“Shit, are you going to be all right tonight?” Ash raked his hand through his hair, frustration tightening his voice. “Text me later and let me know if everything’s fine.”
“I will.” Stevie hefted the backpack he always carried with him onto his back. “Thanks for dinner and everything, Ash. I gotta go.”
“Bye, kiddo.” Ash watched him hurry up the block to his house. After he disappeared around the corner, Ash shook his head and returned to his car and drove off to his Park Avenue apartment, a million miles away.
The phone rang, and he pressed the button. “Davis here.”
“Mr. Davis, this is Martinson. I have some more news.”
Good thing he was at a light; otherwise he might’ve rear-ended the car in front of him. “Go on, tell me.”
Martinson cleared his throat. “I found him, sir. Mr. Luke Conover lives in an apartment in Chelsea. He changed his name legally from Martelli five years ago. For the past two years he’s worked for the investment firm of Lambert and North as a financial consultant. He’s single and has no children. The people at his firm speak very highly of him, but they all say he’s quiet and doesn’t socialize much. He doesn’t drink, smoke, or do drugs.”
Ash let out a long stream of breath.Thank you, God. Un-fucking-real. All these years Luke had lived here, in the same city, and he didn’t know it. “Do you have an address for him?”
Through the phone, the pages of a notebook crackled. “It’s 1655 West Nineteenth Street, Apartment 4C.”
Glancing at the dashboard clock, Ash saw it was after six o’clock. Still early to be home, but he’d take a chance. If he had to camp outside all night, he was going to see Luke. “Thank you, Martinson. Excellent work. Any news of Brandon?”
“No, sir. But now that I’ve located Mr. Conover, I can concentrate my attention on his case. I presume that is what you want.”
“Absolutely. Keep me posted. And thank you, again.” Ash clicked off and headed over the Brooklyn Bridge. Traffic was heavy, but he finally made it down Chambers Street to the West Side Highway. By the time he reached the exit by Chelsea Piers, it was almost six forty. Nothing like rush hour in the city to eat away valuable time. Ash maneuvered through the maze of downtown streets and soon found himself on West Nineteenth Street.
He pulled into a parking lot and walked toward Ninth Avenue. There were some new high-rises and also some lovely brownstones in this neighborhood. Obviously, Luke had done well to be able to afford to live here. His heartbeat quickened as he spotted the glass-and-steel high-rise where Luke lived.
Pulse racing, he could hardly contain his excitement as he approached the concierge desk. “I’m here to see Mr. Conover. Is he home?”
The concierge, an older gray-haired man, barely looked up from the desk. “I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Conover is away on business. He isn’t expected back for several weeks.”
Joy faded, replaced by the pain of disappointment. “I see. Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome, sir. Have a good evening.”
His steps dragging, Ash returned to his car. Now that he knew where Luke was, he wanted to swing from the trees and yell from the rooftops. A sobering thought hit him as he started the car.What if Luke doesn’t want to see me?
* * * *
Two weeks passed and Ash returned once again to Luke’s building, only to be met with the same response. Mr. Conover was still out of town, and they had no firm date for his return. His phone vibrated in his suit pocket, and when he saw the text was from Drew, he grew alarmed.
“What’s the matter?” Aside from hurried hellos and good-byes in the clinic, he and Drew had barely spoken to one another in the past month. Ash had caught a glimpse of Drew’s girlfriend when she stopped by the clinic one evening to meet him for a date. She was small, with long dark hair and big brown eyes that gazed at Drew as if the sun rose and set on his every word. Everyone in the clinic except him had met her, but he had no desire to sit and watch her put her hands and lips all over the man he couldn’t stop dreaming about.
He remembered all too well what Drew felt and tasted like.
“It’s Stevie. I’ve called Keith and Jordan. Can you come over to my apartment?” Drew’s tense voice sent a chord of anxiety thrumming through him.
“I’m in the city. It’ll take me a while to get back to Brooklyn.”
“Get here as fast as you can.”
Drew’s terse voice had him speeding through yellow lights. He took the Battery Tunnel back into Brooklyn since it was less crowded, and within twenty minutes, he pulled up in front of Drew’s apartment building. He recognized Jordan’s car as he ran across the street and up the front steps. Someone buzzed him in right away, and he pounded up the stairs. Jordan held the door open for him.
“It’s bad, man.” Jordan’s tone was grim. “Luckily nothing was broken, but he’s scared to death.” He pointed to the living room. “Drew has him lying down on the couch.”
Ash barely heard him as he hurried past. His gaze fell on Stevie’s huddled body on the couch, his face hidden from sight. Drew’s cat was curled up next to him, his large furry body pressed against the boy as if to give him strength.
“Hey, kiddo. What’s going on?” He knelt beside him and touched Stevie’s hand. The boy shuddered, then spoke, his voice muffled as his lips were buried in the crook of his arm.
“Ash? Is that you?”
