Fallen (14 page)

Regardless, she was the reason he was breathing right now. Pooch had gotten the jump on him. He was damn lucky to be alive.

*

Lydia pointed the bungalow out to the cab driver, paid the fare and emerged under a violet blanket of night. Passing the darkened squad car that sat on the street, she went up the ivy-edged brick steps and onto the porch with its two-seater swing. She felt fuzzy from the wine she’d been having but Tess had called, relaying what had happened and asking her to come since Ryan had stubbornly refused medical care. She’d been in her pajamas, but had quickly redressed and called for a cab.

The door opened before she could knock. The two uniformed officers who exited greeted her politely as they went past, one of them calling her by name. Stepping inside, Lydia’s pulse sped up at the destruction—the scattered glass and fallen plaster. She looked up at the hole that indicated the bullet’s path, suspecting it had already been pried from the ceiling and taken into evidence.

“Where is he?” she asked as Tess entered the room.

“He went to take a shower. Thank you for coming, Lydia. He’ll have my hide for calling you, but he needs someone to look at him.”

“You did the right thing,” she assured her as Max rubbed against her ankle.

“The crime scene people have come and gone. I’ve been trying to clean up, but Ryan wanted to talk to the officers in here alone.” She shook her head, glancing around in dismay at the mess. “In my day, criminals tried to
avoid
police. They didn’t come looking for them. He doesn’t think anything was taken except for some cash—thank goodness for the security box.”

The box she referred to was in the master bedroom closet. The small safe bolted to the floor was where Ryan had kept his service and backup gun safely out of Tyler’s reach, as well as important papers and a few irreplaceable items.

They talked for a few minutes, until Tess twisted her hands together and released a tired sigh. “Well, now that you’re here, I’m going up to paint for a bit. It settles my nerves. Let Ryan know I’ll take care of all this in the morning.”

“Good night.”

“I’d tell you not to surprise him in there, but it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” With a wink that belied the stress on her features, she patted Lydia’s arm and exited the house.

Lydia watched from the window until the other woman was safely up to her apartment, then closed her eyes and ran a hand over her face. Blinking to clear her head, arms crossed over her chest, she wandered to the hall’s threshold. The master bedroom door was closed, and she could hear the faint rush of water behind it, coming from the en-suite bathroom. She knew she should call to Ryan to let him know she was here, but instead she remained silent, her eyes fastening on the other closed door.

She felt a familiar ache.

When she had made the decision to move out, Tyler’s bedroom had remained untouched, as if he might somehow return to them. She had carefully avoided it in her visits since. Lydia had no idea if it was empty now, if Ryan had finally packed away his clothing and toys.

Guilt tightened her throat. It was something else she had left him to deal with alone.

Biting her lip, swarmed by bittersweet images, she retreated to the kitchen to look for a broom.

She had just risen from her knees, where she’d been sweeping up broken glass and plaster, when Ryan spoke her name. Hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his hair damp, he had on a shirt, but it was unbuttoned and untucked, revealing hard pectorals and a sprinkling of chest hair. He clearly had thought Tess had left and he was alone.

“Tess called you,” he said apologetically. As she put down the dustpan and came closer, he clasped the back of his neck. “Damn it. It’s late. That wasn’t necessary.”

“She said you refused paramedics.”

“I didn’t need them. It’s not that big of a deal.” He indicated his bandaged arm, scowling faintly. “And no offense, but I’ve had my share of being poked and prodded for one day.”

Looking at him, Lydia pressed her lips together. “Well, as long as I’m here, why don’t I have a look at you? I promise I’ll keep the poking and prodding to a minimum.”

Her eyes locked with his until he finally released a sigh of resignation and went to sit on the sofa. Tess had provided her a rundown of his injuries on the phone. Sitting beside him, she ran her fingers carefully through his hair, locating the swollen area on the side of his skull. “Did you lose consciousness?”

“No.”

“Any dizziness or nausea?”

“Some dizziness, but it’s gone now.” He seemed edgy and preoccupied. Extracting the penlight she’d brought with her from her purse, she asked a few questions to check his concentration and memory as she examined his pupils. They appeared to be of equal size and reacted well to light.

