Hard Line

by Sidney Bell

  But yes, that one he knew.

  He thought about Sullivan’s competency, the way he’d acted in the condo, swiftly and without doubt. The way he’d laughed at the idea of stalking potentially dangerous people, like there was nothing frightening about it. Maybe there was nothing frightening about it, not for someone like Sullivan, who wore his hair as if professionalism had never entered his mind, whose black tattoos ran the lengths of both arms and marked him as rebellious at the very least. Maybe even dangerous. Someone who didn’t care what anyone thought of him, someone wild, who took chances, acted recklessly. Someone who took what they wanted and never minded the consequences.

  Tobias didn’t know how to be any of those things. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be any of them. What he did want wasn’t nearly so exciting; he wanted to stop doing things that made him feel bad—which was most things, in retrospect—and do things that made him feel good—which was a much shorter list. He wanted to say yes where he normally said no. And he wanted that to be okay. He didn’t want to be afraid that the people he loved would lie or leave simply because he wasn’t easy anymore.

  With the wild, spinning itch of anger under his skin, it seemed reasonable. Possible.

  A new Tobias. One who got what he wanted, did what he wanted. Damn the people who wouldn’t stand by him in his happiness. If Church or his parents or his college advisor or his...his birth mother couldn’t respect that and wanted to leave, let them. He didn’t need any of them.

  But Ghost.

  Unlike everyone else, Ghost wouldn’t blink twice at Tobias’s rebellion. He wouldn’t sneer at this crappy economy motel that was all Tobias could afford, considering that it might take weeks for him to find a new place and a job that could pay the rent better than his lowly work-study at the writing lab. Ghost wouldn’t see the water-stained carpet as a sign that Tobias should put up and shut up. There was no consequence severe enough to make Ghost cave when he didn’t want to do something; a motel or a few arguments wouldn’t even ping on his radar.

  No, Ghost was a different sort of problem. More than anyone else in Tobias’s life, Ghost left.

  Frequently, and without concern for how others might feel in the process.

  The new Tobias couldn’t—wouldn’t—stomach it.

  Ghost’s leaving might not be leaving, though. It might be kidnapping or running or... Tobias ran out of guesses. But the point was that getting hurt or being frightened was something Tobias—new or old—could forgive. Abandonment was not. And before he could decide if the new Tobias could allow Ghost to remain in his life, he needed to know which one it was—desertion or evasion.

  To find out, he would need help. He could hire Sullivan, maybe, though he had an instinctive dislike for the idea because it meant sitting here while Sullivan went out and did whatever it was he did. It meant waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for someone else to deign to pay attention to him.

  Everything in him thundered with a resounding no at the very idea.

  And he was going to listen to that no this time.

  He was done reacting and waiting. This time, he was going to be the one calling the shots. Starting with finding Ghost. Starting with Sullivan. He got out the business card Sullivan had given him and went to his laptop.

  Chapter Six

  Sullivan woke up fidgety on Thursday with thoughts of Nathalie whirling in his mind: whether he was being foolish to hope she might truly be alive, wondering where she’d been for the past two and a half decades if she was, if she needed help, if there was anything he could do to give her back her life once he did find her. And on a more pragmatic, self-interested level, he couldn’t stop thinking about the other perks of finding her—impressing the hell out of Raina and starting the reputation of his future detective agency on the right foot by breaking a case like this.

  He was jittery through coffee and cereal, and he knew, after long years of experience, that if he wanted to get anything done today, he’d have to burn the extra energy out of his system with a run first. The miles blew by in a haze of distraction and more, more, faster.

  He’d been the definition of hyperactive as a child. He’d even been tested for ADHD, but ADHD tended to have a negative impact on people, and other than having exasperated his parents and a few learning professionals, Sullivan had always functioned fine. He was simply curious, easily bored, and generally obnoxious in the way that overly energetic people could be.

  It was just that the world was so interesting, and it was unfair that at any given moment he only had access to a very small part of it. He didn’t understand how anyone could take a look around and not be fascinated by the things and people in front of them. Puzzles abounded, questions were posed, and there was so much out there that sometimes he could barely contain his need to do all of it.

  He had sharp memories of that—sitting in the buggy at the grocery store reading about how the archaeologists had unlocked the mysteries of ancient hieroglyphics, fiddling with a Rubik’s Cube while his mother chatted with her friends over coffee, sitting on the grimy floor at the dry cleaner’s with the excavation kit he’d gotten at the museum, and in each instance losing interest as soon as the concept had clicked. It had to have driven his mother crazy, especially when he threw a fit at being told to play with whatever he’d brought, because she didn’t understand that he’d gotten everything he could from it and needed something new.

  He was the youngest of five and the only boy; they hadn’t had much money or many toys, so he’d spent a great deal of his childhood playing imaginative games like racehorses and tea party. And while he made an excellent cup of imaginary Darjeeling, if he said so himself, there were only so many times you could appease your sisters by jumping over lawn furniture while neighing before you started to worry that your formative years were being spent on unproductive activities. That was how he’d found the library and Arthur Conan Doyle and, eventually, his life’s work.

