“I know that, too,” I reply and check the photo I have in my phone of this Brett Harvey guy, committing his face to memory: high cheekbones, blond hair with plenty of silver strands, dark brown eyes, white stubble, and a sharp jaw. He looks like a hawk that would undoubtedly swoop down on his prey if she came into sight.
“Cole said we should do something for her,” Toby mutters, then stops to check the mailboxes while I look around.
“Already taken care of,” I say.
“Good. Found him. Brett Harvey. Apartment 3C,” he says, pointing at one mailbox in particular. “There’s a whole lot of envelopes crammed in there, though. I doubt he’s been here lately.”
I nod slowly and make my way up the stairs. Toby follows closely, keeping one eye on my six at all times.
“Over here,” Toby says when he reaches the door for apartment 3C.
I look both ways down the narrow, dimly lit hallway, not oblivious to the smell of stale takeout food and crushed cigarettes coming from somewhere nearby. I hear the loud TV in someone’s apartment—they’ve got the news on, and it’s blaring. Sirens wail two blocks over. There’s the honk of a horn, followed by a slew of curse words.
Toby gives me a curious glance, and I respond with a soft nod. He knocks on the door, but there’s no answer.
“Brett Harvey?” he calls out, ears twitching as he listens for any sign of movement from inside the apartment. We hear only silence, not even the slightest creak of a floorboard. “Brett?”
A door opens behind us. I turn around to see an old lady with curly white hair and round glasses atop her nose, giving us the stink eye. With a smile, I show her Brett’s photo on my phone. “Good morning, ma’am. Have you seen him?”
“Who the hell are you?” she croaks, growing increasingly suspicious.
Toby takes the lead with a frown. “We’re Brett’s cousins, ma’am. Our father died, and we’re looking for him. Turns out the old man left him something inhis will.”
“You came all the way out from Nebraska for this?” She sounds incredulous. “How loaded was your old man?”
“Extremely,” I reply.
She looks me up and down, eyebrow lifted. “I can see that. He ain’t here, though.”
“Do you know where we could find him?” Toby asks.
“No, he hasn’t been around in a while,” the old woman says. “His girlfriend used to pay for this place. I think she still does. I’m not sure. I haven’t seen anyone lately.”
“Lately as in weeks or days?” I insist.
“Do I look like I keep track of my shady-lookin’ neighbors?”
She does, but if I say so, she’ll take offense. Instead, I let my brother try to get more information out of her. Alas, before he can ask her another question, the old lady decides to shut the door in our faces. I hear the lock turn, sounding almost as offended as the woman herself.
“So Brett’s from Nebraska, apparently,” I conclude. “I thought he didn’t exist.”
“Brett Harvey clearly doesn’t. But you’re right, the guy pretending to be him is from Nebraska. At least we didn’t come out here for nothing.”
We’re about to head out when we hear footsteps coming from the other end of the hallway. I turn around just in time to see two hooded men dressed in black.
The lighting works to their advantage because I can’t make out their faces. Toby squares his shoulders to match their aggressive frames. They’re not here to talk, that much is obvious.
“Hey, fellas.” I try the peaceful method as they’re coming toward us. “Do you know a guy named Brett Harvey?”
They don’t answer. Their gloved hands bundle into tight fists. Immediately, my instincts kick in.
“Ash!” Toby growls.
“I got it,” I reply as the first guy to reach us throws a punch.
I dodge and respond with one of my own—a single but effective left hook.
Toby’s got the other guy in a headlock already, but I see the metallic glint of a blade coming out of his pocket.
