But there’d been a darker side to the facility, a side born of limited funding and political disinterest, where therapists cared but had too many patients, and people slipped through cracks the size of ravines. Ghost lived and breathed that same aura of struggle and poverty and violence, and worst of all was the way he’d never questioned his place there, the way he’d seemed so indifferent to the unhappiness emanating from every brick.
Tobias got out of the car and put his backpack in the trunk before heading down the sidewalk to Ghost’s condo. It was on the first floor of Building 18, tucked as far away from the clubhouse as possible, a corner unit abutting the line of trees at the edge of the property that blocked the noise of the traffic from the street beyond. He knocked hard—Ghost was a daytime sleeper—but when there was no answer, he stepped over a low row of bushes to reach the nearest window and put his hands up to block the glare so he could peer inside.
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