“Mind if I have a look at your side? Tess said you were holding it.”

Releasing another breath, he turned slightly toward her and opened his shirt further. Lydia scooted closer, aware of the peculiarity of their situation. There had always been a strong physical attraction between them. Despite her medical training, she had an involuntary response to the familiarity of his broad chest, the flat stomach rippled with strength. She examined the still-forming bruise below his ribs, noticing his flinch when she pressed against it.

“I’d like to get a CT and an ultrasound as a precaution.” She reached again for her purse and the cell phone inside it. “I’ll call ahead and go with you so you won’t have to wait—”

“Lydia.” Ryan’s fingers encircled her outstretched wrist, halting her. She straightened, instant heat swirling low in her belly at his touch. His features were mere inches from hers.

“
I’m fine
. I don’t need any of that, honey,” he emphasized in a low voice, seeming not to notice the once-familiar endearment. He studied her. “Have you been drinking?”

Lydia felt her face heat at the unexpected inquiry. He must have smelled it on her breath despite the mint she’d had, or picked up on some other tell.

“I was … out,” she lied, self-conscious. She stopped herself from making up something more elaborate and added a little defensively, “I’m not on call.”

Releasing her wrist, he clenched his jaw slightly. “Then I’m even sorrier Tess called you and ruined your night.”

Embarrassed, she wondered if he had noticed her physical response to his closeness, as well, whether it had been as evident as the buzz she’d believed she had been so expertly hiding. Rising from the couch and searching for a change of subject, she asked, “How did he get in?”

“Tess had been here and didn’t reset the alarm. He broke a window in the mudroom and reached through it to open the door.”

“He’s someone you arrested?”

“He shot Antoine Clark this morning.”

Lydia felt a rise of nerves as she made the connection. “He’s part of the gang you’ve been looking into in connection with Nate’s murder.”

“The job’s still the job, Lyd,” Ryan reminded tiredly as he touched the lump on his scalp. “His street name’s Pooch. He came here to convince me the HB2s aren’t involved. I’ve already talked to Mateo and told him to be on alert, but I think he got his message across here.”

She frequently saw the gang’s tatted-up members—as well as their victims—as patients inside the ER. Bullet and knife wounds were common. “Do you believe him?”

Sitting forward on the couch, Ryan picked up their family photo that lay on the coffee table. Broken glass spider-webbed over the image. He put it back down, frowning. “We weren’t able to find a match among the guns confiscated in the raid. That doesn’t prove innocence—the weapon could’ve been stashed somewhere else—but I’m having my doubts. I was following a hunch. I might be sending us in the wrong direction. Wasting time.”

He stood and paced, frustrated.

“You’ve had a long day, Ryan.” Moving closer, she touched his bandaged arm. He’d gotten the gauze damp, and the pad underneath it probably needed changing. “Those sutures were supposed to be kept dry for twenty-four hours. Dr. Rossman gave you home care instructions?”

He shrugged, his features hard. “I needed a shower. The son of a bitch spit on me. I wanted to scrub my skin off.”

“Do you still have the first-aid kit? I can redress your arm. You’re probably sore, and it’s going to be difficult doing it yourself.”

He agreed with a sigh, indicating for her to follow. A weighted silence hung between them as they passed the closed door to Tyler’s room.

Ryan led her into the master bedroom. The tasteful neutral tones and large, antique sleigh bed they’d once shared hadn’t changed. Lydia couldn’t help it—she wondered if other women had been in the bed since her departure.

The adjoining bathroom was still humid from his shower. It was an add-on completed during the renovations, as they had desired a larger bathroom than the one in the hall that was typical of a 1920s bungalow. Constructed of white tile and gray sandstone, with vintage wood vanities and an oversize shower, it had been a serene place to unwind. They had also done more than relax here. The intimate memories she’d tried to dodge in the bedroom confronted her again, and she flashed on an image of their lovemaking in the large stall, her legs wrapped around Ryan’s hips and her back against the cool tiles as he thrust into her, water jets raining down on them. The recollection of hard muscles under wet, sleek skin, his mouth on hers, shallowed her breathing.

