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.
Maybe after they found Ghost, he could do something nice for Sullivan. Something to make up for what he’d done.
To assuage his conscience.
It wasn’t like he was killing anyone. Or robbing anyone. He was simply helping. He didn’t expect Sullivan to like it or to forgive him, but to Sullivan it was an inconvenience at most. To Tobias, it was crucial.
When Sullivan returned, he got back to work without a word, and Tobias did the same even though the idea of more reading was about as attractive as getting dental work.
He didn’t sigh.
* * *
Later, as he shut the door on a pizza delivery boy while juggling a 2-liter of soda, Tobias said, “Take a break.”
Sullivan looked up from his laptop with the confused air of a man who’d lost all sense of time and place. After he blinked a couple times, he tugged his earbuds loose and tucked them inside the collar of his T-shirt once more. He closed his laptop and accepted a handful of napkins before tearing into his first slice, and for a few minutes, they ate silently.
When they’d put a sizable dent in the pizza, Tobias asked, “What have you found so far?”
“Nathalie’s father is Brock Trudeau, and he lives in California. He’s married to a teacher
