Chapter Sixteen — Something Doesn’t Add Up
Chapter Sixteen — Something Doesn’t Add Up
RONAN
Ronan knew Elliot was about to lie before he opened his mouth.
It was in the pause. The tiny stillness that settled over him whenever he had to choose between truth and whatever version of truth he thought would keep everything under control.
Ronan had started noticing that pause everywhere.
He hated that he could recognize it now.
The black box sat on the welcome mat between them.
Small. Ordinary. Completely fucking wrong.
Rain-dark afternoon light pushed across the porch from behind Ronan, catching the faint white initials scratched into the lid.
E.M.
Elliot Mercer. Ronan stared at the letters. Then at Elliot.
“You recognize it.”
“Yes.”
His voice was quiet. Too quiet.
“How?”
Elliot looked toward the box. Ronan felt anger rise before the explanation even came.
“Elliot.”
“I bought one like it.”
Ronan went still.
“One like it.”
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I bought a box like that.”
“For what?”
Silence. There. Again. Ronan laughed once. Not because anything was funny.
“Of course.”
Elliot looked at him.
“Don’t.”
“No. Please. Keep going.”
“I don’t know if it’s the same box.”
“You just said you recognized it.”
“I recognize the style.”
“The style.”
“Yes.”
Ronan looked back at the porch. Black cardboard. Matte finish. No branding. Nothing unusual enough that Elliot should have recognized it from six feet away. Except the initials.
“What did yours hold?”
Elliot’s eyes lifted. Ronan saw the answer arrive. Then disappear.
“Nothing important.”
His chest tightened.
“Fuck that.”
“Ronan.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
He stepped backward from the door. Elliot followed him inside.
“Lower your voice.”
“Why?”
“Because our parents are right there.”
“Good.”
Elliot stared. Ronan shut the door without touching the box and locked it again.
“You are going to tell me exactly what that box is.”
“I told you.”
“No, you gave me six words designed to stop the conversation.”
Elliot folded his arms.
“I bought three of them.”
Ronan stopped.
“What?”
“Months ago.”
“Why three?”
“They came in a set.”
“Bullshit.”
“Why would I lie about packaging?”
“Because you lie about everything else lately.”
The sentence landed hard. Elliot’s face changed. Ronan immediately regretted it. Not enough to take it back.
“What did you use them for?”
“One has old receipts.”
Ronan stared.
“One?”
“Yes.”
“What about the others?”
“One is under my bed.”
“And the third?”
Elliot looked toward the door.
“I thought I threw it away.”
Cold moved through Ronan.
“You thought.”
“Yes.”
“What was inside?”
“Nothing.”
Ronan laughed. Elliot’s expression hardened.
“I mean it.”
“You bought three boxes, one ended up under your bed, one has receipts, and somehow the third vanished. Now it’s on our porch with your initials.”
“I understand why that looks bad.”
“That’s your favorite fucking sentence.”
Elliot looked away. Ronan stepped closer.
“What was the third box for?”
“I told you.”
“No. You said nothing.”
“Because it was empty.”
“Then why were your initials on it?”
Silence. Ronan’s stomach dropped. Elliot looked down at the floor. There. That was the first honest reaction. Not fear of the box. Recognition. History.
“You put them there.”
Elliot didn’t answer. Ronan’s pulse sharpened.
“You scratched your initials into the box.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“So I knew which one was mine.”
“Whose were the others?”
“My mother’s.”
Ronan stared. That answer didn’t make sense.
“Your mother bought black storage boxes with you?”
“No.”
“Then explain it better.”
Elliot exhaled through his nose.
“They were originally for Christmas gifts. Mom asked me to order them. I kept three because she didn’t need all of them.”
Ronan watched him. Possible. Normal. Almost.
“Receipts.”
“Yes.”
“Under your bed.”
“Yes.”
“And the empty one disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Months ago.”
“Yes.”
Ronan looked toward the door. The explanation was completely ordinary. That should have helped. It didn’t. Because something else had already gone wrong.
“If it was empty, why would somebody bring it back?”
Elliot said nothing. Exactly. Ronan rubbed one hand over his face.
“They’ve been inside.”
Elliot looked up.
“What?”
“Our house.”
“No.”
“Then where did they get it?”
“I don’t know.”
“It was in your room?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“Storage room.”
Ronan stopped. The room beneath the stairs. His eyes moved instinctively toward the narrow door beside the kitchen. Elliot saw it.
“No.”
“You said storage.”
“Yes.”
Ronan crossed the room. Elliot moved faster. He stepped in front of the door. Ronan stared at him. Elliot stared back.
“Move.”
“No.”
Everything inside Ronan went cold.
“Why?”
“Because Detective Vance is coming.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“If someone has been inside, we shouldn’t touch anything.”
Reasonable. Very reasonable. Ronan still didn’t believe that was the whole reason.
“What’s in there?”
“Christmas shit. Coats. Your model supplies. Boxes.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
Ronan laughed.
“Fuck that word.”
