Unseen (Will Trent / Atlanta Series)

house.”
    Faith took the note with some skepticism. “Dell didn’t have any siblings on his background check.”
    “It was only a few years,” Will said. “He’s in love with her.”
    Her look said she was considering the hospital again.
    “I know it sounds weird, but it’s true. She’s a nurse at the hospital.”
    “I’ll send a car.”
    Will coughed. He looked at his palm, expecting to find blood. “Vickery called me a cop killer.”
    Faith shook her head like she didn’t understand it, either. “Maybe he saw you leaving Eric Haigh’s house?” She answered herself. “No, if he saw you leaving Haigh’s, he would’ve killed you in the street. Do you remember seeing Vickery tonight? Or any of them?”
    Will considered the question. He could feel it roll around in his brain like a marble that wouldn’t settle.
    Faith said, “I’m going to call Sara.”
    “Don’t.”
    “She has a right to—”
    “No.” Will grabbed her arm. He let go just as quickly. “She knows everything.”
    Faith examined his face. He wondered what she saw. The bruises wouldn’t show for a few hours. The side of Will’s head probably had a print from Paul Vickery’s shoe. The bridge of his nose would be red. His split lip would show blood. The scratch mark. The bite mark. What would she make of those?
    She said, “We need to get to the field office.”
    Will wanted to go back to Atlanta. He had to get his dog from Sara’s apartment. His toothbrush, the clothes he’d left in the drawers she’d cleared out for him. She shouldn’t have to see any reminders of Will. It was the least he could do.
    “It’s over,” he told Faith. “With Sara. It’s over.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes.” Will had never been so sure of anything in his life. Faith closed the first aid kit. She clicked the plastic lock. “Well, that’s her loss.”
    “She has good reason.”
    “No, she doesn’t,” Faith insisted. “No matter what you did, Sara’s not the woman I thought she was if she can’t forgive you.”
    Will held his tongue. She would find out the truth soon enough.
    Faith said, “Get in the front seat. We’re going to be late.”
    “For what?”
    “Branson.” Faith’s tone made Will think maybe she’d said this before. “I saw her at the hospital. She’s ready to talk.”
    “Why now?”
    “Somebody tried to take out two of her detectives—three if you count Lena. Eric Haigh was tortured and stabbed to death. Jared Long was almost murdered. Hell yes, she’s going to talk to us. She’s getting her files. We’re supposed to meet at the field office.” Faith looked at her watch. “Ten minutes ago.”
    “What files?”
    “The ones from the shooting gallery.” Faith motioned for Will to move. “Denise Branson has been lying to us all along. She’s finally going to show us her files from the raid.”
    Will stared into the bathroom mirror at the GBI field office, assessing his damaged face. Life had left him a wound expert. He knew the difference between a cut that scarred into a thin white line anda cut that left nothing but a faint memory. By his estimation, the only lasting reminder of the night would come from the redneck’s knife. The tiny slice below Will’s eye probably should’ve had at least one stitch. But that had to be done at a hospital, and Will was never going to another hospital ever again.
    At least the nausea had passed. His head was aching at a lower frequency. The trembling had stopped, which he took as a good sign that he wasn’t having a stroke or a seizure. Swallowing was still an issue. He found this out the hard way when Faith made him drink two bottles of Coke. Then she’d stood over him while he choked down a pack of cheese crackers. Will had gotten irritated at her for bossing him around, which probably meant that whatever she was doing was working.
    He looked at his neck, lightly touching the reddish bruises that were starting to come up. If Will had one talent, it was surviving. He’d made it through the night. The redneck hadn’t done too much damage. Tony Dell hadn’t killed him, though he was obviously capable. Paul Vickery had gotten in many, many good blows, but Faith had probably cracked his ankle, which was a nasty enough payback.
    So, Will had survived. He had a right to feel good about that.
    But then there was Sara.
    When Will was a kid, he’d imagined all the slings and arrows thrown his way were easily portable. He didn’t have to keep them inside. He