by Sidney Bell
“Jesus,” Tobias whispered, and came out of the room.
Sullivan’s eyes found him and locked on, sweeping over him from tip to toe. “You okay?”
“Yes.” Tobias set the vase down. He glanced at Ghost, who was standing over Spratt’s sprawled body, emotionless and still. “Ghost, are you okay?”
Ghost ignored him. Instead, he bent and pushed Spratt onto his side, tipping his head so that he would be able to breathe more easily. His hands lingered in the air for a moment, lost, and then he stood again and glanced up at Sullivan. “Your timing is impeccable.”
“Can we fucking leave now?” Sullivan asked Tobias, ignoring Ghost entirely. He dropped his weapon—a wooden rolling pin—and it clattered down the stairs to rest against Spratt’s thigh. “He might’ve called Tidwell or my client as backup.”
“Yes, let’s go,” Tobias said, and brushed past Ghost. He followed Sullivan up the stairs, catching the soft pad of Ghost’s bare feet behind him, and they got to the window and out into the backyard without trouble. They hurried across the yard and back into the alley.
There were no sirens. No one yelling. No neighbors lurking at fences that he could see.
A couple houses down, they paused, getting shoes and a hat out for Ghost, who put them on while Sullivan and Tobias removed their balaclavas, windbreakers, and gloves and shoved them into the pack. Sullivan slid his ball cap back into place and by that time Ghost was ready.
Gravel crunched under their feet until they reached the end of the alley and turned right. It was hot out. Birds were calling. Afternoon traffic was beginning to pick up. A man in a suit barking into a cell phone passed them going the opposite direction, pausing before crossing the street. The walk to the car might’ve been downright pleasant if not for the clammy sweat dampening Tobias’s temples and back, if not for the way his heart thundered and he had to subdue the urge to run or look back. A perfectly normal day, all things considered. A normal day where Tobias had broken in to a cop’s house and Sullivan had hit that cop over the head with a rolling pin like a furious housewife.
Ghost’s skin was sickly pale, his eyes fever bright. Tobias almost couldn’t bear to look at him. It hurt to be angry at something so fragile.
They made it to the car. There was still no sound of sirens.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sullivan wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Tobias’s friend, but it wasn’t this nervy, sharp-dull kid with the hollow, canny green eyes. The guy had some sort of split-personality at work in his body language—one second his limbs appeared too heavy to move, the next he was whip-ready to strike, the next he shifted into a sly, slinky sort of invitation. And then the cycle started over, with minute variations, an endless byplay of characters and moods and manipulations. Like a chameleon trying on colors.
Sullivan instantly, profoundly disliked him.
Ghost hadn’t said a word since Sullivan had keeled Spratt over. His fingers clenched in sense memory at the recollection, feeling again the weight of the wood in his hand, the meaty thud of the strike, the way his stomach had revolted. He’d thought, at the time, that he might be sick. But Tobias had come out of the shadows, big-eyed and so fucking relieved, like Sullivan had done something heroic instead of violent, like all he wanted to see in the whole world was Sullivan, and he’d wanted to say something cruel to that relief. Something along the lines of you chose him, don’t you dare look at me like that.
Now they were seated at the table in Sullivan’s dining room. Well, Ghost and Sullivan were; Tobias was bringing Ghost a sandwich and a glass of water, asking in a low voice if Ghost needed a doctor.
It was kind of pissing Sullivan off.
“I’m fine,” Ghost told Tobias. He’d settled on subdued, apparently. His head dipped toward his plate, his shoulders rounded, and Tobias’s expression went tight and pained, for fuck’s sake.
“What did you go back to get?” Sullivan asked Ghost, and Tobias fumbled the roll of paper towels he was carrying.
“Do we have to talk about this now?” Ghost asked in a low voice aimed at Tobias.
“Maybe we—” Tobias started.
At the same time, Sullivan said, “Yes. We can’t be sure they won’t come after him,” trying to keep his voice even as he watched Tobias flinch. “We can’t be sure that we didn’t miss anything. We need to do this now.” He went back to staring at Ghost. “What did you go back for that was worth putting Tobias at risk?”
