by Sidney Bell
The living room faced north, so it was dim in the late afternoon light, but he could make out the hulking shapes of the couch and the entertainment center. He stared for a long minute, a shiver of unease tracing up his spine. The oddest thing was that nothing was out—no dishes on the coffee table Ghost had gotten from somewhere to replace the board and cinder blocks he’d used at his old place, no sign of Ghost’s black hoodie draped over the back of the chair by the door, none of his fashion magazines left open on the arm of a chair, no big black boots in sight. The remote was on top of the TV. Ghost was hardly a slob, but the place looked like one of those model apartments leasing offices put together to tempt would-be renters.
A single house key was resting on the breakfast bar separating the living room from the kitchen. Left in plain view as if to ensure it was found, right next to Ghost’s phone.
Tobias stepped back, raking a hand through his hair as he tried to make sense of it.
Had Ghost moved out? Was that why the key had been left? He wouldn’t put it past Ghost to move without telling either him or Church, but the phone was a different story. Ghost was very protective of his phone—he kept the numbers of his business contacts there. He wouldn’t leave it.
It was possible that Ghost had simply gotten a new phone. There’d been a lot of new upgrades in Ghost’s life lately, and this could simply be another one. Tobias pulled his own phone out and called Ghost’s number, intending to prove that the phone left on the counter was useless, the number forwarded to whatever new one Ghost had bought.
But a few seconds after Tobias heard the first ring in his ear, the phone on the counter lit up and began vibrating. Tobias let it ring for a minute, hoping maybe Ghost would stumble out from the bedroom to see who was calling him, but there was nothing.
Ghost wouldn’t leave his phone. He wouldn’t.
The small, niggling worry that’d wormed its way into his mind over the past couple of weeks abruptly became full-blown fear. Once again, he thought of the favor.
He thought about texting Church, but it wasn’t like Church would keep something from him, so—
Except Church did lie sometimes, when he thought Tobias couldn’t handle whatever was going on. He’d lied during the whole thing with the Krayev thugs, after all. Church probably didn’t realize how upsetting it was to be lied to all the time.
Well, either way, it wasn’t like Church would know what was up. He’d been just as frustrated about Ghost’s absence as Tobias had been.
He knocked again. Still no answer. He hadn’t really expected one.
For a minute, Tobias couldn’t help imagining the possibilities: Ghost in his bedroom, too scared to come to the door, Ghost too hurt from getting beaten up or stabbed to get out of bed.
Ghost dead in the tub.
Every fiber in Tobias’s body rebelled against that possibility.
Ghost was an inconstant, often absent friend, but Tobias knew in his bones that if someone hurt him, Ghost would move heaven and earth—or gut a few people, a small, guilty part of Tobias whispered—to help him.
How could Tobias be willing to do less?
He circled around the building to the rear. Unlike Ghost’s neighbors’ back patios, his had no chairs or flowerpots or wind chimes to hint at the person who lived inside. After hesitating for a bare second, Tobias grabbed a rock and hopped over the hip-high railing. His hands were sweating; he was pretty sure this was a reasonable step to take, but that didn’t mean it didn’t feel like a transgression.
He took a glance around to make sure no one would see, and nearly had a heart attack when he saw a guy leaning against a tree about ten feet away, watching him with curiosity.
“Hi.” The guy gave him a small wave.
Tobias licked his lips, his heart pounding rabbit-fast. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“So you’re not breaking in?” the guy asked, not sounding particularly worried about it. “It’s okay if you are. I’m not a cop. Feel free to go about your business.”
Tobias lowered the hand with the rock to his side. “Why are you watching me?”
“I was hoping that once you’ve taken care of the window, you wouldn’t mind letting me take a look around before you do whatever you’re here to do.”
The guy was maybe a few years older, in his late twenties, and about the same height, five-eleven. He was rangy in his jeans and brick-red Henley, not quite as solidly built as Tobias, but the sleeves of his shirt were pulled up to the elbows, revealing well-muscled forearms beneath the tattoos that went down to both wrists. He had an iPod shoved halfway into one pocket, and the earbuds were tucked into his collar so they wouldn’t get tangled.
His hair was—well, it was cool. It was dark brown, buzzed almost to his skull except for a fat stripe down the center that was gelled messily back in a mohawk that didn’t have enough product in it to stay in place. He had a narrow, bony face and interested brown eyes, and he was sort of hot, actually. Not even sort of, now that Tobias took a second look. He was fully hot, standing there with his lips twitching like he might be on the verge of smiling, like it was nothing whatsoever to chat with someone about to break in to someone else’s place.
“What are you doing here?” Tobias asked.
“Lurking,” the guy said pleasantly. “You?”
“I mean why do you want to go inside? Are you here to hurt someone?” Not that Tobias had the first clue what he would do if the guy said yes, but still. Tobias wasn’t about to help anyone do anything that might hurt Ghost.
The stranger didn’t say anything for a moment, only looked at him as if he were trying to figure out how Tobias’s brain worked. “No,” he said finally, sort of gently, and for some dumb reason, Tobias felt inclined to believe him. If Ghost were here, he’d slap Tobias for being gullible. Tobias said staunchly, “I’m not going in, and neither are you.”
