by Sidney Bell
“He’s not my—” Instead of completing his thought, Tobias shook his head, finger hesitating over the check voicemail option. “He doesn’t have a lot of money.”
“Present living conditions excluded, I guess. You know his passcode?”
“No.” Tobias cleared the missed calls alert, and another alert popped up informing them that Ghost had seventy-six unopened text messages.
Sullivan whistled. “Very popular.”
Tobias thumbed the newest one open. It was from a contact named Piglet and had been sent about two hours ago.
Please be home. Please.
Sullivan raised his eyebrows. “Whoever Piglet is sounds pretty—”
“That’s me,” Tobias muttered. “It’s—you know. Winnie the Pooh. Ghost thinks he’s funny.”
“Oh.” Sullivan tried to hide his amusement. “Gotcha. Here, go back to the oldest one first. That’ll give us an idea of when he left the phone behind.”
Tobias obeyed, and found that the earliest unopened text was from July 22nd at 11:00 p.m.—ten days ago. The contact name was Top Hat Bkpg 7, and the message read: you still off the market? Wouldn’t say no to some hot sexxx. Can do double if that changes your mind.
The next dozen texts were all similar—requests and demands and pleas, some with contact names like Guns CL 4 or heels&lace MB on 6th, some from unknown numbers. The language in the messages ran the gamut from polite and businesslike to lewd and juvenile.
After the fourth or fifth offer to “bang that ass,” Sullivan glanced at Tobias, who was keeping his eyes on the phone, his cheeks bright red.
“What does your buddy do for a living exactly?” Sullivan asked.
Stiffly, Tobias replied, “He’s in sales.”
Yes, Tobias was definitely a Good Boy.
“Not a cop,” Sullivan reminded him. “I don’t care if he turns tricks. I’m not looking to get him in trouble, remember?”
Tobias didn’t respond or look over.
Sullivan studied the strong line of his profile—all that he could see from this angle—a little touched by Tobias’s attempt at loyalty in the face of overwhelming evidence. “That’s okay. No problem. I’m going to work from that assumption for now, though, because BKPG—that’s Backpage. And CL...that’s probably Craig’s List. Sort of telling in combination.”
Sullivan peered around the condo, noting the expensive furnishings. Someone had paid for all of it, and he’d guess it was the same someone who owned the place under the name of a dead woman. “Hard to believe he can afford all this when he’s finding customers with personal ads.”
Tobias followed his gaze, a crease appearing between his brows. “Yeah.”
“Does he work for someone?”
“No way.” Tobias gave a short laugh. “Ghost isn’t the type to take orders. He wouldn’t let someone have that kind of power over him.”
Gently, Sullivan said, “Things can get rough in his line of work. Maybe he needed some help, decided to share the profits in the interest of having someone to watch his back.”
“You don’t understand.” Tobias continued flipping through texts, pausing when he got to one sent three days ago from a contact named K.
Update.
And yesterday, another text from the same contact with the same message.
“He wouldn’t let anyone sell him.” But Tobias didn’t sound quite as convinced this time.
He knows who K is. And judging by the way his fingers had tightened around the phone, Tobias wasn’t pleased by K’s involvement in whatever was going on. Sullivan was tempted to push, wondering how K might be connected to Nathalie Trudeau, but in the end, he didn’t say anything. If Tobias did know K’s identity, he was hiding it to protect Ghost, and Sullivan didn’t want to damage the tentative trust between them.
The only texts not from clients were all from either Piglet or someone nicknamed Rocky, who sounded equal parts concerned and annoyed by Ghost’s silence, and was, according to Tobias, another friend of theirs. When they’d read them all, Tobias closed the phone and put it in his pocket.
They went through the rest of the condo. The refrigerator had been emptied of everything except the ice cube trays—further evidence that Ghost had left willingly—and the trash had been emptied. No new bag had been put in the can.
There was no trash in the can in the bathroom either, and no shampoo, conditioner, or toothbrush.