“I don’t—it wasn’t anything important, I promise,” Ghost muttered. “I’ve got a headache. Can I lie down?”
“Ghost, you heard Sullivan, we—”
“Just for twenty minutes? I’m so tired.”
Tobias sighed and gave Sullivan a helpless, what am I supposed to do sort of look. “All right.”
“Will you come with me?” Ghost grabbed on to Tobias’s T-shirt, his fingers low on Tobias’s hip.
“Of course I will.”
“Make sure you choose a room without any windows,” Sullivan said, annoyed beyond the telling, and Tobias looked startled, like it hadn’t occurred to him that Ghost might try to run. You can’t be falling for this, Sullivan thought, although Tobias’s blind spot for Ghost had so far proved to be the size of the sun—and every bit as capable of burning him.
But Tobias glanced down at his own hip, where Ghost’s fingers were resting inches from his jeans pocket, and something about that made it all click for Tobias, a click so tangibly permanent and real that it was written on his face bright as neon. He eased back a step, swallowing hard, the curve of his lips going tense and unfriendly, and stupid, selfish hope rose in Sullivan’s chest.
“Well, that was nice while it lasted,” Ghost said, and in a heartbeat he’d shifted from traumatized crime victim to languid hustler. He slumped back in his chair and gave Sullivan a sideways grin.
“What’d you take?” Sullivan asked him.
“Nothing,” Ghost said. “What was your name again, handsome?”
Tobias gave Ghost a dirty look—far dirtier than Sullivan would’ve guessed he had in him. “His name is Sullivan Tate,” he told Ghost, before glancing at Sullivan and adding, “We went back for a USB.”
“It’s like that, is it?” Ghost asked lazily, stretching his arms over his head.
“Yes, it is.”
“Is he a good kisser? His mouth is a little mean, but sometimes that makes for the best kissing.”
“He’s not mean,” Tobias snapped. “He helped me rescue you. Leave him alone.”
“What’s on the USB?” Sullivan asked.
“Nudie pictures,” Ghost replied. “If you like sky-blue seventies silk, brother, they’re right up your alley.”
Everything about him was lackadaisical and smug; all that was missing were a couple finger guns. The effect was outrageously unpleasant, and Sullivan caught himself wondering how anyone ever got anything done where Ghost was concerned, if it was always this shifting facade that made it impossible to keep your feet. And that—that made sense actually. It was to Ghost’s benefit to keep the people around him off balance.
“I’ll pass.” Sullivan searched Ghost’s face carefully, looking for signs of trauma, for any evidence that he was reading this wrong, that he should take a different tack, but all he got was insolence. The victim was well and truly gone, and kindness would wash off the guy’s back like water off a duck.
Tobias set the paper towels on the table with more force than necessary. “You can talk to him. You can talk to me. We’re on your side.”
“I’m good.” Ghost slid the top piece of bread off the sandwich, raked his finger through the mayo, and slurped it up. “Full fat. Nice.”
“Ghost,” Tobias said, sounding completely bewildered.
Sullivan cleared his throat. “Tobias, why don’t you go grab some fresh sheets out of my room? We’ll get Ghost set up on the
couch.”
Tobias wasn’t stupid; he knew exactly what Sullivan was doing. The real question was whether Tobias trusted him enough to go along with it. For a long moment he hesitated. He glanced at Ghost.
“I’m not scared of your boyfriend,” Ghost said, patting him reassuringly on the ass, which—come the fuck on. “The hair gives him a certain toughness about the face, but if he’s falling for you, he’s got to be pure mush on the inside.”
Tobias didn’t seem to know if that was an insult or a compliment, so he only gave Ghost a conflicted frown and reluctantly left the room.
Sullivan wasn’t stupid either; he figured Tobias was probably eavesdropping, but it wasn’t Tobias that Sullivan was trying to manipulate, so he didn’t give a shit.
“All alone,” Ghost said. “Whatever shall we do with the time?”
