Hard Line

by Sidney Bell

  Tobias’s next breath was pointed and slow, the breath of a parent trying not to lose his temper with an unruly child. “What kind of crime?”

  “How much cash do you have on you?”

  * * *

  When they’d marked out the plan—such as it was, seeing as bribery wasn’t that complicated—they left the motel and headed for Sullivan’s car. Tobias paused beside the passenger door of the Buick. “This is your car?”

  “Yeah.” Sullivan glanced at it, trying to see it the way Tobias would. It was dented and primer was showing in a couple places and the seats were kind of janky, which were all proof of how damn cool his car was. “What of it?”

  “It’s not bad or anything,” Tobias said. “I only thought, you know, that it looks like a gangster from the seventies should drive it.”

  Sullivan frowned. “Stop trying to butter me up and get in, will you?”

  Tobias studied him across the roof. “You’re very odd, you know that?”

  “You’re very judgy, you know that?”

  Tobias clamped his mouth shut and got in.

  The security guard on shift at Riviera Condominiums was a big white guy with beady eyes who wore a short-sleeved yellow button-down, sweat stains discoloring the fabric at his armpits and the small of his back. He eyed Sullivan’s hair with disdain and fiddled with the offered business card while Sullivan explained the situation. “And you think maybe someone took the guy in 121 against his will?”

  “Maybe.” Sullivan nodded to the bank of monitors against one wall, trying to look unimpressed. He could only hope that Tobias, who was standing by the door behind him, was managing to do the same. “Do you have any security footage of that parking lot?”

  “Maybe,” the guy parroted. His smile turned sly. “But I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to have a warrant or something.”

  “Not a cop. Also, not if you let us.” Sullivan no longer had to pretend to be unimpressed. People were so predictable, honestly.

  “Oh, I don’t know if I could do that. Sounds like an invasion of privacy to me. There are rules, you know.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I’d hate to get in trouble.”

  “Let me guess. You’ve got hungry mouths to feed.”

  “I do.”

  Sullivan gave a mental sigh. “How’s fifty sound?”

  “I was thinking more like two hundred.”

  “Seventy-five.”

  “Two hundred.”

  Tobias interrupted with, “I only have a hundred on me, sir.” Both Sullivan and the guard glanced at him and he offered an apologetic smile.

  The guard frowned.

  “That’s better than nothing,” Sullivan added.

  The guard shrugged. “That’ll do, I guess. But you’ve got to look at it here.”

  “We don’t know when he went missing,” Sullivan protested. “It could take ages to find the—”

  “Not my problem. When a copy gets made, the security system automatically notifies the corporate contact, and that’s my boss. You’ve got to do it here. Now gimme my money.”

  Tobias paid up and the guard set a stack of CDs in front of them. “That’s the lot outside of 121. They’re organized backward from today, two twenty-four-hour periods per disk. Load ’em there, scroll forward and back with this button thingie here, print stills here, and don’t touch anything else.”

  “Best behavior,” Sullivan promised, and the guard gave him a suspicious look.

  “You better do this fast. If I see my boss coming, I’m kicking you out whether you’ve gotten what you want or not.”

  The guard headed for the front door down the hall to keep watch, and Sullivan sat down at the terminal and kicked the other chair back for Tobias, pulling Ghost’s phone out at the same time and passing it over. “Look up the date of the last text message he sent.”

  Tobias thumbed through the list. “Last outgoing text is on the 21st of July.”

  “Let’s start there.” Sullivan grabbed the stack of discs.

  The camera’s angle didn’t show Ghost’s condo, but it caught the parking lot and most of the sidewalk out front. That was lucky, as it meant that his and Tobias’s breaking and entering earlier that week hadn’t been recorded. Over the next forty fruitless minutes, they worked their way through the disc, fast forwarding when they could, slowing down during peak times, and eventually moving on to the 22nd of July. The guard stuck his head in five times to glare and complain that they were taking forever, and it sure as hell felt that way to Sullivan, but on minute forty-one, Tobias sucked in a breath and jabbed his finger at the screen.

