17. Ronan
Chapter 17
Ronan
R onan listened to the hospital room door open and close with his heart in his throat. He hated himself for hurting her. Hated himself more when he’d seen the tears in her eyes.
What he’d just done was extreme, a tactic he wished he could have explained to her beforehand—he hadn’t expected her to show up in his hospital room. But he thought she’d understand… in the end.
The killer knew more than he should. He’d realized that when he woke up on the foyer floor.
Ronan owned a number of homes, all through holding companies—none of them were in his name. This precaution was imperative because he used those homes as safe houses for women running from abusive relationships. Shonda lived in one with Ellen, both former dancers at The Velvet Cage. A dancer from another club lived in a different house while she got her finances in order.
Domestic abusers were a particular brand of vicious, so he’d let Charles install “bug detectors” in each garage. No one could track his car without him knowing. There were also cameras on the roads, sending up alerts if anyone followed him or sat too long outside any of his homes.
Yet, despite dozens of safeguards, the killer knew where he lived—not just that he owned the place, but that this specific house was where Ronan would be. They’d already confirmed there were no explosives at the other locations.
And the only time he’d said his street aloud had been in his own car—with Jenny.
He was certain she hadn’t told anyone. Despite how he’d treated her, he knew she wouldn’t sell him out to her ex. There were no bugs or trackers on his vehicle—security would’ve flagged them. No one had followed him home, and Charles had secretly outfitted Paddy’s car with cameras. If someone had tailed Paddy to his place, they’d know. And Jenny didn’t even have a phone to track.
So how the hell did he know? Was it Jason’s cell? Bugs hidden in Jenny’s clothing—a button, maybe? Sneaking into the club locker room wouldn’t be hard. And if the killer had that level of access…
Ronan kept his gaze on his hands, trying to avoid scanning the corners, the television, the metal nightstand. Was this hospital room bugged? The idea was a stretch, but no precaution seemed far-fetched right now. This guy had resources to spare, following her for so long. Money. And if he’d killed Mercer, he was in the area.
Ronan didn’t believe her ex outsourced homicide. Yes, there were the inherent risks that a hired gun might get caught and talk, but Ronan had seen that scar on Jenny’s chest. This asshole might pay for stalkers, but he liked to do the wet work himself.
Ronan swung his feet to the floor, his lungs aching, guilt threatening to eat through the lining of his stomach. If this psycho believed Ronan and Jenny were together, they were both in more danger. If the killer thought Ronan suspected her , she was all the safer. He’d even called her by her fake name to demonstrate that she hadn’t told him who she really was. That she was still playing this maniac’s game.
Ronan grabbed his singed jeans from the corner, ignoring the faint hint of sulfur when he shook them out. He needed to make the killer overconfident, lull him into thinking his plans were still in motion. He couldn’t send private security to follow Jenny, or the killer would know Ronan’s accusations were a ruse.
But if she was a suspect, police surveillance would make sense… if Paddy played along. He could only hope he’d stopped her from saying too much. The guy surely had an endgame in case he was outed. Perhaps one that involved her mother.
Jenny’s tear-filled eyes flashed in his head. Forgive me, Beauty , he thought. Forgive me.
“Did you fuck with your security cameras, brother?”
Ronan turned, chest still bare, but at least he was wearing pants as Paddy slipped through the door and pulled it closed behind him. Shit . Why was everyone coming to his hospital room?
“Can we do this after I take a shower?” Ronan stretched his back, shoulder twinging. He winced. Jenny was right—he needed to suck it up.
“Nah, I think we need to do this now,” Paddy said, lips tight, thick arms crossed over his chest. “Your fancy security company didn’t catch anything. The bomb squad’s been out there all morning. They said someone had to be there personally to rig the device, but all we’ve got on your feed is a blank door. If you tampered with it to hide that you took that girl home… I kinda need to know.”
That girl. He was asking about Jenny. “I didn’t take her to my house, Paddy. I took her to a motel well outside the city to question her. No one could possibly have seen us.”
Paddy’s eyes widened.
He didn’t want to lie to his partner, but he needed information. If the killer was as smart as Jenny seemed to believe, he’d likely try to ruin Ronan’s reputation since his assassination plot had failed. Provided the guy didn’t just haul off and try to kill him again, which story would come back to bite him? Would it be that he’d covered for her with Ortega, which would indicate that Jenny herself was bugged? Or that he’d taken a witness to a seedy motel, which suggested a device on Paddy? If it was both, the hospital room was suspect, and he’d look more deeply into hospital personnel for leads. Once they were out of here, he could explain… but right now, he had to appear natural.
“So… my cameras?”
Paddy blinked, but his eyes had hardened. “If it wasn’t you, I guess someone hacked them.”
Ronan frowned. “No, that’s impossible. Charles is very careful to ensure that our data can’t be hacked from the outside.”
Nothing was fully hack-proof. But Ronan couldn’t say that out loud.
“Well, Charles is right to push for safeguards—they kept you alive. The only reason you got out with a couple scrapes is because of the steel-reinforced doors and trimmings that were part of his security plan.”
Ronan nodded, albeit reluctantly. “And if his other safeguards are as good as he says… Maybe someone inside the security company was in on it. Let’s start there.”
“It’s bigger than that,” Paddy said. “Because guess who else doesn’t have a single grainy video of our killer?”
Ronan cocked his head. “You… got the feeds back from the traffic cameras behind the club?”
“Bingo. Whoever messed with your cameras also gained access to the traffic cams. It’s not just the security company we need to worry about. I think our guy?—”
Fuck. “Stop, Paddy. You’re giving me a headache.”
If Ronan was right and this guy was some tech genius hacking into their shit, he couldn’t know that they suspected. They needed to make sure their perp didn’t notice the noose tightening until his feet were swinging.
Paddy’s brow furrowed— what do you know, Ronan?
Ronan shook his head, then cut his eyes at the ceiling. Paddy’s gaze flicked from him to the corners of the room, then back.
“I think we need to look harder at Jennifer Crandall,” Ronan said, hoping his partner would understand what he was doing. Not all the way, but enough to get them out of there.
Paddy’s arms dropped to his sides. “I agree,” he said slowly. “It’s not a coincidence that you were attacked right after Mercer. And the only connection between you two is that girl. We’ll pick her up for questioning, run her prints.”
Ronan’s mouth went dry. Paddy was playing his role perfectly, but his heart had stopped at the mention of fingerprints.
The killer didn’t seem to mind that Jenny was a suspect—the way he’d set up Mercer’s death made it appear that he wanted her to be a suspect. Why else would he kill the man in that club?
But that also meant that he didn’t mind if they knew who she was. Which meant he didn’t care if they knew who he was. And no one thought they were that far above the law.
Why hadn’t he seen this before?
Jenny hadn’t hidden the killer’s identity to protect him —her real identity was more threatening to her than to their killer. What did he have on her? It had to be significant for her to deem it safer to play this monster’s game rather than come forward. If they ran her prints… would they have to lock her up for something else?
Luckily, Paddy didn’t wait for him to reply.
“Just because this girl likes you well enough to go to some motel doesn’t mean you’re not wrong. And I’m not going down with you. Do you understand me? Get your shit together.” The words might have been for the sake of anyone listening, but they sure felt real as Paddy turned and headed for the exit. He paused at the door. “Get better too. I don’t want to go to another funeral this year.”
Me either , Ronan thought, watching his partner march into the hall. Especially if he was the one in the coffin.