Fallen (25 page)

Mateo chuckled softly. Then growing serious again, he said, “You just shouldn’t be taking chances like that, Ry.”

Ryan sat up straighter as a dark Lexus sports coupe with tinted windows pulled onto the street. “That’s him.”

As the car turned into the driveway’s opening gate, Mateo drove the Impala in behind it, blocking its iron jaws from closing.

“Wait here,” Ryan said, getting out of the vehicle. This was between Brandt and him.

“Why? So I can’t hear enough to testify against you in court?”

A dark-haired man in a well-tailored business suit emerged from the other car as Ryan approached.

“Ian Brandt?” he confirmed.

“And you are?”

He indicated the shield at his waist. “Detective Winter with the Atlanta PD.”

An expensive-looking wristwatch glimmered in the sunlight as Brandt casually scratched his goatee, appearing unimpressed. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

“You can tell me what you know about a box of wasps delivered to Mercy Hospital yesterday morning.”

Brandt clicked his key fob to open the coupe’s trunk. A leather designer suitcase was inside it, indicating that he had, in fact, been out of town. “Wasps? That’s simple. I know nothing.”

“The box was addressed to Dr. Costa in the ER. You confronted her last week when she contacted the police about your wife’s injuries. You also went to her home two days ago and accused her of being party to her disappearance.”

“
I know who you are
, Detective. You must be on good terms with your former wife to do her bidding. She sent you here about this?”

“I’m here because those wasps point right back to you.” Fighting the desire to slap the arrogant smirk from Brandt’s face, Ryan felt his pulse kick up a beat. “From where I stand, it looks like you’ve gone to some trouble to find out information about Dr. Costa. You’re aware she was married to a cop, you know where she lives. Did the fact she has a lethal allergy to bee venom also come up in your research?”

The other man’s gaze didn’t waver. Despite the fine clothing, the expensive house and car, he emanated a sinister oiliness. “I’m afraid you are—how do you say it?—
sniffing the wrong ass
, Detective. Dr. Costa and I did have a disagreement, but that’s hardly illegal. And as I’ve said, I have absolutely no knowledge of this box of wasps. I don’t like your accusation.”

He lifted a splayed hand in a speculating gesture. “Perhaps someone
else
sent it? You must admit Dr. Costa has an abrasive personality and an inclination to stick her nose in places it doesn’t belong. A woman like that, even an attractive one, probably has a lot of enemies.”

Ryan took a step closer, barely keeping his anger on simmer. “You sent them.”

“And I’ll tell you once more. I
didn’t
.” Brandt’s features had hardened, his previously faint accent becoming a bit more pronounced. “Do you have some proof of this? Did you bring an arrest warrant?” He smiled like a shark. “Then step off my property.”

Ryan could haul him into the precinct for an interview, but it would be no more than a harassment technique, and there was little doubt Brandt already had a top-notch lawyer on retainer to ensure he was released in minutes. Besides, his gut told him this asshole didn’t scare easily. It was tempting to let him know he was aware of his background—the changed name, the drug cartel, even the dead first wife—but he didn’t want it to appear that Elise Brandt had confided in Lydia, an indicator they’d spent time together. He would save it for a time when he had something more concrete. For now, Ryan delivered a warning.

“This is over. Stay away from Dr. Costa. You don’t come anywhere near her again.”

“I’d take care in threatening me, Detective.”

They stood nearly nose-to-nose in the summer heat. Ryan felt perspiration trickle down his back. His voice lowered with meaning. “If she’d been hurt, you wouldn’t be breathing right now.”

Brandt smirked once again, although his dark eyes were cold.

Ryan returned to the idling car, aware Mateo now stood outside the driver-side door, no doubt poised to step in if the confrontation got physical. They both got in, and Mateo put the car into reverse, tires squealing as he backed from the driveway.

“How’d it go?”

“It went,” Ryan grumbled. Large houses on park-like lawns whizzed past.

He just hoped he’d gotten his message across to Brandt.

*

Two hours later, Ryan exited Captain Thompson’s office. He had been summoned back to the precinct via radio. It hadn’t taken long for Brandt to place a call regarding his visit, and not much longer than that for the politician he was friends with to contact a higher-up within the APD. Ryan had explained to Thompson that he’d had grounds for questioning Brandt about the package, but without any incriminating evidence, he was warned to let the matter go.

“So how much shit are you in?” Mateo asked as Ryan returned to his desk.

He shrugged. “I’ve been ordered to stay away from Brandt.”

Mateo glanced at the captain’s closed door. “Thompson
knows
Lydia. I thought he’d have your back on this.”

“He did.” Through the window beside his desk, the previously blue sky had begun to fade
, and the long shadows of adjacent buildings now stretched over the sidewalk. “This is above his pay grade. Brandt went to the top, so considering his connections, it could’ve been worse.”

Ryan had fully expected Brandt to cry foul over his visit. Based on what he knew from Lydia, it was part of his MO. But Thompson had made it clear he’d stuck out his neck with his own superior and he expected Ryan to back off.

“Brandt must be rubbing elbows with the right crowd—and by
rubbing elbows
, I mean lining their pockets.” Mateo reached for the ringing phone on his desk. Ryan was alerted to the immediate change in his tone as he spoke with whoever was on the other end of the line. “Yeah, we’re on our way.”

“What?” Ryan rose along with his partner. Already, they were walking, headed out.

Mateo kept his voice low as they traveled through the corridor. “Officer-involved shooting. A zone four uniform just made a distress call. Some guy surprised him as he was getting out of his vehicle in the alley behind his home. He fired.”