“Maybe he went out of town, and he’ll be back in a few days,” Tobias said without much hope in his voice. He’d probably realized that his theory didn’t fit the abandoned phone or the key on the counter.
Sullivan said, “Maybe.”
There were two bedrooms, the smaller one void even of furniture, and the other occupied by a neatly made queen-size bed. The headboard was bare, as was the top of the dresser where people usually kept loose change or jewelry or the like. The drawers were only half full; Ghost had taken some clothing, but not all of it.
The nightstand drawer held an unopened box of condoms and a bottle of lube still in its plastic casing. As Sullivan closed it, he caught a glimpse of a black synthetic knife grip lodged in a sheath that had been duct-taped to the side of the nightstand nearest the mattress. Sullivan reached down and tugged the knife free—it was short and heavy, the real deal, and when he slid the blade against the edge of the nightstand, it cut into the wood like scissors through paper.
“That’s a nasty piece of work.” Sullivan glanced at Tobias, who shrugged, looking uncomfortable. Sullivan wondered if it was the blade or the sex supplies that did it. With raised eyebrows, he put the knife back where it was, within easy reach of a sleeper.
“Is your buddy seeing anyone?” Sullivan kept his voice casual.
Tobias didn’t look at him. “I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“I’m not going to talk about this with you. He wouldn’t like it.”
“Fair enough.”
They went through the closet next, a walk-in with a light that Sullivan flipped on. Against one wall was a basket half-full of dirty laundry, a dusty box fan, and a bucket with detergent and cleaning stuff. The row of shoes included, interestingly, a pair of red stilettos. Sullivan slid a hand through the hanging clothes and came up with a black dress and several miniskirts, one of pink tweed, another of vinyl.
Sullivan nudged Tobias with an elbow and pointed. “Sure there’s no lady friend?”
When Tobias didn’t answer, Sullivan shrugged and turned to the second wall, where a long, low cabinet had been shoved back under the hanging dresses, a cheap plastic tub on top beside a beat-up shoebox. Sullivan bent to open the shoebox, getting a glimpse of notebook paper, assorted junk, and magazine clippings before it was tugged out of his hands.
“Hey, now,” Sullivan protested.
Tobias clutched the box close with visible agitation, and after a long beat of hesitation, he said, “Sorry. But that’s his private stuff, okay? It’s not related, I promise.”
Yeah, that had definitely not been Tobias’s instinctive reaction to Sullivan’s snooping. Judging from his body language and expression, Sullivan guessed there’d been a far more indignant response forming before Tobias muzzled it.
Intriguing.
Sullivan watched him, curious, as he put the shoebox on the ground, using a foot to nudge it out of the way, the lid falling closed in the process.
“No problem. Sorry. Being nosy is an occupational hazard.” Sullivan raised his hands in a compliant gesture. “I’ll be good.”
“All right. Thanks.” Tobias turned back to the bedroom.
“Maybe the lady friend knows where he went, huh?” Sullivan called after him, glancing wistfully at the shoebox. Deciding it wasn’t worth getting caught over, he turned his attention to the plastic tubs. After a peek into the main part of the room to check that Tobias was elsewhere—he was sitting
on the bed, staring at the floor—Sullivan pulled the lid of the plastic tub off.
Lace and silk and a lot of it. Blinking, Sullivan pulled out a handful that looked like black stockings with a saucy seam up the back, a red bustier, and a couple of demure nightgowns. He checked the labels—unlike everything else in the apartment, the underwear wasn’t expensive, though the sizes were larger than he would’ve expected.
“You might be right about that lady friend,” Sullivan muttered. He bent and checked the stilettos, and yup, same size as the other shoes.
The girly stuff was Ghost’s.
Maybe Ghost was the one with the appreciation for nice undies, but there was a reason the stuff was here in a bin in the closet instead of in the dresser in the bedroom with the rest of Ghost’s regular underwear. Most likely, Ghost catered to a particular type of client with very particular tastes.