The guy’s eyebrows jogged up an inch. “You’re very protective of your turf. What if I said I had no interest in fencing anything? I just want to snoop around for a few minutes. Then you can go through the place to your thieving little heart’s delight.”
“I’m not a robber.” Tobias frowned, considering what to say next, while the guy pulled a foil square out of his pocket, opened it, and popped a piece of gum into his mouth.
“Burglar,” the guy said, talking around it. “Robbery is when you force someone to give you something in person. Burglary is when you steal from an unattended place.”
Tobias had to subdue an urge to roll his eyes. “Fine, whatever, I’m not a burglar. But I at least have a good reason to be here—I’m friends with...and you could be anybody. So.”
After chewing thoughtfully for a moment, the guy came toward the railing, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket as he walked. He held out a business card, which Tobias took cautiously, stepping back to put space between them before taking his eyes off the guy to read it.
In large type, it said, American Secure Investigations. Underneath, in smaller lettering was printed Process and Surveillance Specialists.
“You’re a private detective?” Tobias asked.
“Yup.”
Tobias eyed him doubtfully. “You don’t look like a private detective.”
“I left my trench coat in the car.” The guy smiled, and Tobias’s stomach flipped over at the sight of it. It was earnest and a little cheeky, like they were in on the same secret.
Tobias looked down at the card again, at the name beneath the slogan. “You don’t look like a Raina either.”
“She’s my boss. I ran out of my cards.”
Tobias pulled his phone out and dialed the number on the card, noting the bloom of resignation in the guy’s expression.
A woman answered. “American Secure Investigations.”
“Hi, I’m calling to confirm that this guy works for—”
“Are y
ou a LEO?”
“A...what’s a...”
“Are you a law enforcement officer?”
“No. I’m a...concerned citizen and I’m not sure if I should—”
“Concerned citizen,” she repeated, and made a noise that was only slightly too delicate to be called a snort. “What’s he look like?”
“He has a mohawk, sort of—”
“Yes, he’s mine,” the woman said, sounding annoyed. “His name is Sullivan Tate, and he’s one of my process servers.”
“What’s a—”
“It’s someone who finds people in order to give them legal papers they’d like to avoid receiving. Why? What did he do?”
“He’s—” Tobias broke off. He couldn’t exactly say he’s watching me do something illegal so he can do something illegal too. “I don’t, uh—he’s snooping?”
“Is that a question?” she asked acerbically.
Tobias gritted his teeth. “No, he’s snooping around. If—”
“He’s there for a missing person case. It’s legit.” Impatience rang through the line. “Give him the phone, would you? I need to yell at him.”
Tobias held the phone out.
The guy—Sullivan—grimaced. “Hi, Raina. Want a burrito when I come back?”
Tobias couldn’t make out what she was saying, but judging from Sullivan’s expression, she wasn’t happy. After a long minute, Sullivan said, “Yes, I promise. I’ll be excruciatingly law-abiding. I’ll explain everything later... Well, considering that I’m apparently in the presence of someone who takes all the fun out of things, I think we’ll be fine.”
Again, Sullivan gave him that friendly, teasing smile, as if he meant it affectionately. Tobias had to work really hard not to make a face. He wasn’t going to fall for it. They weren’t friends, and Tobias wasn’t an idiot.
And he didn’t take all the fun out of things. Tobias was fun.
He could be fun if he wanted to, anyway.
When Sullivan hung up, Tobias grabbed his phone back. “Why are you here, Mr. Tate?”
“Oh, God, Sullivan, please.” He smiled yet again, charming and handsome, making Tobias’s stomach flip again too. Stop that, he told his stomach. Being hot doesn’t make him a good guy. Sullivan added, “My client needs help finding a loved one. My search led me to this address.”
Tobias didn’t know much about Ghost’s personal life or family; he’d talked about them vaguely in the past, but since the details sometimes contradicted each other, Tobias usually assumed they were lies. He did know that Ghost had been homeless as a teenager from time to time. A Woodbury staff member—a more reliable source—had mentioned it during a group therapy session once, so Ghost had likely been a runaway. Could Sullivan’s client be someone Ghost was actually related to?
“What’s the loved one’s name?”
Sullivan paused, studying Tobias as he chewed his gum. “You’re friends with the person who lives here?”
“He’s my best friend.”
“Okay. I’d like to ask him some questions, but I get the impression from your rock antics that he’s not here. Can I ask you some questions instead?”
“No.” Not until Tobias had found Ghost and talked to him first, anyway.
Sullivan accepted that with good grace. “You don’t want to get him in trouble. I get it. I don’t want to get him in trouble either.”
Tobias narrowed his eyes, and Sullivan lifted his hands in an I come in peace sort of gesture. “Hey, I’m unaffiliated, I swear. I’m not turning anyone over to anyone else, and I’m not planning to make anyone do anything they don’t want to do. I just want my client to stop being terrified that someone he loves is dead.”
