hope had been that their presence would give Elise a sense of security so that she might be more willing to file charges. That plan had failed with Brandt’s arrival. She thought of the moral precept drummed into every medical student.
Primum non nocere. First, do no harm.
It was possible she had just made everything worse.
Reaching the main floor, she exited the elevator. Ryan stood in the ER lobby with Mateo and a handful of other police, plainclothes as well as uniforms. Upon seeing her, Ryan approached.
“How’s Antoine?” she asked.
“Stoned and feeling no pain. He’s in a room. They’re keeping him overnight. His wife’s in with him now.”
She looked at his bandaged arm, the sterile gauze fresh. His T-shirt sleeve only partially concealed the familiar tattoo on his upper bicep. It created an involuntary, heated memory inside her that she hadn’t been prepared for.
“Dr. Rossman doesn’t have your light touch,” Ryan said. “Four sutures. No muscle damage, though.”
“Good.” She nodded weakly, glad for some optimistic news.
Looking at her, his blue eyes filled with concern. Gently, he took her arm and guided her out of the flow of traffic. “Hey … what’s wrong?”
He knew her that well, apparently. The confrontation with Brandt had rattled her. She still felt like gelatin on the inside. But she shook her head, not wanting to involve him. “It’s nothing. I had a disagreement with a patient’s family member, is all.”
Ryan searched her face but didn’t push, understanding patient confidentiality. “You were supposed to wait for me last night.”
His tone was more questioning than accusing. She looked away from his steady gaze, not wanting to point out that he’d appeared to have made plans, and she hadn’t wanted to get in the way. She wondered again if her confirmation that she was seeing Rick Varek had spurred him to start dating. If so, she should feel happy for him. “I know … I’m sorry.”
“The downtown can be dangerous at night, Lyd. Do you still carry your pepper spray?”
He’d given it to her several years earlier, after a nurse on the night shift had been mugged outside the nearby rail station. He had insisted she carry it.
“Do you ever stop thinking like a cop?” Tilting her head at him, she sighed softly. “I keep it on my key chain, which was in my hand ready for business all the way to my car.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “That’s my girl.”
The familiar endearment drove a spear of pain through her. He apparently realized what he’d said, because the levity faded from his eyes, but his gaze still held hers. Seeking a change of subject, she asked, “Why were you with Narcotics? Did it have to do with Nate?”
He kept his voice low. “We had a hunch a street gang might be behind the shootings. Narco had a search warrant, so Mateo and I and a few others from Homicide went along. We’re hoping a gun confiscated in the raid will be a match.”
Ryan nodded to several officers who spoke to him as they filed out. Mateo remained, although he’d busied himself at a vending machine in the patient waiting area, probably to give Ryan and her time to talk. Lydia could see him, fishing in his jeans pocket for change.
“When will you know?”
“We’re waiting on the ballistics. We’ve got a rush on it. Probably later today.”
His shoulder holster was missing its weapon. Lydia’s stomach fluttered. “You fired your gun.”
“I missed, unfortunately. Regardless, I’m out of the field until I’m cleared.”
As a detective’s wife, she had learned the protocol. Crime scene forensics would study bullet trajectories, including the ones that hit bodies. Bullets and casings would be matched to weapons so they had a solid account of who had fired and from where. It was a necessary legality. Police work had a set of rules, as well as a culture all its own.
For some reason, she thought of Ryan’s formal police dress coat, having seen it
Primum non nocere. First, do no harm.
It was possible she had just made everything worse.
Reaching the main floor, she exited the elevator. Ryan stood in the ER lobby with Mateo and a handful of other police, plainclothes as well as uniforms. Upon seeing her, Ryan approached.
“How’s Antoine?” she asked.
“Stoned and feeling no pain. He’s in a room. They’re keeping him overnight. His wife’s in with him now.”
She looked at his bandaged arm, the sterile gauze fresh. His T-shirt sleeve only partially concealed the familiar tattoo on his upper bicep. It created an involuntary, heated memory inside her that she hadn’t been prepared for.
“Dr. Rossman doesn’t have your light touch,” Ryan said. “Four sutures. No muscle damage, though.”
“Good.” She nodded weakly, glad for some optimistic news.
Looking at her, his blue eyes filled with concern. Gently, he took her arm and guided her out of the flow of traffic. “Hey … what’s wrong?”
He knew her that well, apparently. The confrontation with Brandt had rattled her. She still felt like gelatin on the inside. But she shook her head, not wanting to involve him. “It’s nothing. I had a disagreement with a patient’s family member, is all.”
Ryan searched her face but didn’t push, understanding patient confidentiality. “You were supposed to wait for me last night.”
His tone was more questioning than accusing. She looked away from his steady gaze, not wanting to point out that he’d appeared to have made plans, and she hadn’t wanted to get in the way. She wondered again if her confirmation that she was seeing Rick Varek had spurred him to start dating. If so, she should feel happy for him. “I know … I’m sorry.”
“The downtown can be dangerous at night, Lyd. Do you still carry your pepper spray?”
He’d given it to her several years earlier, after a nurse on the night shift had been mugged outside the nearby rail station. He had insisted she carry it.
“Do you ever stop thinking like a cop?” Tilting her head at him, she sighed softly. “I keep it on my key chain, which was in my hand ready for business all the way to my car.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “That’s my girl.”
The familiar endearment drove a spear of pain through her. He apparently realized what he’d said, because the levity faded from his eyes, but his gaze still held hers. Seeking a change of subject, she asked, “Why were you with Narcotics? Did it have to do with Nate?”
He kept his voice low. “We had a hunch a street gang might be behind the shootings. Narco had a search warrant, so Mateo and I and a few others from Homicide went along. We’re hoping a gun confiscated in the raid will be a match.”
Ryan nodded to several officers who spoke to him as they filed out. Mateo remained, although he’d busied himself at a vending machine in the patient waiting area, probably to give Ryan and her time to talk. Lydia could see him, fishing in his jeans pocket for change.
“When will you know?”
“We’re waiting on the ballistics. We’ve got a rush on it. Probably later today.”
His shoulder holster was missing its weapon. Lydia’s stomach fluttered. “You fired your gun.”
“I missed, unfortunately. Regardless, I’m out of the field until I’m cleared.”
As a detective’s wife, she had learned the protocol. Crime scene forensics would study bullet trajectories, including the ones that hit bodies. Bullets and casings would be matched to weapons so they had a solid account of who had fired and from where. It was a necessary legality. Police work had a set of rules, as well as a culture all its own.
For some reason, she thought of Ryan’s formal police dress coat, having seen it
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