his attention to Lydia. He guessed she had seen Molly’s hand on his arm. If she had, she didn’t mention it.
“It’s been awhile,” she said as she looked around the space. “But everything looks pretty much the same.”
Ryan thought of the countless times he’d met up with Lydia here after work—when they were dating and later, after they moved in together and got married. “You know Frank. He’s not a big fan of change.”
As if on cue, Frank called to her from behind the bar, then came around to envelop her in a warm hug. A few others strolled over to say hello. Ryan stood nearby as Lydia talked with his peers. She wore a summer cardigan over a pretty sundress, as well as heeled sandals instead of the flats she normally sported after a long ER shift. Her newly shortened hair appeared sleek and glossy under the tavern’s recessed lighting. He wondered, a little painfully, if she’d been out on a date.
“I’m glad you came. It means a lot,” he said sincerely, once it was the two of them again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the service.” She glanced at Molly, who was a dozen feet away clearing a vacated table. “And I don’t want to keep you from anything—”
“Stay for a while?” he asked on impulse. Although some of the force had begun to disperse, the ones who remained were getting more boisterous. Someone—Pearson, a detective from zone three—had begun a pretty decent acapella rendition of Danny Boy . But instead of it having a lulling effect, several in the crowd were lifting drinks and toasting to Nate’s memory. “I mean, you came all the way down here, right? We can go out on the patio.”
She hesitated, her soft-brown eyes looking into his, then gave a nod of agreement.
The terrace had been crowded earlier. But as the evening waned, Frank had apparently stopped the outside service to cut down on wait staff. The tabletop hurricane lamps had been extinguished, although the scent of candle wax still hung in the sultry night air. They were the only two taking advantage of the twinkling downtown lights. Lydia had requested a glass of wine, while Ryan had left his beer inside, instead opting for coffee.
“You’re still drinking caffeine at night.”
He smiled faintly as he sipped from his mug. “It’s a cop thing. We build up a tolerance. Ask Mateo.”
Lydia sighed in memory. “He still keeps a coffee IV hooked to his arm?”
“In your occupation I think it’s what they call a central line.”
Their lighthearted conversation eventually faded off into silence. Placing his mug on a table, Ryan allowed himself to study her profile as she stared up at the tall CNN Center building that loomed at the edge of the park’s commons, the cable news logo a familiar object in the downtown sky. Beyond it, the twenty-story SkyView Atlanta Ferris wheel—the latest tourist attraction—made a slow revolution, a lit disk against the night.
“It’s been a tough day,” he confided.
“I’m sure,” she said seriously, her eyes meeting his again. “Is there anything new?”
He told her in confidence about the ballistics report tying Nate’s and Watterson’s murders together. She looked concerned. “So someone could just be going around shooting cops?”
“Internal Affairs is conducting its own investigation. The GBI’s involved, too. Unless they can find something improper both men were involved in, it’s a possibility.”
“ Be careful , Ryan.”
It was the same request she’d made at the bungalow that past weekend, something she had also said to him each morning when they had been together. His heart squeezed at the realization of how much he missed hearing her say that. Other cops had their St. Michael medallion, but his talisman had always been Lydia’s appeal that he return home safely to her and Tyler. A recollection of the three of them here on the patio having dinner—Tyler, still a chubby-cheeked infant at the time, happily chewing on animal
“It’s been awhile,” she said as she looked around the space. “But everything looks pretty much the same.”
Ryan thought of the countless times he’d met up with Lydia here after work—when they were dating and later, after they moved in together and got married. “You know Frank. He’s not a big fan of change.”
As if on cue, Frank called to her from behind the bar, then came around to envelop her in a warm hug. A few others strolled over to say hello. Ryan stood nearby as Lydia talked with his peers. She wore a summer cardigan over a pretty sundress, as well as heeled sandals instead of the flats she normally sported after a long ER shift. Her newly shortened hair appeared sleek and glossy under the tavern’s recessed lighting. He wondered, a little painfully, if she’d been out on a date.
“I’m glad you came. It means a lot,” he said sincerely, once it was the two of them again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the service.” She glanced at Molly, who was a dozen feet away clearing a vacated table. “And I don’t want to keep you from anything—”
“Stay for a while?” he asked on impulse. Although some of the force had begun to disperse, the ones who remained were getting more boisterous. Someone—Pearson, a detective from zone three—had begun a pretty decent acapella rendition of Danny Boy . But instead of it having a lulling effect, several in the crowd were lifting drinks and toasting to Nate’s memory. “I mean, you came all the way down here, right? We can go out on the patio.”
She hesitated, her soft-brown eyes looking into his, then gave a nod of agreement.
The terrace had been crowded earlier. But as the evening waned, Frank had apparently stopped the outside service to cut down on wait staff. The tabletop hurricane lamps had been extinguished, although the scent of candle wax still hung in the sultry night air. They were the only two taking advantage of the twinkling downtown lights. Lydia had requested a glass of wine, while Ryan had left his beer inside, instead opting for coffee.
“You’re still drinking caffeine at night.”
He smiled faintly as he sipped from his mug. “It’s a cop thing. We build up a tolerance. Ask Mateo.”
Lydia sighed in memory. “He still keeps a coffee IV hooked to his arm?”
“In your occupation I think it’s what they call a central line.”
Their lighthearted conversation eventually faded off into silence. Placing his mug on a table, Ryan allowed himself to study her profile as she stared up at the tall CNN Center building that loomed at the edge of the park’s commons, the cable news logo a familiar object in the downtown sky. Beyond it, the twenty-story SkyView Atlanta Ferris wheel—the latest tourist attraction—made a slow revolution, a lit disk against the night.
“It’s been a tough day,” he confided.
“I’m sure,” she said seriously, her eyes meeting his again. “Is there anything new?”
He told her in confidence about the ballistics report tying Nate’s and Watterson’s murders together. She looked concerned. “So someone could just be going around shooting cops?”
“Internal Affairs is conducting its own investigation. The GBI’s involved, too. Unless they can find something improper both men were involved in, it’s a possibility.”
“ Be careful , Ryan.”
It was the same request she’d made at the bungalow that past weekend, something she had also said to him each morning when they had been together. His heart squeezed at the realization of how much he missed hearing her say that. Other cops had their St. Michael medallion, but his talisman had always been Lydia’s appeal that he return home safely to her and Tyler. A recollection of the three of them here on the patio having dinner—Tyler, still a chubby-cheeked infant at the time, happily chewing on animal
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