  When he’d run himself into the ground—took about seven miles, not his best day, but not his worst—he got cleaned up and made his way into the office around nine, where he sat at the table in the kitchen at ASI, listening to the janky fridge complain while he thought about how to work around some dead ends.

  He’d gotten pictures of both of the Russians, at least, but he’d had little luck trying to match the faces to any names. He’d spent yesterday doing research into Riviera Condominiums—the complex where Ghost, real name unknown, currently lived in the late Margaret Trudeau’s condo—a process that had been time consuming and ultimately useless.

  As far as he could tell, Riviera hadn’t knowingly sold the property to a dead person as part of a scheme or anything. The firm that owned Riviera owned another complex, but after spending twelve exhausting hours looking at the property records for every single condo at both properties, Sullivan had confirmed that they were all owned by living folks. Riviera didn’t have any red flags in other arenas either, not financial or human resources.

  The research into the Realtor who’d brokered the sale didn’t give him any red flags either, and the guy, a septuagenarian whose partner had had cancer at the time, unfortunately had no memory of the person who’d fraudulently bought the condo under the name of a dead woman.

  The lies were all grouped solely on the side of the condo’s buyer.

  Two days down, and zip to show for it.

  Which made Tobias Benton, currently in possession of Ghost’s phone, his next best lead.

  He was in the middle of wondering how best to go about getting the guy to answer some more questions, when Raina yelled down the hallway to pick up the extension because the guy who’d tried to rat him out for snooping was calling.

  Speak of the devil. Sullivan snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Sullivan? This is Tobias Benton. From the condo the other day?”

  Sullivan was busy thinking that he needed to avoid so
unding like the kind of shady PI who wanted to steal Tobias’s buddy’s phone for nefarious purposes, all while scrambling for scratch paper to take notes on, so it took him a second to phrase an answer. Tobias apparently thought that pause meant Sullivan didn’t remember him, because he heaved a small sigh and added, “The concerned citizen?”

  Sullivan laughed before he could help it. “No, I know who you are. I didn’t run into that many law abiders this week. So what can I do you for?”

  “Do you have time to meet up? I have some things to talk about.”

  “Okay.” Sullivan forced himself to count to three so he wouldn’t sound like a teenage boy getting asked out by his crush. “Here? Where you are?”

  “Wherever.”

  Sullivan hesitated because Raina had appeared in the doorway, looming like a disapproving parent, and he resented the implication. “Yours, then.”

  Tobias rattled off the address of a local motel. “Can you—now? Are you free?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Thank you.”

  After he’d hung up, Sullivan got his things together, all under Raina’s watchful eye. “Concerned citizen wants to meet up. Might have some info.”

  “So I gathered.”

  He told her the name of the motel, and when she merely raised an expectant eyebrow for more info, he said, “I’ve got this. If I need help, I’ll ask. I’ll protect our firm’s reputation and I won’t get thrown in jail, I promise. Just...a little leeway, okay? To do this myself? Tiny bit? Five inches’ worth. You trust me five inches, right?”

  She pointed at him with a threatening crimson fingernail. “You better have a comprehensive summary for me in twenty-four hours.”

  “So comprehensive you’ll die of old age before I shut up.”

  * * *

  The address Tobias had given him was an unimpressive brown and yellow structure that looked more like a parking garage than a motel, with rooms that opened onto the lot. Bushes gone brown from the heat wilted in cracked cement planters, and the pool had been drained despite the warm weather. A more politic person might call it affordable. Sullivan would call it a dump.

  Sullivan rapped on the door.

  When he answered, Tobias looked ten years older than he had the last time Sullivan saw him—his curls were uncombed, his eyes red rimmed, and his body language managed to be lethargic and agitated at once. He still resembled a Renaissance angel in a holy war painting, but it was a war he was definitely losing.

  “Wow,” Sullivan said, following him inside. “This is a relaxing getaway. Getting some good rest here?”

  “I’m fine. But thank you for asking.” Tobias smiled politely, an expression which did nothing to conceal the fact that he thought Sullivan was being a dick. So much for setting up a friendly rapport.

  The room had a king-size bed with the covers tugged up in a halfhearted nod to neatness, a TV, a desk, and a small closet. There was an unzipped backpack with clothes spilling out on the mattress, and the air smelled of bacon and eggs—from the takeout containers in the trash—damp canine, and bitter smoke. On the nightstand were a book, an iPod, a wallet, and a ring of keys. A plastic bag from a local corner mart sagged on the desk, revealing snacks and bottles of juice and tea.

  “Are you on the run or something?” Sullivan asked.

  “No.” Tobias sank onto the bed and gestured to the desk chair across from him. “It’s unrelated to the case.”

  “Right.” Sullivan took the chair. “What’s up?”

  Tobias pursed his lips. “You said you were at Ghost’s because you were tracking down a missing person.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But it’s not Ghost, is it? The person you were hired to find, I mean.”

  “No. I’d love to talk to him, though, if you’ve heard from him yet.”

  Tobias shook his head. “No, I—no.”

  “Mind if I take a look at his phone? Maybe I can get something that’ll help both of us. Direct me to my missing person, help you find your buddy?”

