Chapter Ten — Ask Ronan
RONAN
Ronan knew something had changed when Detective Vance stopped asking about Elliot.
It happened so subtly he almost missed it.
She had been speaking to him for less than ten minutes in a small conference room at Bellweather Police headquarters, the same building Elliot had walked out of only a few hours earlier.
The room smelled faintly of burnt coffee and whatever industrial cleaner somebody used on the tile floors.
A narrow window overlooked the employee parking lot.
Gray afternoon light pressed against the glass, flat and colorless beneath a sky that had threatened rain since noon without actually delivering any.
Vance sat across from him. No uniform. No dramatic file spread across the table.
Just a notebook, a pen, and a paper cup she had not touched once.
Ronan disliked her immediately. Not because she was rude.
She wasn't. That would've been easier. She had the calm, patient energy of someone who could sit in silence longer than whoever happened to be across from her.
Ronan knew people like that. Architecture critiques had taught him the value of shutting the fuck up and letting someone else fill the empty space. He wasn't going to fill anything.
“Let's go back,” Vance said.
Ronan leaned against the chair.
“To?”
“Your relationship with Dylan Price.”
There it was again. Not Elliot. Dylan. Ronan folded his arms.
“We're friends.”
“How long?”
“Maybe a year.”
“How'd you meet?”
“Mutual friend.”
“Name?”
“Cameron Wells.”
Vance wrote it down.
“How close are you and Dylan?”
Ronan stared.
“What does close mean?”
“You tell me.”
“I see him sometimes.”
“Parties?”
“Yeah.”
“Bars?”
“Sometimes.”
“Your house?”
Ronan's jaw tightened. Once. The answer sat there. Vance watched him. Ronan hated that she had asked the question that way. Not has Dylan ever been to your house? Your house? Broad enough that Ronan had to decide what she meant.
“He's been over.”
“When?”
“Thursday.”
“Before that?”
Ronan looked toward the window. Months ago. His bedroom. Bad idea. He looked back.
“Once.”
Vance's pen stopped.
“What happened that time?”
“Why?”
“I'm asking.”
“That doesn't explain why.”
Vance didn't react.
“Did Dylan spend the night?”
Ronan felt irritation rise hot and immediate.
“No.”
Lie. Technically. Dylan hadn't stayed until morning. Close enough. Vance looked at him. Ronan stared back.
“Did you and Dylan ever have a sexual relationship?”
There. Direct. Ronan leaned back.
“Why the fuck is that relevant?”
“Because Mr. Price is connected to both victims, and I'm establishing the nature of the relationships around him.”
“That sounds like cop language for none of your business.”
“Maybe.”
Ronan almost smiled. Almost. Vance continued.
“Did you?”
“Once.”
“Recently?”
“Months ago.”
“Before or after you became involved with Elliot Mercer?”
Everything inside Ronan stopped. Not visibly. He hoped. His voice lowered.
“What?”
Vance's expression did not change. That was worse.
“I asked whether your relationship with Dylan predated your relationship with Elliot.”
Ronan stared at her. The room seemed suddenly too quiet.
“You wanna repeat that?”
“I don't think I need to.”
Ronan's pulse had shifted from irritation to something sharper. Not fear. Protectiveness. Immediate. Automatic.
“How the fuck do you know about Elliot?”
Vance placed her pen down.
“We speak to people.”
“Who?”
“I can't discuss other witnesses.”
“Claire?”
Nothing.
“Dylan?”
Nothing.
“Who?”
Vance folded her hands.
“I'm not investigating your relationship.”
Ronan laughed once.
“Could've fooled me.”
“I'm establishing context.”
“Context for what?”
“Motive.”
The word landed between them. Ronan stared. Vance held his gaze.
“For Mason?” Ronan asked.
“For both.”
A muscle moved in his jaw.
“You think I killed them?”
“I didn't say that.”
“You just asked whether I was fucking my stepbrother and called it motive.”
Vance remained calm.
“That isn't what I said.”
“Then spell it out.”
A beat.
“Multiple witnesses describe you as protective of Elliot.”
Ronan's irritation sharpened.
“So?”
“Possessive.”
He laughed without humor.
“That's dramatic.”
“Is it inaccurate?”
Ronan looked away. Fuck. That answer was more complicated than it should have been. Vance noticed. Of course.
“You've had physical altercations before.”
“College fights.”
“Three that resulted in campus security reports.”
“At Merrick.”
“Yes.”
“One was me pulling someone off my roommate.”
“Another?”
“Guy swung first.”
“And the third?”
Ronan stared. The third had been stupid. A bar. A guy who'd grabbed Elliot's wrist hard enough to leave bruises after Elliot told him to stop touching him. Ronan had broken his nose. Vance already knew. He could see it.
“Someone put hands on Elliot.”
“Name?”
“Don't remember.”
“Report says Aaron Whitlock.”
“Then why ask?”
Vance ignored that.
“What happened?”
“He grabbed him.”
