He bounded up the steps, ignoring the jeers and comments from the ne’er-do-wells as he crossed into the dim vestibule. The attendant behind the counter looked asleep, his head resting on the wood. Something crawled on the floor near Kit’s foot. Yelping, he jumped out of the way, which startled the man awake. The attendant dragged bleary eyes over Kit’s frame. “We’re all booked up.”

“I don’t need a room. I am trying to find Mr. Forrest Ripley.” He slid a few bills across the desk.

“Don’t get a lotta names around here. He the fancy gent?”

Kit wasn’t certain, but odds were against another man on the premises possessing anything close to Forrest’s wealth. “Yes.”

“Number 208.”

With a nod, Kit went up the thin stairs, taking care to avoid the steps with fresh stains. Loud moans wafted out from behind door 202, and a bed frame slapped the wall rhythmically inside 206. A heated argument was taking place on the floor above. Kit put his ear to the door of 208 but couldn’t hear any noise from within. He knocked loudly.

Nothing.

Pounding with his fist, he called, “Forrest, open up. It’s Kit.” When another minute went by, Kit tried again. “Open this damn door, Ripley, or I’m going to break it down.”

Metal springs squeaked and a few seconds later the lock disengaged. The door cracked open and Forrest’s gaunt face appeared. “What do you want, Kit?”

His friend looked . . . terrible. Utterly wrecked. Like he’d aged ten years in two months. His skin was wrinkled and dry, with a yellow tint to it—unless that was the gaslight playing tricks on Kit’s eyes. The smell of body odor and whiskey hit Kit’s nose like a punch and sent him reeling back a step.

He breathed through his mouth and pointed to the small room. “May I come in?”

With a shrug, Forrest retreated and left the door open. Kit entered, immediately went to the window and threw up the sash to let in air. The small room was dirty, with empty bottles everywhere, even on the floor. A few slices of moldy bread rested on the wooden table.

Forrest dropped onto the bed and stretched out. “I was napping. So just say whatever you need to say and get out.”

Where was this hostility coming from? There hadn’t been any animosity during their last dinner. Kit dragged the rickety wooden chair in the corner closer to the bed. “I see you are back in town.”

His friend’s eyes were closed. “Yep.”

“Were you going to let us know?”

A horrible rattling sound echoed in Forrest’s chest, and he coughed for a long minute. “There’s no need, not when Preston is having me followed.”