There had always been phantoms in my life, fragile half-forgotten things blurred by liquor or time, frayed things that were shadowy but still alive. Tad, the young man I’d been with just a week ago, my infatuation, was quickly becoming a phantom. Taylor’s accusations set in motion an urgency in my desire to find Tad, to unravel this whole sordid thing. And a big part of me wanted the Wolfe project to succeed, wanted my creation to breathe. I needed to face Tad, and I needed to be able to face Darrin, to tell him I did my part to finish our building.
I flung myself into the leather scene, and I saw bits of Tad everywhere. The glimpse of a tattooed shoulder, a rough hand gripping the neck of a man who leaned on the bar, a cut on a bartender’s upper lip. Soft, dark voices promising things in
