Tobias’s forehead creased. “Ghost’s condo.”
“You can see why I’m interested in talking to him. And the people who had keys to his front door.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know who they were? The Russians?”
Tobias hesitated. From what Sullivan had said, there was a very good chance that the Krayevs were the owners of the condo where Ghost had been living—or someone in their organization was. He’d suspected as much, but he wasn’t sure how they could move forward without confirming the connection first. “I have a good guess.”
“A guess?”
“I know someone who can confirm it. I need your pictures, though.”
Sullivan’s jaw worked as he went back to his computer. He sent the pictures to Tobias’s email, then waited impatiently while Tobias forwarded them to Church, along with the message: Are these two of the Krayev brothers?
A minute later, Tobias’s phone rang. He glanced at Sullivan and gestured to the door. “I need some privacy for a few minutes, please.”
After a long, baleful moment of are you kidding me? Sullivan shoved his laptop in the bag and took it with him on his way out, slamming the door behind him for the second time in half an hour.
“Sorry about that,” Tobias said into the phone.
“What the fuck, dude?” Church sounded halfway to panic. “What—where—what are you doing? How did you get these pictures?”
“Is it them? The Krayevs?”
“Where did you get the pictures?”
“Church.”
“Yes, it’s them, all right? Seryozha’s the handsome one and Yasha’s the stupid-looking one. Now how did you get these pictures?”
“From my private investigator.”
“You hired someone to find Ghost?”
“Yes.”
“Is he any good?”
“His firm has a good reputation. I checked.”
“This is a horrible idea,” Church said. “You’re going to get yourself hurt.”
“Your lack of faith in me is duly fucking noted.” Tobias clamped his mouth shut, shocked at himself. He didn’t talk to Church like that. He didn’t talk to anyone like that. He heard Church’s indrawn breath, felt the pause between them as tangible as a wall, and...and he couldn’t make himself apologize. “It’s not like I’m going to wander up to them and ask if they’ve hurt my friend. I’m not stupid.”
“They almost killed me.” Church’s voice was low, almost tentative. He didn’t sound like himself at all. “They almost killed Miller. You’ve seen what they did to his hand, Tobias. I didn’t mean you can’t do shit, I meant...the Krayevs don’t fuck around. If they think you’re asking questions because of what happened eight months ago, they’ll put a bullet in your brain.”
“You’re the one they’ll expect trouble from. They’re not going to care about me. As far as they know, I’m a college kid who hired someone to find his buddy. Okay? Let me handle this.”
Church’s unhappiness radiated through the phone. “This feels wrong.”
“It doesn’t make you a bad friend to keep Miller safe,” Tobias pointed out. “I’ve got this. I’m only going to see if I can find out where Ghost took off to. I’m not going to start a war with the Russian mafia. You’re doing the right thing by staying out of it. You know I’m right.”
“The hell I do. I know Ghost and I know this sort of situation, and I know... I know I can’t let you get hurt.”
“I’m not asking for permission.” That snap had come back to his voice, and again Church’s side of the conversation went tentative.
“Let me come to your place, yeah? We can talk this out, I’ll eat some of that beef stuff that your mom makes and we’ll figure—”
“I’m not living there anymore.”
“You’re—you moved? Why does everyone keep moving without telling me?”
Sucks getting left out, doesn’t it, Tobias thought, but only said evenly, “You’re not my babysitter.”
“I know, but—”
“I moved because I don’t want to live at home anymore. I’m tired of the bullshit.”
“What’s going on with you, man?” With uncharacteristic, awkward gentleness, Church asked, “Is it like what happened before, the shit that landed you in Woodbury?”
“So if I’m angry, it’s because I have a mental health issue?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“I’m not talking about it right now.” Even this had been enough to get that red, raw anger broiling inside him again.
For a long minute they breathed silently into the phone.
“You better not disappear on me the way Ghost has,” Church snapped finally. “Dude, I fucking mean it.”
“I won’t,” Tobias promised, affection rising within him as it always did in the rare moments when Church’s sharp edges thinned enough to reveal the good heart he tried so hard to hide.
“Send me updates.”
“I will.”
“Damn it,” Church muttered, and hung up.
Tobias collected himself and tugged the door open. “I’m done.”
“Swell.” Sullivan came back inside, his movements jerky. He threw himself into the chair at the desk and raised his eyebrows. “So? Ready to talk?”
“Within limits.”
Visibly exasperated, Sullivan pulled a small digital recorder out of the laptop bag, setting it between them. He pressed the record button. “This is Sullivan Tate, private investigator, beginning interview one with Tobias Benton on the matter of Nathalie Trudeau’s disappearance. Interview is taking place on August 3rd, 2017, at 10:28 a.m. Mr. Benton, you’re aware that I’m recording this and you give permission, right?”
“Yes.”
He turned his laptop to face them, tipping the screen so they could both look at the photograph of the Russian men from the day before. They were both dark-haired and somewhere in their late twenties or early thirties. The hulkish big guy had a vapid expression on his face, while the other, movie-star handsome, looked far cagier.
Sullivan said, “This is a photograph that I took outside of 2435 Ann Arbor Drive at the Riviera Condominium Complex on August 1st at roughly 4:00 p.m. Do you know who the men in the picture are?”
Tobias nodded. “They’re Seryozha and Yasha Krayev.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“You’ve heard of them, I guess.”
“The Krayev name pops up from time to time when you’re looking for scumbags, but...” As