Ryan felt his stomach sour. Paranoia within the department’s ranks had been spiraling since Boyce’s murder. Everyone was on a hair trigger, looking for shooters in their peripheral vision. He drew in a labored breath. “Just tell me this guy had a gun on him.”

As they pushed through the double doors that led to the parking lot, Mateo shot a glance at him, his grim expression confirming Ryan’s worst fear.

“The scene’s a clusterfuck right now, so they aren’t sure yet. But so far, no weapon.”

*

Letting herself into her darkened condo, Lydia felt the day’s tension knotting her shoulders. Her shift had been a particularly depressing one with several tough cases coming through the ER—an assault and rape victim, a teen overdose, a likely case of quadriplegia from a biking accident. All of it had been capped off by the news of Jessica Barker, the six-year-old injured with her mother in an MVA the day before.

Word had trickled down from Pediatrics. There had been complications from the surgery to relieve a hematoma putting pressure on her brain. Like most TBIs, there was little to do but watch and wait, but the prognosis wasn’t hopeful.

Entering the kitchen—fatigued, her mind full—Lydia flipped on the light but stared vacantly into the room. She wasn’t hungry. Instead, she thought of the Oxycontin abuser who had been trolling for drugs and threatened her when she’d discharged him without a prescription. By rote, she poured a generous glass from the open wine bottle that sat on a butcher-block cutting board. Impulsively, she gulped it down, her throat burning at the thick, heady cabernet meant to be sipped. Her eyes watered at the self-punishment, and she coughed, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth.

Taking a breath, she poured another glass.

Lydia squeezed her eyes closed.

The wine didn’t make her feel better. It only numbed her.

Is this about your ex-husband?

After the incident with the wasps, after the blowup with Rick last night and his weighted question, she had come home and drunk until she fell asleep—passed out, truthfully—in bed. She’d awakened early that morning with a headache and shaky limbs. Shame heated her face. It hadn’t been the first time. Lydia was unsure exactly when she had begun to self-medicate, taking it beyond a glass or two at night to sometimes a bottle. It had been a gradual thing she had somehow lost sight of.

It frightened her that she had begun depending on wine to get through the night.

I’m still functional. I plan carefully. This hasn’t affected my job.

But in her heart, she knew. Her stomach tensed.

This has to stop. Before I can’t stop. The drinking’s getting worse.

She poured the glass into the sink. Lydia passed a hand over her face, watching as the deep burgundy stained the porcelain basin. It reminded her of blood on the ER floor. She dumped out the remainder of the bottle, too. Rinsed all of it down the drain.

Terrified by her bravado, she let a small, mirthless laugh escape. That was all the alcohol here. It had been months since she’d fallen asleep sober. It would be a long night. But she went through the unit, and while she still had her nerve, she dumped the bottle of sleeping pills into the toilet, too.

She took a long, scalding shower, made a cup of herbal tea and went to bed.

Without alcohol to dull her thoughts, it seemed that hours passed before sleep began to claim her. Lydia was drifting when the phone rang. Turning on the bedside lamp, blinking, she reached for the handset and looked at the ID screen.

CALLER UNKNOWN.

Not again. She let it go to voice mail, dread filling her as she flipped onto her side. Within the space of a minute, the ringing started anew.

She’d had enough. Sitting up, Lydia snatched the handset. “Stop calling! I’ve told you I don’t know anything about your wife—”

“Mommy?” A small child’s rasp froze the words in her throat. A little boy.

Her nape tingled as she sat up. “Who … who is this?”

The silence crackled with electricity. “ … Tyler.”

Her hand went numb where she gripped the phone. Lydia felt ice curl around her spine.

“Come find me, Mommy,” the small voice begged. “It’s dark here. I’m scared.”

Her flesh crawled, her stomach tightening into a hard knot.

“
Who is this
?” she choked out.

More silence. Then a giggle. “Bye.”

The line went dead. Lydia disconnected and tossed the receiver to the floor, drawing her legs up to herself and clasping her arms around her shins as she sat against the headboard. Her heart pounded in her ears. She wasn’t insane. Tyler was dead and that hadn’t been her child. She knew that.

But it had been
someone’s
child. The lisping, thin voice had been real. An eeriness settled over her, and she was unable to shake the call’s intent.

Brandt had gone too far this time. Calling the mother of a dead little boy … Having a child pretend to be …

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Tears of outrage burned behind her eyes.

The strength she had mustered earlier was gone. Lydia felt a pang of regret as her body yearned for numbing solace.

Don’t think like that.

Getting up on weak legs, she checked the phone’s screen to make sure she hadn’t been caught in some vivid nightmare. That she really wasn’t losing her mind. Two calls
had
registered. Replacing the phone on the console, her insides quivering, Lydia sat on the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands. She was in over her head. But no matter what stunt he pulled, she angrily swore she would never tell Brandt a damn thing about his wife.

The little boy’s begging had pierced her heart, though. She thought about it all the time—how Tyler had died. Alone in a cold, watery grave. Suffocating and afraid. Wanting her. It was enough to push her over the edge.

Oh, God.

She took a breath and squared her shoulders. She wouldn’t let Brandt do this to her, she wouldn’t …

Lydia squeaked out a cry as the phone shrilled back to life.

Chapter Twenty-One

A faceless killer
hadn’t pulled the trigger this time. But a man was dead and an officer’s career was over with charges likely pending, something now in the hands of the Fulton County District Attorney’s office. Ryan stared pensively through the windshield in his parked SUV. His mind flashed on the same images—the panhandler sprawled on the ground, the rookie cop squatting nearby, weeping in remorse. Surprised by the unarmed beggar, he had panicked and shot.