  “There! There, that’s him.”

  “You sure?” The picture quality wasn’t great—Sullivan mostly got blond and slim—but Tobias nodded.

  “Yes!”

  Ghost was carrying a big duffel bag over one shoulder and was followed by a balding man in slacks and a polo shirt.

  “Who’s that?” Sullivan asked.

  Tobias squinted at the screen. “No idea.”

  They were definitely together, though. Ghost paused at a sedan near the sidewalk, waiting while the balding man unlocked the door and popped the trunk. Ghost put the bag inside before he circled the vehicle to get in the passenger seat. The car drove away, and that was that.

  “No sign of distress.” Sullivan backed the disc up so they could watch it again. “His body language is calm. Don’t you think?”

  Tobias nodded. “He looks all right. He might be all right. Ghost could’ve run and he didn’t.”

  “There are other kinds of coercion besides force, as you well know,” Sullivan said, not a little bitterly.

  Tobias nodded again, not looking at him.

  Sullivan grabbed a nearby pen and a scrap of paper and scrawled out the date—July 22nd, thirteen days ago—and started making notes about the car, only to decide that was dumb. Instead, he took a quick screen capture, both printing it and emailing it to himself, remembering to log out of his account because he was basically a professional badass. “Light-colored sedan. Maybe a Nissan? Can you see that?”

  “Here, wait until he pulls out.” Tobias reached over to the desk and turned off the light so only the overhead was on, killing the glare.

  Sullivan leaned closer. “Regular Colorado plates. That’s a Q, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah? I think? Then an F?”

  “E.”

  “F.” Tobias hummed thoughtfully. “That’s definitely an F.”

  “That’s definitely a line at the bottom.”

  “That’s definitely mud.”

  By now they were both so close to the screen that their noses were practically touching. Sullivan muttered, “Mud my ass. That’s an E.”

  Tobias made a dissatisfied sound. “Then a L. Then an 8.”

  “3.”

  “8.”

  “You know, I’m the private detective here.” Sullivan turned his head, ready to give Tobias a pointed look, only to realize how closely they were sitting.

  “Doesn’t mean your vision’s better.” Tobias’s raised eyebrow was somehow dour and civil at once, at least until he realized what Sullivan already had—too much proximity.

  Sullivan’s heart jumpstarted in his chest. Up close like this, it was hard not to notice the strong planes of Tobias’s bone structure and the clear, pure blue of his thickly lashed eyes. He didn’t move, testing the tension in the air, and Tobias didn’t either, except to let his lips part on an indrawn breath. Which he then held.

  Tobias felt it too.

  The knowledge only pissed Sullivan off further. And got him hard. He thought of his hands digging into Tobias’s arms the day before, thought of the red marks he’d left behind when he released him. Thought of Tobias letting him, not saying no or stop or don’t.

  Thought of Nick saying mo
nstrous.

  He sat back abruptly and opened his mouth—not that he had anything of value to say, because his brain was completely blank—and sent a silent thank-you to the patron saint of stupid people when he was interrupted by the guard hurrying in, shooing them to their feet. “Go, go, she’s back, go, get out.”

  Sullivan managed to snatch the notes and his printout of the security camera pic before he and Tobias were hustled down a long hallway and unceremoniously shoved out a rear door that locked behind them, the sudden heat like a slap in the face.

  Sullivan led the way back to the car, ignoring the way Tobias had gone quiet and watchful, as if considering what he should say. Sullivan sure as shit wasn’t going to discuss this thickness in the air between them, and rather than give Tobias the chance to do so himself, he said, “I’ll put in the request to run the plates tonight, but we won’t see anything until Monday, so we should meet up again then.”

  Instantly distracted, Tobias said, “That’s two days from now.”

  “Good job. We’ll work on counting to three next. Watch out for four, though. That’s where it starts getting difficult.”

  Tobias’s jaw set hard, the muscle going rigid, and Sullivan smiled a mean little smile of vindication.

