Chapter Fourteen — Someone Is Watching
RONAN
Elliot held him tighter the entire ride home.
Ronan noticed because Elliot never held him like that on the motorcycle.
Usually his grip was loose enough to be irritating, one arm around Ronan's waist and sometimes both if Ronan accelerated hard enough, his body close because physics required it rather than because Elliot wanted it.
He liked pretending he wasn't afraid of anything.
Speed included. Today both arms locked around Ronan before they'd even left Bellweather.
They stayed there at the first light, through downtown, across the bridge, and all the way up the long residential road leading toward their parents' property.
Ronan didn't ask. Not yet. He'd seen Elliot look at his phone.
He'd seen his face change. Then Elliot had said he was fine.
That word had become meaningless. By the time Ronan pulled beneath the carriage-house awning, irritation had replaced concern. He killed the engine, and Elliot released him immediately. Too immediately. Ronan removed his helmet. “What was on your phone?” Elliot paused while unclipping his. “What?”
“At Bellweather.”
“Nothing.”
Ronan laughed. There it fucking was. Elliot climbed off the motorcycle. “What's funny?”
“You.”
“Glad I'm entertaining.”
“You're a terrible liar.”
Elliot looked at him. That earned a reaction. Tiny. Enough. Ronan set his helmet on the seat. “What was it?”
“A message.”
“From?”
“I don't know.”
Ronan waited. Elliot started toward the house.
“Seriously?”
“I said I don't know.”
Ronan followed him. “You know that's not what I'm asking.” Elliot unlocked the door. “Then ask better questions.”
“Fine. What did the message say?”
Elliot stepped inside. “Spam.” Ronan stopped in the doorway. For approximately two seconds, he genuinely considered letting it go. Then Elliot pulled his phone from his pocket and turned the screen away while closing something. Ronan saw the movement. Not the screen. Enough.
“Give me your phone.”
Elliot looked up. “No.” Not offended. Not confused. Immediate. Ronan stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “What happened to offering it to me last night?”
“That was last night.”
“Convenient.”
Elliot's jaw tightened. “I'm not doing this again.”
“Neither am I.”
“Great.”
“Show me the message.”
“No.”
Ronan stared at him. Elliot stared back.
Something had changed since Bellweather.
This wasn't the defensive irritation from yesterday.
It wasn't embarrassment over police knowing about them.
It wasn't anger because Ronan had questioned him.
This was different. Elliot was afraid. Ronan knew fear on him because Elliot wore it badly.
He became colder. Still. His voice softened instead of rising.
Every movement became deliberate, as though controlling enough small things could prevent whatever frightened him from getting closer. Ronan's anger disappeared.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Elliot.”
“Drop it.”
“No.”
Elliot walked toward the kitchen. Ronan caught his wrist. Elliot jerked free hard enough to knock a stack of mail from the island. Envelopes scattered across the floor. Neither moved. Ronan looked at him. Elliot's breathing had changed. Barely. But there.
“Who messaged you?”
“I don't know.”
This time Ronan believed that part.
“What did they say?”
Elliot looked away. Ronan stepped closer. “Did someone threaten you?”
“No.”
“Threaten me?”
“No.”
“Dylan?”
Nothing. Ronan's stomach tightened.
“Dylan.”
Elliot exhaled. “It's not a threat.”
“Then what?”
Silence. Ronan held out his hand. “Phone.” Elliot laughed quietly. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because you'll overreact.”
“That's not your decision.”
“Yes, it is when it's my phone.”
Ronan's jaw tightened. “Fine. Read it to me.”
“No.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
He turned away before his temper got the better of him. Three steps. Stop. Breathe. Turn. Elliot remained exactly where he'd been. Ronan lowered his voice. “You spent all morning telling me the police are trying to make me look like a murderer.”
“I said they're building around you.”
“Same difference.”
“No.”
“Then somebody sends you something that scares the shit out of you, and suddenly I don't get to know?”
“It didn't scare me.”
Ronan stared. “You nearly crushed my ribs the whole ride home.” Elliot's face changed. There. Caught. Ronan continued. “You think I don't notice you?” That landed differently. Elliot looked away. Ronan stepped closer. “I notice everything you do.”
“I know.”
“Then stop pretending.”
For several seconds, Elliot said nothing.
Finally, he unlocked his phone. Ronan waited.
Elliot didn't hand it over. He held the screen between them.
One photograph. Dylan leaving his apartment.
Timestamped twenty minutes before Elliot received it.
Then the message beneath it. You aren't the only one watching.
Ronan read it twice. His entire body went cold.
“What the fuck?”
Elliot locked the phone. Ronan immediately held out his hand. “Unlock it.”
“You saw it.”
“Unlock it.”
“Why?”
“I want the number.”
“There isn't one.”
“I want the message.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Call Bell.”
“No.”
