Sullivan liked him, mess and all.
Just like Tobias liked him.
Not that Sullivan had much mess to him. Except for his insecurities about what he liked in bed—which Tobias would punch his ex in the nose for if he ever saw the jerk—Sullivan pretty well had his shit together. He certainly wasn’t making his decisions because of extenuating circumstances. This was who he was, and Tobias really, really liked him.
What came over him then wasn’t the itch he’d been struggling with for weeks and weeks. It wasn’t desperation. It wasn’t some temporary, maddening thing. It was a quiet awareness of what could be.
After this case wrapped up, Tobias could rebuild his life into something closer to his own ideas of happiness. He could be the guy who studied...well, he wasn’t sure yet, but something other than medicine. He could study whatever and get a job he liked and hang out with his friends. He could volunteer in the community, because he wanted to help people, but he could do it in a way that didn’t make him anxious or resentful. He could keep dating Sullivan, too. He could listen to him talk about weird, rambling subjects and make sure the fridge was stocked with healthy snacks so Sullivan wasn’t eating bare pieces of bread because he wasn’t paying attention, and he could sass back enough to make Sullivan’s face go dark and aggressive before he reached for the paddle.
Wow.
It stole his breath. The possibility of it all. The potential happiness waiting to be grabbed. And Sullivan could definitely be part of it.
He should be part of it.
He opened his mouth to tell him exactly that, only for Sullivan to say, “Few more blocks, I think.”
“What?”
Sullivan jerked his chin toward the building beyond the windshield. “The place where Spratt lives. Next block. Keep your eyes open for places where we can sit and watch the street without getting busted.”
Right. Work. Ghost. Tobias bit his tongue. It wasn’t really the time for that conversation, anyway. He’d need time to explain it right, especially if Sullivan had any doubts. And if everything did work out, Sullivan might want to have sex after.
He couldn’t even imagine what Sullivan might choose to do, but it would be good. He shifted his weight, and pain sparked through his buttocks and up his spine and he shivered a little. It would be so good.
Fortunately, Sullivan was being professional and was therefore oblivious to the sheer number of small epiphanies Tobias was experiencing. On their second trip down the street past Spratt’s townhouse, he pulled into a tiny alley that led to a small parking lot behind a diner bustling with early lunch-goers. The large front window would offer a good view of the red door across the street marked 2600 C, the address in Spratt’s name in the courthouse property records.
They couldn’t spend the whole day in the diner, of course. It was likely Spratt wouldn’t be back for hours yet, and while it bugged Tobias to be reduced once again to sitting and waiting, he knew this would be far less effort than trying to track Spratt’s or the balding man’s locations down through the department. Even Tobias’s limited experience was enough to be sure that poking around a police station and then surveilling it would be logistical nightmare, assuming they didn’t get busted.
After eating, they left on foot, window shopping nearby, never out of sight of the townhouse, before going back to sit in the car for a few hours. The small parking lot was tucked away between two small stores and there wasn’t much traffic. Sullivan took some pictures, then got out his binoculars to peer through the first-floor windows. “He’s definitely not home. Nice place, though,” Sullivan said, handing the binoculars to Tobias so he could take peek. “Bet that television cost him a few thousand.”
“He’s very neat,” Tobias noted. “There’s nothing left out anywhere. He doesn’t seem to own much, but what’s there looks like it costs a fortune.”
“I read that minimalism as an aesthetic can be linked to social class.” Sullivan peered across the street at pedestrians. “It’s easy to get rid of things you aren’t using if you have enough money to buy what you might need at any given moment. Whereas if you’ve been poor, it causes cognitive dissonance to get rid of things, because you’re afraid that if it turns out later that you need it after all, you might not be able to afford to replace it. Weirdly, having less stuff requires having more money. And in this other thing, I read...hold up. Is that—shit, that’s Tidwell.”
He snatched the binoculars out of Tobias’s hand, leaving Tobias to squint uselessly at a balding figure walking down the sidewalk. “That looks like the back of somebody’s head. I have no idea if that’s Tidwell.”
“It is. He was wearing the same coat at the picnic.”
Tobias glanced at him and admitted—if only to himself—that he was a little turned on by Sullivan’s observational skills. “Good catch.”
“Uh-huh. Hey, look who has a key.”
“I can’t look. You took the binoculars.”
“I bet you can make an educated guess. It rhymes with bidwell.”
Tobias gnawed on his lip. “Would you give an underling a key to your very expensive townhouse?”
“I tend to live in places that have holes in the walls and I’ve never had an underling, so I’m not one to judge.”
Once inside, Tidwell stood right by the front door for a good ten seconds. “What the heck is he doing?” Tobias asked, unable to see. “Is he staring at the door? Fiddling with the wall?”
“Alarm system, I bet.”
Made sense—only a few seconds later Tidwell turned away and went deeper into the living room. Tobias said, “That means he has the code. Spratt’s got to know he’s here.”
They