  Maybe it was immature, but being a dick to Tobias under these circumstances was kind of fun.

  Chapter Nine

  His stomach was acidic from too much coffee, his eyes felt dry with weariness from yet another bad night of sleep, and if Sullivan kept saying things like, “So I’ll come by the motel when I’ve got the results from the DMV. I’d wish you a happy weekend, but I think we both know I wouldn’t mean it,” Tobias was going to be committing assault in addition to bribery today.

  They’d barely gotten anything done yet.

  Tobias reminded himself to remain calm. Losing his temper wouldn’t help; it might even push Sullivan’s frustration into something else, something closer to that raw darkness that he’d seen yesterday in the motel when Tobias hadn’t backed down. The rawness that made Tobias’s stomach hot and fluttery, his skin tingly. Part of him wanted to know what it would be like if he pushed a hair’s breadth further, what Sullivan would do with it.

  The rest of him knew that it might be more than he could handle, and he couldn’t afford to lose control of this. “That’s not all you’re going to be doing between now and then, right?”

  “No, but it’s all background stuff. More research. Nothing for you to do.”

  Tobias wondered if he was lying. “There has to be something.”

  “Nope. Sitting at the computer. Boring. One-man job. Go away.”

  As Sullivan went to unlock the door to the car, Tobias considered the likelihood of Sullivan leaving him here in the parking lot, and decided it was all too believable. He darted a hand in and snatched the keys from Sullivan’s fingers.

  “Hey! Give me those.”

  “If it’s just sitting at a computer, you can do it at the motel.” When Sullivan made a lunging grab for the keys, Tobias put a hand up between them and held the ring up in the air behind him with the other. “I’ll buy us food later. You can work and I’ll watch.”

  Sullivan gave Tobias a small, frustrated shove so that he bounced back against the side of the Buick, the hot metal burning him through his T-shirt. It wasn’t violent enough to hurt, but adrenaline spiked through his blood anyway. Tobias pushed against Sullivan’s chest to keep him back, the sensation of that lean muscle against his palm making every nerve in his body light up.

  Sullivan ground his teeth together. “You’re seriously going to watch me do research?”

  The job, Tobias told himself. Concentrate on the job at hand. “Yes.”

  Sullivan reached for the keys again, forcing Tobias harder against the car. Tobias held them farther out of reach, and Sullivan finally snapped, “Fine. Whatever. Give me the keys and we’ll go.”

  Instead of obeying, Tobias pushed gently against Sullivan’s belly. “Step out of the way.”

  For a long few seconds, Sullivan didn’t move. He simply stared at Tobias from inches away, his whole body tense, and it... God, it was intense being pressed up against him like this, Tobias’s bracing hand the only thing keeping them apart, Sullivan’s expression bordering on vicious, and Tobias wasn’t sure he was breathing by the time Sullivan took a small, deliberate step back.

  The message was clear—Sullivan hadn’t moved because Tobias had told him to, but because he’d chosen to.

  Tobias shivered despite the million-degree sun reflecting up off the asphalt, suddenly aware of nothing more than how much he wanted to lean forward and catch that annoyed mouth with his own.

  “What is this?” Tobias asked, unthinkingly. His experience of romance until now had been simple, almost careless in comparison to the way this thing with Sullivan was building with countless small collisions and subtexts that Tobias couldn’t keep up with. He didn’t understand how Sullivan worked, how he kept making the ground beneath Tobias’s feet seem like thin ice, how Tobias could hold all the cards and yet still feel like Sullivan was the one winning the game.

  He ran his gaze over Sullivan, looking for some clue to this strange hum between them. Sullivan wore jeans, big black boots, and a snug, plain gray T-shirt that showed off the stark black tattoos that covered both arms all the way up to disappear under the fabric. If he’d put gel in his hair that morning, it’d already given up, because the brown strands were loose and soft and barely out of his eyes where they’d fallen to one side. He looked good. Really good. But there were other attractive people in the world, and Tobias had never felt desire like this—razor-tipped and biting and all too capable of dragging his attention away from the important things. There was nothing romantic about it.