Searching for a distraction, she bent to retrieve the white tin of household medical supplies from under the vanity. Placing it next to the basin, she rummaged through the gauze and sterile dressings, hydrogen peroxide and antibiotic ointments. Lydia froze as her fingers landed on the small box of adhesive bandages. The carton with cheerful cartoon characters on its front had caught her off guard, squeezing her heart. Standing behind her, Ryan silently placed a hand on her shoulder. Lydia found her breath again and concentrated on her task.

A short time later, as she used scissors to remove the gauze from his arm, he spoke. “I hear you had a run-in with Ian Brandt.”

Examining the sutures, she pressed her lips together, thinking of the two officers from the hospital. “I’d forgotten cops gossip like a bunch of old women.”

“Steer clear of him, Lyd.”

Anger seeped through her as she carefully dabbed at the sutures with a hydrogen peroxide-soaked cotton ball. “He’s beating his wife—”

“Hey.” His tone was firm, drawing her eyes up to his. “I
mean
it. The guy’s bad news. Let it go. We both know in our jobs—”

“Some things are out of our control,” she finished on a sigh.

It was a wisdom they’d reminded each other of often, after a long and depressing hospital shift, after a particularly grim crime scene. It was why emergency workers so often ended up together, married to one another. They each understood the job. Lydia dropped the cotton ball into the wastebasket. Glancing up at him again, she felt her chest tighten at the concern on his face. After everything that had happened between them, he remained dutifully protective of her.

“Why are you so nice to me?” Her voice trembled faintly, her question heartfelt. “When I … I haven’t always been the same to you.”

At her question, his blue eyes darkened, emotion seeming to travel over his features. Then Ryan’s hand rose to her face, his thumb stroking over her cheekbone. Lydia’s heart thudded, her throat going dry as they stared at one another. She wobbled a tiny bit when he removed his touch.

“You shouldn’t be driving, Lydia,” he admonished.

She felt another stain of embarrassment creep over her skin. “I … didn’t. I took a cab.”

He frowned. “From where?”

She didn’t respond, not wanting to lie to him a second time but also not wanting him to know the truth—that she’d been at home, drinking alone. She imagined his pity and disapproval, and she didn’t want that from him. Instead, she focused on redressing the wound with a new sterile pad and gauze.

“Were you with him tonight?” he asked when she was done, causing her to look back up at him. Small lines of tension had formed around his mouth, his eyes. Lydia stood magnetized.

“No,” she whispered.

A voice at the front of the house broke the charged silence enveloping them. Adam. Ryan let go of a soft curse. With a sour feeling in her stomach, Lydia trailed him from the bathroom.

“I heard what went down—” Adam halted upon seeing them in the bedroom doorway. His eyes slid from Lydia to Ryan, his jaw hardening. “What’s
she
doing here?”

“Adam,” Ryan warned.

Adam hadn’t come over to say hello the previous night at McCrosky’s, although Lydia had witnessed his cold stare before he’d turned his back on her. Nervously crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “Tess asked me to stop by since he wouldn’t go to the ER. He’s fine, by the way.”

“Is that your diagnosis or his?”

“His,” she replied, aware of the animosity in his eyes. Adam appeared intimidating in his uniform. He looked so much like Ryan—similar features, the same tall, lean build. It was like a photo negative, one brother lighter haired and blue-eyed, the other a darker, more mysterious version. Ryan had always been protective of his younger brother, but Lydia knew where she was concerned, their roles reversed.

“You’ve been showing up a lot lately,” Adam pointed out, a subtle bite to his words. “This past weekend here at the house, last night at McCrosky’s and now here again.
Just like old times
.”

“Where’s your partner?” Ryan interjected.

“Outside in the unit.”

“Everything’s fine here. You can get back to him and finish your watch.” The phone rang from the bedroom. Ryan didn’t appear happy. “I have to take that.”

He gave Adam a stern look before leaving. Lydia took it as her opportunity. She lowered her gaze and said, “It’s good to see you, Adam. If you’ll excuse me, I need to call a cab.”

Escaping past him to the living room, she removed her cell phone from her purse and contacted the taxi service. But as she gave the street address, she became aware of him watching her from the hall. Once she’d disconnected, he walked to her.