As we left the hut and made our way back towards the games and rides, Stephen slipped his phone into his pocket, the new information tapped into it, and slowed down.
‘That address is back in Brooklyn. And now we’ve got another new profession. If he did ever become a taxi driver. This is starting to feel like a wild goose chase.’
Any mood lift he’d experienced while we drunk margaritas and played carnival games had slipped away. ‘You can’t want to stop looking now? We’re getting closer.’
‘Are we?’ He furrowed his brow, dark eyebrows slanting down as he squinted at the flashing bulbs running all the way up the high-striker game. ‘I feel like there should be a quicker, smarter way than traipsing all over the city, hoping people remember him and don’t mind breaking data protection laws to give us his address.’
I chewed my lip. Therewasanother option open to us. Now we knew he’d become a taxi driver, I could probably go to my dad and beg a favour. He’d be able to access the records of all the licensed taxi drivers and get a current address. But that was only if Trevordidbecome a taxi driver, like Stephen said, and was still doing it. Really, we needed something more solid, like a date of birth.
‘What if we give up tonight and he’s sitting in that house or apartment right now?’
‘It was twenty years ago. You’re the one who swears by character profiling. So far, his pattern has been to move on every couple of years. To find his current residency we’re going to have to follow a trail of breadcrumbs across ten more addresses.’
‘Possibly,’ I agreed. ‘But at most that’s ten days of looking. You’ve got two months left in New York. It doesn’t sound insurmountable.’
‘Only if those moves are around New York. For all we know, this rolling stone ended up in Australia,’ he said dryly.
‘It’s a fair point, but at the moment we have an address in Brooklyn, so no point worrying about it…unless you want to ask the lawyers to take over?’
He sighed and looked back at me. His dark eyes were fathomless, filled with fifty per cent steely determination and fifty per cent enigma. ‘No. I’m not giving up.’
‘Good. In the meantime I know exactly what you need.’ I hooked my arm through his and began leading him through the attractions, around the crowds of kids and adults, queuing for cotton candy and turns on the carousel.
‘What do I need?’ he asked, suspicion colouring his voice as we approached the Wonder Wheel.
‘Some light relief.’ I dragged him through the gap in the barriers.
‘Look, I don’t think—’ he started.
‘You need to think less and do more,’ I interrupted, poking him in the lower back to herd him forward. He was stiff as a board; I could feel his muscles all tense and…hot.
‘I’m not in the mood for funfair rides,’ he gritted out through his teeth and tried to turn but I paid the attendant and clamped my hands on his shoulders, propelling him into the next free cage.
It was one of the blue ones, which meant it would swing. Excellent. ‘Which is precisely why you need to go on one. Just one. C’mon. Sit, sit. We’ll have an amazing view.’
He folded himself down onto the seat. It could have been the neon lighting, but his face was looking pale – maybe I’d made a mistake forcing him to eat the corn dog. I sat down too. It was cosy and I could smell the gentle spice of his aftershave. The cage swung as the attendant closed and checked the door. A second later we started the slow rotation and the balmy air moved just enough that I sighed. It was going to be so fantastically cool up at the top. I couldn’t wait.
‘So, tell me about you and Nick. Did you ever dangle your little brother out of a window by the ankles?’
‘Christno.’ Stephen shook his head sharply and looked down at his feet. The column of his throat rippled with a hard swallow.
It was such a vehement response that I was taken aback. I studied him for a moment – the sudden changes in his body language. He didn’t look great if truth be told. I mean, he looked as delectable as always, but he also looked a bit sweaty and drawn. And all his usual poise and control was strangely absent. His shoulders were practically up by his earholes.
‘Are you okay? Is the corn-dog-margarita-mix not agreeing with you?’
He lifted his head and his brown eyes were even darker than normal, his pupils blown up wide. ‘I’m fine,’ he said tightly.
No. He really wasn’t. I thought back to how tense he’d been when I bumped into him at the rooftop bar. He’d not gone near the edge once. Not even looked behind him at the view.
‘Stephen…are you scared of heights?’
Finally, he nodded.
‘Like a proper phobia?’
He paused for a moment and then gave another little nod.
‘Then why the hell’d you let me get you in here? That was pretty dumb.’