Elliot’s jaw tightened. Ronan stepped closer.
“You don’t want me opening that door.”
“I don’t want you contaminating something if somebody broke in.”
“You suddenly care about evidence preservation?”
“Yes.”
“Convenient.”
Elliot’s expression changed. Anger this time. Good. Real.
“At what point do you stop treating every answer like another confession?”
Ronan froze. Elliot continued before he could respond.
“You ask me something, I answer, and then you decide the answer itself is suspicious.”
“Because half the answers keep changing.”
“They don’t.”
“Claire.”
“That was complicated.”
“Lucas.”
“I told you.”
“The box.”
“I just told you.”
“The running.”
Elliot’s eyes sharpened. Ronan knew he’d hit something.
“The phone.”
“Stop.”
“The fucking mask—”
“I said stop.”
The force in Elliot’s voice silenced him. Ronan stared. Elliot’s chest rose and fell. Then the anger disappeared behind control. Too quickly.
“I am scared,” Elliot said.
Ronan went still. The admission was quiet. Real enough that it cut through everything else.
“I don’t know who is doing this. I don’t know what they know. I don’t know how they got something from inside our house. And every time I try to think, you look at me like I’m the fucking answer.”
Ronan’s anger weakened. Not gone. Shifted. He looked toward the black box beyond the door. Then back.
“I’m trying to understand.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want it to be you.”
Elliot’s face changed. The sentence had come out wrong. Ronan heard it. So did Elliot. Silence.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
“No.”
“You keep doing this.”
Ronan’s chest tightened.
“Doing what?”
“Putting the possibility in the room, then apologizing for noticing it.”
Elliot stepped backward.
“Maybe you should stop apologizing.”
Ronan watched him.
“What does that mean?”
“Maybe you should just ask what you actually want to ask.”
The room became very quiet. Ronan felt his pulse in his throat.
“Fine.”
Elliot’s expression remained unreadable.
“Did you kill Mason?”
“No.”
“Lucas?”
“No.”
“Were you there when either of them died?”
“No.”
The answers came clean. Fast. No pause. Ronan hated that he was measuring them now.
“Do you know who killed them?”
“No.”
“Do you know who’s sending the messages?”
“No.”
“Do you know why they’re targeting us?”
Elliot hesitated. There. A fraction. Ronan saw it.
“What?”
“I have theories.”
“What theories?”
“That someone thinks I know more than I do.”
“About?”
“The victims.”
“Why?”
“Because I kept asking questions.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Ronan stared. Elliot held his gaze. Something didn’t add up.
He didn’t know what. That was becoming the problem.
Every individual piece could be explained.
Together they formed something else. Ronan didn’t know the shape yet.
He only knew it existed. The doorbell rang.
Both flinched. Ronan looked toward the entrance.
Elliot’s hand immediately caught his arm.
“Wait.”
Ronan almost laughed.
“Vance.”
“Check.”
He did. Detective Mara Vance stood outside with two crimescene technicians. Good. Terrible. Necessary. Ronan opened the door. Vance looked at the box before looking at either of them.
“Nobody touched it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
One technician photographed it where it sat. Another opened a hard case. Vance stepped inside. Her attention moved to Elliot.
“You said you recognize the box.”
Ronan turned. Elliot’s expression changed. Very slightly. He hadn’t told Vance that. Ronan hadn’t either.
“How do you know that?”
Vance looked at him.
“Mr. Bell called back.”
Ronan frowned. Bell hadn’t known. Then Vance looked toward Elliot.
“You texted him.”
Elliot’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
Ronan stared.
“When?”
“While you were calling Vance earlier.”
“You told Bell before you told me?”
Elliot looked at him.
“Because he’s my lawyer.”
The answer made sense. Still pissed him off. Vance noticed. Of course.
“What do you recognize?” she asked.
Elliot repeated the story. Set of gift boxes. Three kept. Initials scratched into the lids. One beneath the bed. One used for receipts. One assumed discarded. Vance listened without interruption. Then:
“Where was the box last stored?”
“Storage room.”
Her eyes moved toward the door beneath the stairs. Ronan’s stomach tightened.
“Can we look?”
Elliot said nothing. Ronan turned. Elliot looked at him. Then Vance.
“Do you have a warrant?”
There it was. Vance’s expression cooled.
“For the storage room?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Then no.”
Ronan stared.
“Elliot.”
He looked over.
“Don’t.”
“What are you hiding?”
Vance’s attention sharpened instantly. Elliot laughed. There was no humor in it.
“Thank you.”
Ronan realized. Too late.
“Fuck.”
Elliot looked at Vance.
“My lawyer advised me not to consent to searches beyond the specific evidence already provided.”
Vance nodded.
“That’s your right.”
The calm answer made everything worse. Ronan stepped away. He didn’t want to fight in front of her. Again. The technicians carefully bagged the box without opening it. Vance watched. Then asked, “Any cameras on the property?”
“Main gate,” Ronan said.
“House?”
“Parents’ exterior system.”