Unseen (Will Trent / Atlanta Series)

be an asshole. “Where you going?” He glanced at the name stitched on Will’s shirt. “Buddy.”
    Will tried to calm things down. “I don’t want any trouble, all right?”
    Vickery bounced on the balls of his feet, obviously spoiling for a fight. “Well, you’re about to get it, motherfucker. Where’s Tony Dell?”
    Will shrugged, thinking Lena’s partner didn’t need to be face-to-face with the guy whose car was left outside the house where Jared Long was almost murdered. And Lena, too, for that matter. “I dunno, man. Ask at the front office.”
    “I’m asking you, fuckball. You’re Bill Black, right?” Vickery wasn’t looking for an answer. His eyes scanned the hospital ID hanging around Will’s neck. “Your boss says you and Dell are real tight. Thick as thieves.”
    Will imagined Ray Salemi would’ve said anything to get Paul Vickery out of his office. “It’s not exclusive,” Will said. “We’ve both agreed to see other people.”
    “Funny, asshole.” Vickery moved closer. “Where were you last night? You with Dell when him and his crew tried to take on my partner?”
    Will had already arranged his alibi. “Ask my parole officer. He dropped in on me around midnight.”
    “I’m gonna do that.” Vickery’s beady eyes narrowed even more. “Something ain’t right with you, asshole. I can feel it in my gut.”
    Will avoided the obvious joke.
    “You’re chest-high in this shit. I can smell it on you.” Vickery sniffed, as if to illustrate the point. “Dell’s a professional snitch. Just a matter of time before he rats you out. Why don’t you beat him to it? Tell me what happened last night and I’ll keep you outta jail.”
    “Sorry I can’t help, Officer.” Again, Will tried to leave, but Vickery’s hand went to his chest, stopping him.
    Vickery warned, “You got one more chance to tell me where your boyfriend is or I start taking it out on you.”
    “I said I don’t—”
    Vickery punched him in the face. Will saw it coming, but there wasn’t enough time to get out of the way. Will’s head swiveled. His jaw popped. He tasted blood in his mouth. Automatically, Will’s fists went up.
    He had to force them back down. Vickery was Lena’s partner. Will didn’t have to think long to consider the number of stupid things he’d do if someone threatened Faith and her family.
    “Come on, Buddy.” Vickery slapped Will’s face with his open palm. “You wanna hit me, Buddy?” He whistled like he was calling a dog. “Come on, boy. Come on.”
    Will peeled his fingers from his palms to get them to unclench. Instead of beating the ever-loving shit out of Paul Vickery, he said, “You know there’s a security camera in here, right?”
    Vickery’s eyes flicked upward to the corner. The camera was pointed straight down, its red light flashing. He seemed to be considering whether or not beating Will to death was worth losing his badge over.
    Apparently not.
    Vickery told Will, “This isn’t over.” He kicked the door open and stormed out with his hands fisted at his sides.
    Will glanced up at the camera, which ran on a nine-volt battery and wasn’t connected to anything because the Supreme Court had ruled that employees had an expectation of privacy when they were in a locker room.
    You’d think a detective would know that.
    Will checked his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Vickery hadn’t done any visible damage. Will used his tongue to find the source of blood in his mouth. The inside of his cheek had cut against his teeth. He turned on the faucet and sipped some water. The wound started to sting. Will swished the water around until his spit was only slightly pink.
    His phone buzzed in his pocket. He used the earbud to listen to the email from Ray Salemi, his helpful boss. Will read the words along with the tinny computer voice. He gathered Faith had found a way to get him and Lena in the same room together.
    There was a leaking pipe in the ICU. Will had been assigned to fix it.
    Will took the north stairwell up to the fifth floor. The going wasn’t easy. His toolbox got heavier with each step. His body kept reminding him that he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep the night before. Will normally tried to run a few miles every day, but Bill Black’s life didn’t allow for such luxuries. By the third-floor landing, Will’s arm was shaking. Level four brought shooting pains into his lower back. He set the toolbox down and used his bandanna to wipe the