The answer came so quickly Ronan almost laughed. Not because anything was funny. Because of fucking course.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Someone is watching Dylan.”
“Apparently.”
“And they sent the picture to you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Ronan stared at him. Elliot's eyes didn't move. The message replayed in his head. You aren't the only one watching. Ronan frowned.
“Wait.”
Elliot's face emptied. There. Another one. Another fucking thing.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
“Bullshit. Why would they say you aren't the only one watching?”
“Maybe they know I've been looking into everything.”
“That isn't watching.”
“Maybe they think it is.”
“Have you been watching Dylan?”
“No.”
“Following him?”
“No.”
“Checking his apartment?”
“No.”
“Then why phrase it like that?”
“I don't fucking know, Ronan.”
The frustration sounded genuine. That should have helped. It didn't. Ronan held out his hand again. “Phone.” Elliot shook his head.
“I want to send myself the screenshot.”
“Why?”
“So it doesn't disappear.”
“I wasn't deleting it.”
“Good. Then there shouldn't be a problem.”
Elliot stared at him for several seconds before handing it over. Ronan sent the screenshot to himself. Then forwarded it to Gregory Bell. Elliot's eyes widened. “What the fuck?”
“Lawyer first.”
“You didn't ask me.”
“No.”
“Ronan.”
“Someone is photographing Dylan and sending the pictures to you. I'm past asking permission.”
Elliot snatched the phone back. “You don't get to make decisions for me.”
“Then start making better ones.”
Silence. Wrong. Again. Ronan closed his eyes.
“Fuck.”
Elliot laughed once. “There it is.”
“I didn't mean it like that.”
“You always mean it.”
“No, I don't.”
“You just regret saying it out loud.”
Ronan looked at him. That one landed because it was probably true. His phone rang. Gregory Bell. Fast. Ronan answered.
“Hey.”
“Where did this come from?”
Bell's voice had changed. No polished-lawyer calm. Sharp.
“Elliot's phone.”
“When?”
“Maybe forty minutes ago.”
“Do not delete the original.”
Elliot rolled his eyes. Ronan ignored him. “We won't.”
“Has anyone responded?”
“No.”
“Good. Don't.”
Bell paused.
“I'm contacting Detective Vance.”
Elliot mouthed, No. Ronan turned away. “Okay.”
“Are you both home?”
“Yes.”
“Stay there.”
Ronan looked back at Elliot. He hated how satisfying that instruction felt.
“Fine.”
“And Ronan?”
“Yeah?”
“Lock the doors.”
The call ended. Ronan stared at his phone. Then at Elliot. Elliot's expression had gone completely still.
“What did he say?”
“Lock the doors.”
Neither moved. For a moment, the words seemed ridiculous.
They were home in the middle of the afternoon.
Their parents were less than a hundred yards away.
The property was private. Security cameras covered the main gate.
Locks felt theatrical. Then Ronan walked to the door and turned the deadbolt.
The click sounded louder than it should have.
“Close the blinds,” Elliot said.
Ronan looked at him. Elliot's voice was quiet.
“Please.”
That one word killed the rest of the argument.
Ronan moved. Living room first. Kitchen.
The narrow window beside the stairs. Then the French doors facing the garden.
One by one, afternoon disappeared. By the time he finished, the carriage house felt smaller.
Safer. Maybe. Elliot stood in the middle of the kitchen holding his phone.
“You think they're watching us?”
“I don't know.”
“That's not comforting.”
“I'm not trying to comfort you.”
Elliot looked at him. Ronan crossed the room. “I'm trying not to lie.” That mattered. He saw it. Elliot nodded.
“Okay.”
Ronan touched the side of his neck. “Bell first. Vance next.”
“I don't want Vance seeing it.”
“Why?”
“Because she'll ask what it means.”
“So?”
“So I don't know.”
“That has never stopped you from theorizing before.”
Elliot almost smiled. Almost. Then three hard knocks struck the front door. Both of them froze. Ronan looked toward it. Nobody should have arrived that quickly.
“Stay here.”
Elliot's head snapped toward him. “Absolutely not.”
“For once in your fucking life, do what I say.”
Ronan moved toward the door. He checked through the narrow gap beside the blind. Detective Vance. Alone. He exhaled.
“It's Vance.”
Elliot looked almost disappointed. That bothered Ronan. He opened the door. Vance's gaze moved past him immediately.
“Where's Elliot?”
“Hello to you too.”
“Ronan.”
“He's here.”
Elliot appeared beside him. Vance looked at both of them. Then at the closed blinds.
“Good.”
That word made Ronan's stomach tighten.
“What?”
“Mr. Bell sent me the screenshot.”
“Already?”
“He called.”
Vance entered after Ronan stepped aside. She didn't remove her coat.
“Original message?”
Elliot held up his phone.
“I want to see it.”
“You can look. You're not taking the phone.”
Vance's eyes flicked toward Ronan.
“Bell already coached him?”