  Sullivan’s face went blank. “This is business.”

  Tobias swallowed back the sharp tang of disappointment, reminding himself that Sullivan was right; this was business. It should be business. Anything else was a distraction from what Tobias really wanted—to find Ghost on his own terms. He eased out from between Sullivan and the car, went around to the passenger side, and got in, unlocking the driver’s-side door from inside. When Sullivan was behind the wheel, Tobias wordlessly held out the keys.

  The drive back to the motel was silent.

  * * *

  “What are you going to be looking up?” Tobias asked, pulling his textbooks out of his bag. They seemed heavier than usual, like they’d transformed into lead weights while he was out doing other things.

  “I’m going to send requests to the DMV for all the possible plate combinations on the bald guy’s car, try to track down Nathalie’s father, and look at the property records for the houses surrounding the Howard residence where Margaret Trudeau was killed. If the Krayevs are the ones who bought Ghost’s condo under Margaret’s name, someone in the family must’ve known her, maybe been a neighbor or a friend. I’m wondering if someone associated with the Krayevs—Yelena or whatever her name is—might’ve been a neighbor or a friend back then. If nothing else, I might be able to scrounge up someone to talk to who lived in the area during that time. I mean, if that’s okay with you, boss?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Sullivan sketched a sarcastic salute, put his earbuds on, and started typing away. Tobias shot him a disapproving glare, pulled his biochemistry book onto his lap, and began to read.

  After about an hour, Sullivan snapped, “For God’s sake, why are you reading that if you hate it so much?”

  Tobias jolted and lifted his head to find Sullivan watching him. “I don’t hate it.” His back hurt after so long bent over the book, and he arched, popping his spine in several places. Instant relief.

  “You said you wouldn’t lie,” Sullivan reminded him.

  “I’m not lying.”

  “You always make that pained, miserable face when you’re reading?”

 
“This is just how my face looks.”

  Sullivan laughed, low and dirty and a little mean, and Tobias refused to find it sexy, ignored it entirely, in fact, refocusing on the page. Transplantation of the mes/met junction results... No, that wasn’t where he’d been. He skimmed through several paragraphs and realized he’d already read them several times and still wasn’t sure what they’d said. He’d have to start over.

  He was on the verge of getting absorbed in the material again when Sullivan said, “Could you shut up?”

  “I’m not saying anything.”

  “You keep sighing. Loudly. I can hear you over my music, that’s how bad it is.”

  “I’m not sighing.”

  “You sound like a dog whose owner left for vacation without it.”

  Tobias closed his book with far less force than he would’ve preferred. “Is there something I can do that would help you concentrate?”

  “Yes, you could stay here like a normal client while I go back to my office and do my damn job.”

  Well, he’d walked into that one. “You know that’s not going to happen.”

  Sullivan stood up and cracked his neck. “Fuck it. I’m going for a walk. I’m crawling out of my damn skin here.”

  Tobias began to set his books aside, beyond grateful for the excuse, when Sullivan added, “Alone.”

  Tobias went still, considering him.

  Sullivan said pointedly, “The sort of alone where I’m by myself, in case that wasn’t clear.”

  “Don’t make me have to come find you.”

  “Quick question. The next time I go to the bathroom, are you planning to tag along and shake it for me?”

  Tobias returned that hostile gaze evenly. “If that’s what it takes.”

  Sullivan’s lips pressed tight. He turned and left, and Tobias sagged back onto the bed.

  He felt like a jerk.

  Which was reasonable, since he was being a jerk. And selfish. He had no illusions about what he was doing or how unfair it was. He just...he needed to be part of this. Sullivan wasn’t the only one crawling out of his skin for lack of something to do, but for Tobias the sense of stagnation and claustrophobia existed on a nearly catastrophic level. And being near Sullivan while he worked was the closest thing to relief he could find.