“First order of business. If you get him hurt, I’ll give you to Spratt so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
Ghost blinked a couple of times. “I’m not sure you mean that. I wonder if you think you mean it.”
Oh, he meant it. He could be pissed off at Tobias, he could know exactly where he ranked in Tobias’s estimation, but that didn’t change the fact that Tobias mattered to him, deeply and—he suspected—irrevocably. “I don’t care if you believe it. I’m not trying to scare you; I’m being honest about the cause and effect here. He’s my first priority. If you get him hurt, I will make you pay. Bear it in mind.”
“Duly noted. Do you like fucking him?”
“Immeasurably. He’s surprisingly filthy in bed,” Sullivan said conversationally, enjoying the temporary pleasure of seeing a spark of annoyance in all the wry amusement. “Let’s be clear, one bullshitter to another. You’re only here in my house because I care about Tobias. Once I’m satisfied that nothing about this is going to bite him or me in the ass, you’re free to fuck off. In fact, I’d prefer it. We both know you’re going to drag him down with you.”
“Are you warning me off?” Ghost asked, seemingly tickled by it.
“No. He’s a big boy; if he wants you in his life, he’s welcome to you. But if you’re worth half the effort he’s put into finding you, you’ll do everything you can to keep him in the clear.”
Ghost kicked his boots off and swung his legs up, putting his bare, dirty feet on the table.
“Seriously?” Sullivan shook his head as if disappointed. “I hate to think I’ve already broken you down to petty rebellion. Surely you have something more substantial up your sleeve.”
Ghost checked his nails. There was chipped black varnish on his right hand. “You’re not a cop.”
“No.”
“A bodyguard?”
“No.”
Ghost sent a sly glance around the room, settling on the Mark III on the steamer trunk. “A PI? Did Tobias hire you to find me?” His eyebrows skyrocketed and he clasped his hands together in front of his heart. “And then you fell in love! Oh, my inner teenage girl is shrieking in happiness right now.”
Sullivan tipped his head. “What’s on the USB?”
Ghost smiled. “I wish you two crazy kids all the best.”
“I figure it’s something Mama will want,” Sullivan said thoughtfully, watching that smile pick up some frigid undertones. “She sent you there to get blackmail material, and she doesn’t seem the type to forgive failure. So that’s your first priority, I’m guessing. Get the USB to Mama, and go from there. Which means it’s evidence of Spratt up to bad shit. Drugs? Hookers? Violence?”
Ghost sat there and looked at him, every muscle in his body as relaxed and chill as the day is long—except for the muscle in his jaw, which was pulsing beneath that stiff smile. Hell of a tell.
“Explains why you’re so determined to put Tobias off his game, too,” Sullivan continued. “He’s a pushover about some things, but he’s a good man. A deeply moral man at his core, and he won’t want you giving a member of organized crime blackmail material for the top cop in the city. He’ll fight you on this. You can’t risk Tobias finding out what you’ve got. Am I on the right track?”
“And what about you, handsome? What would you do with that USB?”
“Depends what’s on it. If it’s enough to put Spratt behind bars? That’s one thing. If it’s only going to embarrass him or piss him off, that’s something else. But as long as that USB exists, he’ll come after you, won’t he?”
“He doesn’t know about it.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“And when he goes through your laptop?”
The laptop they’d left behind, he meant, in the room that had been Ghost’s before he’d gotten himself thrown into that closet. Ghost’s brow tightened almost imperceptibly.
“You’ve got surveillance programs on your hard drive, don’t you?” Sullivan asked. “I do this shit for a living, pal. If you’ve got a wireless camera somewhere in Spratt’s house, it needs a receiver, and that means a program on your computer. He won’t know what you’ve been filming, but he’ll suspect you’ve got something. It doesn’t matter what you do have; he’ll think of the worst possible thing you could have, and that’s what he’ll be aiming to stop. Is he going to come after you?”
Ghost looked away.
“That’s a yes. Do you actually have the worst possible thing?”
Ghost still didn’t speak.