  Tobias ignored his question. “I want to hire you to find Ghost. And I’ll answer your questions and let you look at his phone, but only if we work together.”

  “Work together.”

  “Yes.”

  “Like, you want to tag along? To...watch?”

  “No. I want to help. I’m going to help.”

  Sullivan sat back in his chair and studied him. Tobias stared back, his brow heavy and determined, his gaze almost combative. He appeared to be expecting a no, which was a good call, but Sullivan suspected he was going to have a fight on his hands, and that wouldn’t make it easy to get the answers he needed.

  “I’m not going to be able to go that route.” Sullivan tried to sound apologetic instead of irritated.

  “This is nonnegotiable.”

  “Oh, is it?”

  “It is.”

  Sullivan lifted an eyebrow. “Sorry, Tobias, but I’m calling your bluff. You want your buddy safe more than you want to play detective. I’ll find Ghost for you, but I’m the professional here, and I’ll do it alone.”

  Once again, Tobias ignored him. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to pay you and we’ll work together to find both of our missing people. You’ll be getting paid twice for the same work, and it’ll be easier having me on the case, because my information will save you an enormous amount of trouble. This is a good deal for you.”

  On the surface maybe. Until Tobias got hurt or screwed something up, or Raina caught wind of their new teammate. The Raina part he would especially like to avoid—she’d kill him, maybe fire him, and he’d end up starting over from scratch someplace new, losing a couple of years in the process.

  Just the idea of putting all of that at risk had his pulse speeding. While Sullivan considered himself a pretty easygoing guy for the most part, feeling cornered was a guaranteed way to get him to push back. Hard. “No. Answer my questions, give me the phone, and I’ll let you know if I find your buddy over the course of my investigation. Keep arguing with me, and I won’t even do that much.”

  “No. I’ll pay you, I’ll give you what you need to get the job done, and you’ll let me help. That’s the deal.”

  “I don’t need your help to do my job,” Sullivan said flatly. “I’ll get the answers I need without you.”

  “Trust me, knowing what I know, that’s not remotely true.”

  A dark thought occurred to him, and Sullivan tilted his head to one side. “Were you and Ghost in a relationship?”

  It seemed to take Tobias a second to see where Sullivan was going with that, and then his jaw tightened. “I’m not a stalker. I would never hurt him.”

  “But you’ll slow down my investigation so you can play junior detective?”

  Tobias’s mouth went taut. “Are you agreeing or not?”

  “I ought to haul your ass into the precinct. If you know something that can help resolve an open case, that’s obstruction of justice.” Sullivan was lying. Tobias wasn’t under any legal responsibility to report illegal activity, and he could lie to a PI all he wanted. The cops would laugh in their faces, but Sullivan was betting Tobias didn’t know that. “So we can have a chat here, or we can bring the cops in. What’s it going to be?”

  Tobias stood, blowing out a breath like he was resigned to a fight. Sullivan rose too, not liking the way Tobias loomed over him, already considering how he’d respond if Tobias did take a swing and for a second, as Tobias shifted his body sideways to go around Sullivan, they were standing too close to each other. He could smell the cheap motel soap on Tobias’s skin, feel the warmth radiating from his body. It was claustrophobic, too much of an invasion of space for how angry Sullivan was, and he wanted to shove Tobias back, anything to get some breathing room. Or, he thought, as an old, familiar impulse rose within him, maybe he wanted to shove Tobias to his
knees right at Sullivan’s feet.

  Instead, he watched as Tobias walked toward the nightstand, where Tobias paused and said, “All right. We can go to the cops if you want, but it’s going to be harder to solve this case when you’re in a jail cell. Which is where you’ll be, for breaking and entering.”

  Sullivan felt a slow, creeping dread inside him. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing yet.” He picked up his wallet and slid it into his back pocket. “I just think the police would be interested in knowing that a local private detective is committing crimes while conducting investigations.”

  Sullivan hesitated. “You won’t tell anyone about us being in Ghost’s condo. You’d be in more trouble than I would. You were the one with the rock.”

  Tobias stared back at him evenly. “Why would I need a rock when I have a key?”

  Sullivan’s gaze flew to the ring in Tobias’s hand. It was bullshit, wasn’t it? He cast his mind back. Had Tobias pocketed the key Ghost had left on the counter? Sullivan had seen Tobias pick up the phone, but the key...he couldn’t remember.

  “You probably won’t get in any real trouble,” Tobias continued, sliding the keys into his jeans pocket. “I mean, the complex might not press charges, since it’ll be a lot of money and time to do so on behalf of a resident they can’t find. Still, imagine what your boss would say when you get arrested for breaking and entering. They’ll have a witness, after all.” He waved a couple fingers to indicate himself, then picked up his room keycard, sliding it into the opposite back pocket. “But I’m ready to go if that’s what you want to do.”

  Sullivan looked Tobias over again, top to bottom, from his tousled curls to his forthright blue eyes, to the hard line of his jaw, to the strong shoulders and flawless posture. “Quite the transformation. From the concerned citizen afraid to break a pane of glass to cold-blooded blackmailer. I misread you. You’re a completely different person than I thought you were.”