Tobias swallowed. He got a small taste of that feeling every time Ghost took off. He glanced around him, hoping against all sense that Ghost would show up and tell Sullivan to get lost, saving Tobias from making this decision. But of course, Ghost wasn’t here. Tobias wished he could learn to stop expecting otherwise.
“I don’t know where he is,” Tobias admitted quietly.
Equally quiet, Sullivan asked, “You think he took off? Or that something happened to him?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“That sounds frightening. I’ll keep my eye out for him as I work, huh? Maybe we’ll get lucky and I’ll stumble across him.”
Tobias found himself nodding. Maybe Sullivan could be useful. Maybe his case had something to do with Ghost’s absence, and talking to him would help Ghost. A private detective had to be safer than a cop. They couldn’t arrest people, which might be enough to keep Ghost from killing him when Tobias found him. Maybe.
“I haven’t heard from him in a while, but his phone is inside. He never leaves his phone anywhere, but it’s on the counter—” He could feel his words speeding up; he clamped his mouth closed.
After a moment, Sullivan asked, “What’s your name?”
“Tobias Benton.”
“Nice to meet you, Tobias Benton. And your friend’s name?”
“Ghost.”
“Okay, Tobias, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ve been given strict orders not to get arrested today, so I’m gonna turn my back in a second. During that time, you can do whatever you think is best for you and Ghost. When I turn back around, you’ll either be gone or—to my everlasting surprise—I’ll find that the window by the door has been broken, and that you’re very concerned about the suspicious circumstances. Like you said, he might be hurt, so we’ll have to go in to see, and if the cops have to be called, you can say whatever you like about how the window got broken. Since I didn’t witness anything, that’s on you. Sound cool?”
Tobias exhaled, unable to fight the burgeoning sensation of gratitude welling up inside him. Sullivan knew what to do, and Tobias couldn’t begrudge him for removing himself from the breaking part of the breaking and entering.
“Okay,” Tobias said.
“Please don’t hit me with your rock while I’m not looking.” Sullivan turned his back. He began whistling, something that sounded familiar—oh, it was the theme song from Jeopardy.
“You’re hilarious,” Tobias muttered, his gratitude vanishing, and broke the window.
Chapter Four
The sound of shattering glass made Sullivan jump. When he turned around, there was a fist-sized hole in the window pane, and Tobias Benton was staring at it with a conflicted expression.
Sullivan took the opportunity to stare at him a little in turn.
Tobias had sensitive, almost romantic features—a somber brow over big, thoughtful blue eyes; a straight nose; a hard, all-American jaw; and a sweet mouth with a full lower lip. He had nice shoulders—broad and strong under his well-fitted polo shirt, and ridiculously good posture. Paired with those tousled light-brown curls, he resembled an angel from a Renaissance painting. Not the insipid baby cupids, but one of those beautiful, tormented paragons who carried swords on behalf of God and wore silver armor as they led the heavenly host into battle, even while grieving over the necessity of war.
Okay, maybe Sullivan had a streak of the dramatic, but the point was that Tobias gave off a distinct aroma of somber wholesome goodness.
Deadpan, Sullivan said, “Look, a broken window. I do believe a crime has occurred.”
Tobias gave him an admonishing look, and Sullivan hopped the railing, flashing a bolstering smile.
“Buck up, Goody Benton. You’re not going to jail.” Sullivan studied Tobias’s handiwork and dislodged a couple more shards with his elbow to make the hole larger. The windows were the solid, insulation-friendly kind with two panels, one of which slid open horizontally and had a screen installed. “As far as these things go, ‘I haven’t heard from my friend and I thought he might be hurt’ is a pretty good excuse for breaking and entering.”
“I’m not worried about jail,” Tobias said quietly. �
��Ghost won’t like it.”
“No one likes replacing windows.” Sullivan reached through and fumbled with the latch, bitching at the thing under his breath when it proved resistant. “Besides, ‘I hadn’t heard from you and I thought you might be hurt’ isn’t a bad excuse to give him either.” He tugged the screen out of the way and boosted himself up, concentrating on getting through the open window without crushing his balls on the sill.
He landed on carpet and took a quick glance around. He was in a dining nook, standing beside a small octagonal breakfast table sandwiched between two chairs. From here he could see most of the public space in the condo: nice furniture, upscale appliances in the kitchen, flat screen TV, a key and a phone on the counter. The place smelled musty, but there was no scent of rot or blood.
He heard the soft thud of Tobias landing behind him.
“Ghost?” Tobias called, halfhearted, like he already knew he wouldn’t get an answer.
Sullivan picked up the key and went to the front door. The tumblers rolled over—it was the right key. He relocked the deadbolt before heading back to the kitchen to return it to the counter. “The fact that he left his key points to the idea that he took off on his own. Better than something happening to him, yeah?”
“Maybe.” Tobias set his jaw as he opened the small black flip phone. It immediately gave him a low battery warning, and he rooted through the kitchen until he found Ghost’s junk drawer and a power cord so he could plug it in. “But he wouldn’t leave this behind.”
“Thirty-two missed calls,” Sullivan said, looking over Tobias’s shoulder. “Your boy’s popular, in addition to having ancient taste in technology.”