“And you hit him.”
“Yes.”
“Repeatedly.”
“He didn't let go.”
“He was hospitalized.”
“Broken nose.”
“Orbital fracture.”
Ronan's jaw tightened.
“He hit the floor.”
Vance studied him. Ronan suddenly understood exactly what she was doing.
Building him. Not arresting. Not accusing.
Constructing. Piece by piece. Anger. Violence.
Possessiveness. Dylan. Elliot. Victims in the same social orbit.
A man who looked dangerous enough that people wouldn't need much convincing. Ronan exhaled slowly.
“You want me to ask for a lawyer?”
Vance's eyes flicked toward him.
“That would be your decision.”
“Because this feels like the point where you want me to.”
“You're here voluntarily.”
“Elliot was too.”
Silence. There. The first time either of them had said his name in several minutes. Ronan leaned forward.
“What did you find in his car?”
Vance's expression closed.
“This conversation is about you.”
“No, it isn't.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because everything starts with Elliot.”
Vance's eyes sharpened. Tiny. Ronan caught it. He regretted the wording immediately.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Mason knew him. Lucas knew him. Dylan knows him. You're asking about me because of him.”
Vance wrote something. Ronan's stomach tightened.
“That isn't what I meant.”
“I didn't say it was.”
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Making every sentence sound like evidence.”
For the first time, the corner of her mouth moved. Not a smile. Close.
“You're very protective of him.”
“There it is again.”
“Am I wrong?”
Ronan stared toward the table. A scratch ran through the laminate near his wrist. He traced it once with his thumb.
“No.”
“How long?”
“Since our parents got together.”
“Four years?”
“About.”
“What makes him need protecting?”
The question irritated him more than it should have.
“He doesn't.”
“Then why do you?”
Ronan looked up. Because Elliot looked harmless and people mistook harmlessness for permission.
Because everybody wanted access to him. Because Elliot could be vicious behind closed doors and somehow that only made Ronan more aware of how little anyone else understood him.
Because loving Elliot had become indistinguishable from guarding him at some point, and Ronan wasn't sure when. Instead:
“Because he's family.”
Vance watched.
“Just family?”
Ronan's jaw tightened.
“Careful.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No.”
“Sounded like one.”
“Then you're hearing what you want.”
Silence. Longer this time. Ronan could feel his own heartbeat. He hated that she had gotten him angry. That was probably the point. He forced his shoulders to relax. Vance picked her pen back up.
“Did Mason Kerr ever have a problem with Elliot?”
Ronan frowned.
“Not that I know.”
“Lucas?”
“No.”
“Dylan?”
Ronan stared. There it was. Different question. Not problem with Elliot. Dylan.
“Dylan likes him.”
Vance's eyebrows lifted slightly. Ronan immediately hated his phrasing.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Fuck.”
Vance wrote something. Ronan leaned forward.
“Dylan and Elliot don't get along.”
“Why?”
“They're different.”
“That vague?”
Ronan sighed.
“Elliot's jealous.”
“Of Dylan?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ronan laughed.
“You already know.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“That sounds manipulative.”
“It is.”
At least she admitted it. Ronan rubbed one hand over his mouth.
“Because Dylan and I slept together.”
“Once.”
“Yes.”
“Elliot knows?”
“Yes.”
“How did he react?”
Ronan looked at her.
“Like Elliot.”
“Meaning?”
“Pissed.”
“Threatening?”
He said nothing. Vance noticed.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing important.”
“That isn't an answer.”
Ronan laughed softly.
“You really are good at this.”
“Ronan.”
The use of his first name made his irritation spike again. He knew exactly why she did it. Personal. Friendly. Closer. He hated that too.
“He said he'd break Dylan's fingers if Dylan touched me again.”
Vance's pen stopped. The room became very still. Ronan immediately wanted the sentence back. Not because Elliot had meant it literally. Probably. Because spoken aloud here, in this room, surrounded by murder, it sounded completely different. Vance looked up.
“When?”
“Before any of this.”
“How long before Mason died?”
Ronan stared. Fuck.
“Maybe a week.”
“Did Dylan know about the threat?”
“No.”
“Did Lucas?”
“No.”
“Mason?”
“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because Elliot said it to me.”
“Where?”
“Our parents' property.”
“Anyone else present?”
“No.”
Vance wrote. Ronan felt the first real thread of anxiety pull through his chest. Not for himself. Elliot.
“Don't.”
Vance looked up.
“What?”
“Don't turn some jealous bullshit into motive.”
“I haven't.”
“You're thinking it.”
Vance said nothing. Ronan laughed once.
“That's a yes.”
“Did Elliot threaten Mason?”
“No.”
“Lucas?”
“No.”
“Anyone else connected to either investigation?”
“No.”
Immediate. Too immediate. Dylan. Finger threat. Already admitted. Vance's eyes didn't move. Ronan corrected.
“Other than Dylan.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Has Elliot ever been violent?”