Also a yes, Sullivan decided. “You can’t give the USB to Mama.”
“The fuck I can’t.”
“She’ll kill you.”
“If it saves me from this conversation, it’ll be worthwhile.”
“She’s already planning it. It’s been part of the plan all along.”
“Wow, Tobias didn’t tell me you were psychic!”
Sullivan was sort of tempted to smile at that one, but he managed to corral it. “In 1992, a woman named Margaret Trudeau was killed. She was a live-in housekeeper for a man who was involved in local crime.”
“Lovely, it’s story time.” Ghost rolled his eyes.
Sullivan ignored that. “Spratt and his boys worked that case. Knowing what I do about them, I’m thinking they weren’t there to bring peace to the neighborhood. Hell, for all I know, they killed him themselves to get control of some aspect of his business, then used their subsequent investigation to cover it up. That part’s conjecture, but what I am certain about is that Mama wasn’t happy about those deaths.”
“Whoop-de-fucking-do.”
“The local crime guy? Mama’s husband. The dead housekeeper? Mama’s very good friend.”
Ghost’s gaze flickered. Bingo.
“You following where I’m going with this?” Sullivan sat back in his chair. “More than two decades after Spratt works that case, Mama’s still got an eye on him? She plays a long game, huh? Plenty of time to figure out how to get back at the corrupt cop who took someone you loved. I figure she found out that Spratt had a weakness for you—not sure how on that one, but judging from the way he was talking to you at his place, it’s not a reach to call it a fatal flaw. She offered you a spot on her team, which you probably turned down...”
He trailed off, waiting for confirmation, and after a beat Ghost gave a tiny nod.
“And maybe that seemed like the end of it. But...long game. And when everything went down with your buddy and the Krayevs eight months ago, suddenly she had one over on you. All she wanted was a favor, right? That’s machinations, Ghost. That’s not a woman who leaves loose ends. Say you give her the USB. What does she do next? You think she’s going to promote you?”
“She keeps her word,” Ghost said, flat and final, and Sullivan realized that Ghost believed it. It might be the first entirely honest thing he’d said.
“Did she say she would let you live?”
Ghost didn’t say anything.
“Did she say she’d protect
you when Spratt realizes what you’ve done? Did she promise to let you walk away? And even if she did, you’re not idiot enough to believe that the matriarch of a crime family has never told a lie. You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
“Don’t tell me what I know.”
“Fine. I’ll tell you what I know. Giving the USB to Mama won’t keep you safe. All it’ll do is move your death up.”
“So I’ll mail it to her and run.”
“You can’t run anywhere in the States—you get picked up for speeding in bum-fuck Alaska and they’ll find out about any outstanding warrants. And there will be warrants. Spratt’s got more connections than he’d need. You’ll have every cop in the country looking for you.”
“Canada’s nice this time of year.”
“For now. But again, all it takes is one Mountie to pull you over and realize you’re in the country illegally, and you’re fucked. Canada extradites.”
“Mexico doesn’t.”
“Not in practice, usually, no, except for in cases of murder,” Sullivan agreed. “Nothing to stop Spratt from arranging one in your name. But that’s a more complicated route than he’ll need. After all, you don’t have any skills or education. You don’t have friends or family there, I’m guessing, to help you get set up right so you can live clean. That puts you back on a street corner. If you think any number of guys wouldn’t take some US dollars to hit a hooker with no family or contacts to do something about it, you’re fooling yourself.”
Sullivan leaned forward. He could see the wild flutter of Ghost’s pulse in his wrist from where he was sitting. “You’re fucked,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, but he’s the rock and she’s the hard place.”
For a long minute, neither of them said anything. Finally, Ghost cleared his throat. “I assume you have a counteroffer in mind?”
“There’s nothing you can do that’ll take down both of them. You don’t have the clout. But you can at least take down Spratt. Make his crimes public and he’ll be fired pretty quickly. Prison time will hopefully follow, but even if it doesn’t, he’s not going to be able to rumble law enforcement after you anymore. That makes running an option again. It’s not a good option, but it’s there.”
