26. Ronan
Chapter 26
Ronan
T he motel was silent save for the hissing of breeze through the pines at the back of the lot. No guards. No people. Not a single cop in sight.
Just him. He’d never felt quite so alone.
Ronan left his car in the back of the lot, the same place he’d parked his first night here. Had it only been three days? So much had changed that it felt like a different world. Hell, twenty-four hours ago, he didn’t even know Juliette’s real name. Last week, he’d been obsessed, maybe a little stalker-ish, but love hadn’t been part of the equation.
Now… he’d spend the rest of his life making Juliette happy. Keeping her safe.
If she’d let him.
But first, they had to catch Daniel here in New York. If Daniel made it home, he’d discover that he had no job to go back to. And nothing pissed a narcissist off more than realizing he was no longer in control. He’d be consumed with rage, dedicating every waking moment to hunting her down—to making her pay. She’d never be truly safe again. Nor would her mother.
Ronan kept his head hung low as he crossed the damp asphalt, past the rusted streetlight, his shoulders hunched—defeated. But his eyes and ears were on high alert, scanning for any rogue noise on the breeze. He heard nothing except the tapping of his own footsteps, hollow thuds that sounded far too much like heartbeats.
Ronan raised his fist and rapped against her motel door. He was greeted by silence.
He leaned his head against the doorjamb. “Please, Jenny. Just open the door. I know you’re in there.”
A bird shrieked from somewhere in the trees. But the door remained closed.
“I’m not mad at you, baby.” Baby? Just hearing the word from his lips skeeved him out, but he went on, “I know why you snuck out—why you took my wallet.” In fact, she’d just taken his cash, left the wallet itself on the floor beneath the bed, but were those details really important? “Let’s grab some coffee and talk this through. You can’t just run away again.”
But she could—she definitely wanted to. He’d seen the terror in her eyes.
Juliette didn’t trust him to catch this man. She still thought she had to do everything herself.
He was going to prove her wrong.
He knocked again. “Jenny!”
Nothing. His chest was wrapped in a vise, as it had been since he realized she’d left his house. Was this going to get her hurt, maybe killed? Or would it ultimately save her? And why did every situation have to be so damn extreme?
A twitch from inside caught his attention—the curtain? Yes, the edge was still moving, ever so slightly. He craned his neck, peering through the window, but whatever crack she’d opened between the curtains had closed.
“Jenny!” He banged on the door with an open fist. “Jenny, I see you in there! Just let me help you!”
A latch clicked. Ronan stepped back, but her door didn’t move. From the room beside hers, a man poked his face out, red hair three shades darker than Paddy’s, a ball cap low over his eyes—Van Halen T-shirt. “Hey, man, shut the fuck up, would you? I’m trying to fucking sleep.”
Ronan swallowed hard. “I’m just…” He gestured to the door as if that explained anything. “Sorry. I’ll be out of here in a few.”
“Yeah, you better be.” Far more aggressive than Ronan had expected, but he didn’t have time to respond. The man rolled his eyes and vanished back into the room.
“Fine,” he said to the door. “I’m going home to check on my broken window. Which you owe me for, by the way.”
Those words were not for her—his windows were all fine. But if Daniel was listening, it felt better to make it seem that she’d smashed her way out, Hulk-style.
He shifted to leave, paused, then turned back. “Look… I’m sorry. I really am. I just want to talk to you. Please don’t go back to him. I need you to… choose me.”
He stood there on the walk, eyes on the pea-green door. “I’m not going to give up on us.”
The door remained shut tight. Ronan listened to the squalling birds, a low drone that might have been the television in the neighboring room.
Go, Ronan —he’d been here long enough.
The clomp of Ronan’s shoes echoed through the night, louder than they’d seemed just minutes ago. The path across the lot to his car felt lonelier, too. He grabbed the door handle. It popped open.
Had he left it unlocked?
He had.
Ronan slipped behind the wheel, keys dangling from his hand.
“Don’t fucking move,” a nasally voice barked. “I’ve got a gun on your head.”
The elusive Daniel Graves, I presume.
Ronan dropped the keys into the footwell and clenched his hands around the wheel. “My money is in the glove box,” he said nervously. “You can take the car, too.”
“This isn’t a robbery. Are you some kind of fucking idiot?”
“I… I’m not sure,” he stammered.
“What the hell does she see in you?”
“Jenny?” He half turned, and when Daniel smacked his ear with the gun, he jerked back around to face front. “Who are… Oh, wait. Did you kill Jason Mercer for going out with her? Is that what this is about?”
Daniel chuckled, then coughed, cleared his throat. “Now you’re getting it. A date wasn’t in the job description. And before you get smug, like that was some kind of confession, I pulled the bug out of your visor.”
“Fuck,” Ronan whispered.
“Yeah, that’s right. Fuck.” He laughed, voice hoarse. He still smelled a little like pepper spray—his nearness was making Ronan’s throat itch. “Now drive.”
Nope , Ronan thought, but he said, “So this is like… a jealousy thing? I mean, I saw her chest. You tried to kill her, and now you changed your mind, decided you want her back? If she’s that important to you…” Ronan’s hand slid down the wheel, and Daniel punched the headrest.
“Hands up, asshole. And that bitch had it coming. Now get your keys and put this fucking car into gear.”
Was that enough of a confession?
Ronan kept his hands on the wheel. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble,” he said. “But from what I hear, you’ve been out of the picture for a while. She loves me.”
“She doesn’t love you. She’s my wife .”
“I mean, she ran away, though.” He sounded like a moron, but Daniel Graves had an ego the size of Texas. Ronan was hoping to use that to his advantage.
“She loves this game as much as I do,” Daniel snarled. “Hell, you still think her real name is Jenny.”
You’re wrong about that, fuck-o , Ronan thought, then said, “Ah, I see. So it’s all an elaborate game of hard-to-get?”
“Seems like you do know her, brother.”
Poke him a little harder, Ronan.
He was running out of time. Daniel wouldn’t wait like a sitting duck in the back of the parking lot forever.
“I’m not your brother,” Ronan said. “And you’re not playing a game. You’re stalking her. Holding her mother hostage.”
Daniel paused, maybe trying to decide how much Ronan knew. “Her mother is safe and sound at home,” he said slowly.
“But not for long, right?”
“No.” Daniel shifted. “Not for long.” Then Ronan felt cold, hard steel against his temple.
Out of time, out of time. He was going to fail. Shit .
“Yeah, nothing makes a woman love you like killing her family,” he snapped. “But I don’t think love was ever the point. It’s all about fear and overcompensation with you. You’re not packing jack shit below the belt, so you’ve got to make up for it by being the biggest dick in the room.”
The gun pressed harder against his head, and Ronan clenched his teeth.
“I was going to drive you out to that reservoir and kill you, but I changed my mind. Because I saw those curtains move earlier, same as you did. I bet she’s looking right now. And I’m going to make sure that she stays inside while you die—that she watches while they drag your body from this car. I’m going to kill you the same way I killed Sanchez, and she’ll know that I fucking won—that I always win.”
Daniel lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’ll never stop coming for her. She’ll always be mine.”
The safety clicked off. The roar of a bullet exploded through the car’s interior.
Then Ronan heard no more.