He put the silky stuff back and opened the cabinet underneath, where he found a fairly impressive collection of sex toys, and on this at least, Sullivan knew his shit. Dildos, vibrators, cock rings, blindfolds, and even a paddle—extensive, but nothing too uncommon.
“Sales. Yeah, right.” Sullivan stepped out, opening his mouth to say that he hadn’t found anything useful, only to find that Tobias was still staring pensively at the floor, so grave and lost that Sullivan wondered if Tobias’s worry about his pal was based in more than friendship.
The intrigue of trying to figure it out—there was no better puzzle to solve than the motivations of a human being—was undermined by a tiny, unexpected pang of regret. Yup, Sullivan could definitely appreciate the way strain suited Tobias’s sensitive features; he looked downright lovely with his eyes solemn and his mouth soft.
Stop it. You should know better by now. He’s a perfectly nice guy, and he doesn’t deserve to have you lusting all over his pain.
He distracted himself by saying, “Anyone else we could talk to about who your buddy’s been hanging out with lately?”
“He doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Tobias murmured. “Or a boyfriend. He doesn’t—he doesn’t do things like that. He only has me and—”
The sound of a distant thump from the living room made him break off, and they both turned to look at the bedroom door, as if that might somehow tell them what had made the noise.
“Ghost?” Tobias started toward the hallway. A second later Sullivan heard the faint clinking sound that came when someone wasn’t careful about letting their keys bang against the door as they unlocked it. Sullivan thought of the key on the counter and his heart leaped into his throat. Shit. Shit.
He grabbed Tobias’s wrist and wrenched him toward the closet, pulling him almost off his feet.
“Wait—” Tobias said, or tried to say, because Sullivan already had a hand over his mouth.
“That’s not Ghost,” he hissed as softly as he could. He got them into the closet, slapping the light off in the process, and swung the door half-closed behind them before prodding Tobias to duck behind the hanging rack of dresses and trousers. Fortunately, Tobias was smart enough to realize that silence was called for, because he didn’t say anything else when Sullivan pulled his hand away, just let himself be moved around. Sullivan grabbed the hangers they’d set rocking, tried to still them, and reminded himself not to snap his gum out of distracted habit.
He couldn’t see much with the light off, so hopefully they were invisible from the bedroom beyond. He could sense Tobias’s tension all the same, and that tension seemed to skyrocket when two male voices came into hearing range, speaking...Russian?
What the hell?
One of the men entered the bedroom, but he left almost immediately, not even bothering to check the closet, and Sullivan let out a slow breath. That was the nifty trick of the half-open closet. People usually assumed that if someone was going to hide inside, they’d close the door, so they took it for granted that an open closet door meant it was vacant.
They listened as the men moved around in the living room. Judging from the sound of glass crunching, the broken window had caught their attention. After another minute of conversation, the key rattled in the lock all over again.
Tobias started forward, but Sullivan grabbed his arm and held up a finger. Wait.
About twenty seconds later, a cough from the living room proved that only one of the men had gone, and a few seconds after that, the TV turned on, switching from one nonsensical burst of sound to another as the viewer channel surfed.
Sullivan leaned in close to whisper. Up close like this, he could smell Tobias’s soap, something moody and salty-crisp. “We’re gonna go out the window. Fast and quiet.”
It wasn’t a hard choice, given the information at hand. Sullivan wasn’t enthralled with the idea of meeting new people while he was illegally in a condo they might have illegally purchased under a dead woman’s name, all while searching for the suspiciously absent tenant who lived there and worked in an illegal field.
Definitely not a time to make new friends.
He stepped out, listening hard. All he got was the canned laughter of a sitcom. He tiptoed to the window and winced as he thumbed the latch, scared it would squeak, but it was satisfyingly quiet.
The window itself was another story. It wasn’t stuck, exactly, but he did have to put his back into it, and that had the whole thing making a low bang as it finally slid open. He glanced back toward the hallway, but after a good ten seconds, there was no sign that the Russian guy was coming to investigate.
