on time. I sent it to the hospital since that’s where you are practically twenty-four/seven.”

Not knowing she would be seeing Lydia that weekend, Natalie had already mailed the present. She didn’t need it—seeing her sister and mother had been gift enough. After she had gotten Elise settled in, after she had grabbed a few hours’ sleep, they had spent the remaining time together. Lydia sighed tiredly. She would turn thirty-seven tomorrow, but felt much older. Rick was insisting on taking her to dinner after her shift to celebrate, but she planned to beg off, unprepared to revisit their interrupted conversation from Saturday night.

But sooner or later she would have to.

Lydia took the wine with her, heading to the bedroom to shower and change. She hoped the hot water would scrub off the feel of Brandt’s hands on her. The suitcase could stay where it was. She halted in the living area as the phone jangled, causing her stomach to flutter. Picking up the handset from an end table, she once again peered cautiously at the screen.

The familiar number soothed her. She answered, unable to resist.

“Happy birthday, Lyd.” Ryan’s voice wrapped around her. In the background, she could hear the faint chatter-over-static coming from the police radio in his SUV.

“My birthday’s not until tomorrow,” she reminded, feeling her spirits lift a bit.

“I know. I thought I’d beat the rush.” He paused. “I wasn’t sure you’d be home.”

“I’m here. I was just thinking of going to bed early.” Lydia realized she hadn’t been privy to the local news since Saturday. Elise’s situation had dominated the past forty-eight hours. “I’ve … been out of town. Is there anything new with the case?”

He updated her, although what he said didn’t seem to offer much hope. There were still no real leads, compounded by a growing sense of paranoia among police. Ryan sounded tired.

“Did you know Matthew Boyce?”

“No,” he said on a heavy sigh. “But he’s still one of ours. Three men down, Lydia.”

“I know,” she said softly.

“I was thinking of your thirty-first the other day,” he said, changing the subject to lighter fare. “That trip we took to Rosemary Beach.”

Lydia remembered. It had been a magical week, still early in their marriage, even before Tyler. They had reveled in warm sun and sandy beaches, delicious seafood, long, luxurious naps and scorchingly hot sex.

“You remember that little antique shop? The one with all the sea glass and chandeliers made from Mason jars?”

She smiled to herself. “I remember the proprietor flirting with you. He wasn’t too happy when I came around the corner.”

“I
was
out antiquing. It was an honest mistake.”

Closing her eyes as he talked, Lydia envisioned Ryan’s even features, recalled the hard strength of him. She felt a sudden yearning to be with him, to feel
safe
again. Despite her outward bravado, Brandt’s appearance at her building had shaken her. She wanted to confide in Ryan about Elise, but could not. He would be worried as well as angry. He’d warned her to stay out of it. She wouldn’t add to his problems. Lydia fervently hoped Brandt would eventually give up the trail.

“I could use some Rosemary Beach right now,” she said wistfully.

“It’s been a tough day for you, too.”

“Off the charts. Are you on your way home?” she asked, hearing a police code with an accompanying downtown street address being relayed over his radio.

“I’m headed that way. I followed up on a lead with Mateo tonight—which turned out to be a waste of time—then went to McCrosky’s for a beer and some dinner. Hopefully, I’ll get a few hours’ sleep and start over tomorrow.”

“Sleep well,” she wished him.

“Lydia …” He paused again, and she waited in the charged silence. But then he simply rasped, “I just wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday. You deserve it.”