Tobias was hesitating at the threshold of the closet, his eyes big and worried. Sullivan jerked his chin to encourage him to come over, and together they worked quickly to pop the screen out and lower it to the ground outside.
“Go,” Sullivan mouthed, and used a hand to steady Tobias as he clambered over the sill and outside. As soon as he was out of the way, Sullivan followed suit, and as a last move, he shut the window again. Most likely, no one would notice the screen lying in the grass until someone from the grounds crew came across it.
Sullivan started walking lazily back toward the parking lot, catching Tobias’s forearm when he tried to hurry. “Nope,” he said, tugging Tobias back. “Take a breath, we’re cool. We’re out for an innocent little stroll.”
“That was close.”
“Yeah, isn’t it great?” Sullivan grinned at him, and after a second, Tobias’s lips quirked, his nose wrinkling like he was trying not to be amused.
“How did you know it wasn’t Ghost at the door?” Tobias asked.
“I heard the keys at the lock, and Ghost’s key was on the counter.”
“Oh. That’s—that’s really smart.”
“Well, I detect stuff professionally.”
The quirk turned into an actual smile, and if Sullivan had thought Tobias looked good when he was strained and nervous, that was nothing to how attractive he was with actual happiness in his grin.
“Okay, so now what?”
“Now it’s time to stalk Russians,” Sullivan said cheerfully.
Tobias’s grin vanished. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good at stalking. I’ve never—obviously I’ve never stalked someone before so—”
“Let me rephrase. I’m going to stalk Russians. You’re going to go home and be a student. If you give me your number, I’ll call you if I find anything out about Ghost.”
Tobias’s expression had been developing storm clouds, but at that last bit, the clouds paused. “You will?”
“Don’t let the mohawk confuse you,” Sullivan said dryly. “I’m nice. Usually. Frequently.” He frowned, considering it. “Sometimes.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine. Forget it. But seriously, go home.”
“How do you stalk Russians?”
“Mostly I sit in cars and take pictures. Go home.”
“Wait. How did you know I was a student?”
&n
bsp; “When you got out of your car, you put your backpack in the trunk. Detective, remember?”
“Right. Sorry.”
As they reached the spot where the sidewalk dead-ended at the parking lot, Sullivan pulled his phone out of his pocket. “You did good back there.”
Tobias looked startled. “I did?”
“Yeah. I mean, getting grabbed by someone you barely know isn’t awesome, I get that, so lots of people get all offended. You know, ‘don’t muffle me, don’t drag me places,’ and under normal circumstances that’s the right response, but under these circumstances that could’ve screwed us. But you went with it.”
Sullivan couldn’t read the complicated expression that replaced Tobias’s surprise. A lot of things about Tobias were unexpectedly hard to read, and even if Tobias hadn’t been downright handsome, the puzzle of him would be attractive. A wholesome, all-American boy who was best friends with a missing hustler? How was Sullivan supposed to stay professional in the face of that?
And the icing on the cake was the way Tobias had so instinctively put himself and his safety squarely in Sullivan’s hands. Tobias couldn’t know how much that would crawl under Sullivan’s skin, how being offered that much trust could easily take Sullivan into an inappropriate mental place that was destructive in all sorts of ways, so he finished up by repeating, “You did good.”
Tobias watched him for a long second, like he wasn’t having any more luck figuring Sullivan out than Sullivan was having figuring him out. “Thank you.”
“Sure.”
“And for offering to keep in touch.”
“No problem. What’s your number?”
Tobias rattled it off. “You’ll call, right? Promise?”
“Promise.”
With a last, conflicted look in the direction of Ghost’s condo, Tobias headed toward his car.
Sullivan followed suit, walking to the far edge of the parking lot where he’d parked the Buick. He grabbed his camera—a Canon 5D Mark III, and worth every penny—from where he’d stashed it in the trunk before following Tobias to Ghost’s back door. He climbed behind the wheel.
