Chapter Seventeen — Where Were You?
RONAN
Ronan did not remember crossing the living room. One second Detective Vance stood near the door telling them Dylan’s phone had been recovered at Saint Augustine’s Park. The next, Ronan had his jacket in one hand and his keys in the other.
“Ronan.”
He ignored Elliot. Vance stepped toward him. “You are not going there.”
“Watch me.”
“You’ll interfere with an active scene.”
“I’m not going near the scene.”
“You don’t know where the scene is.”
“I know where the fucking park is.”
“Ronan.”
This time Elliot caught his arm. Ronan spun.
“Let go.”
“No.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Ronan stared at him. Elliot’s face was pale beneath the warm kitchen light, all the earlier sharpness gone. No smug little smile. No irritation. Just that terrible controlled stillness he wore whenever something frightened him badly enough to make emotion dangerous.
“Dylan is missing.”
“I know.”
“His phone is where Mason died.”
“I know.”
“Then why the fuck are you stopping me?”
“Because what are you going to do?”
“Find out what happened.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly.”
Ronan yanked his arm free. Elliot immediately stepped between him and the door. Vance watched both of them. Ronan could feel it. He hated that almost as much as he hated Elliot standing there.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Elliot.”
“You go running into Saint Augustine’s while police are already looking at you, what exactly do you think happens?”
Ronan’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
“That doesn’t make it your decision.”
“It does when you’re not fucking thinking.”
Ronan laughed once.
“Interesting coming from you.”
Elliot froze. The words landed harder than intended. Good. No. Not good. Ronan didn’t know anymore.
“Meaning?” Elliot asked.
“You disappear.”
Vance’s attention sharpened. Ronan saw it from the corner of his eye and immediately regretted saying anything in front of her. Elliot did too. His expression changed.
“Not now.”
“No. Actually, now seems perfect.”
“Ronan.”
“You lie about where you are. You leave your phone home. You go walking around Bellweather at fucking midnight looking into murdered students by yourself, and somehow I’m the one not thinking?”
Vance stepped closer.
“Leave your phone home?”
Elliot’s eyes closed. Ronan swore under his breath.
“Forget it.”
Vance looked at him.
“That wasn’t a rhetorical question.”
Ronan turned.
“Not your conversation.”
“It became my conversation when you mentioned potentially relevant behavior in an active homicide investigation.”
Elliot laughed softly.
“Congratulations.”
Ronan looked at him. There was no humor in the sound. Vance continued.
“Elliot, when have you left your phone home?”
He said nothing.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“Sometimes.”
“When?”
“I don’t keep a log.”
Ronan stared at him.
“That’s bullshit.”
Elliot’s eyes snapped toward him. Ronan continued before he could stop.
“Wednesday morning.”
Vance frowned.
“What happened Wednesday morning?”
Ronan looked at her. Then Elliot. His stomach twisted.
He didn’t want to do this. Not like this.
Not with her standing there collecting every ugly little piece.
But Dylan was missing. Two people were already dead.
And Ronan was getting very fucking tired of deciding which truths were safe enough to protect.
“I woke up and Elliot was gone.”
Elliot stared at him. Vance asked, “What time?”
“Six thirty-eight.”
“You’re sure?”
“I checked my phone.”
“And Elliot?”
“Came back a few minutes later.”
“From?”
“Running.”
Vance looked at Elliot.
“You run in the mornings?”
“Sometimes.”
Ronan laughed. Elliot’s jaw tightened. Vance noticed.
“How often?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you have your phone?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I forgot it.”
Ronan looked away. Vance asked, “Where did you run?”
“Residential streets.”
“Which?”
“Maple. Alder. Near the elementary school.”
Ronan knew the answer before Elliot gave it. Exactly the same as last time. Prepared. Maybe because it was true. Maybe because Elliot had memorized the lie. Ronan hated that he now thought like that. Vance wrote something.
“Anything else?”
Ronan said nothing. Elliot looked at him. Warning. Fear. Pleading. All of it. Ronan swallowed.
“No.”
Vance watched him. He could tell she didn’t believe that was the complete answer. Too bad. Not everything belonged to her.
“Fine,” she said.
She pulled out her phone.
“I need to get to Saint Augustine’s.”
Ronan moved toward the door. She blocked him.
“Not you.”
“You’re not stopping me from leaving my own house.”
“No. But if you enter the park perimeter, you will be removed.”
“I understand.”
“You clearly don’t.”
Elliot touched his arm again. This time gently.
“Don’t go.”
Ronan looked at him. The words weren’t controlling. They weren’t jealous. They weren’t even angry. They were scared. That made him pause. Elliot lowered his voice.
“If whoever is doing this wants you involved, going there gives them exactly what they want.”
Ronan stared. The envelope.
RONAN.
The picture. WRONG brOTHER, DETECTIVE. Then Dylan’s phone at Saint Augustine’s. Someone was dragging Ronan directly toward the story. Maybe Elliot was right. Ronan hated that too.
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked.
Elliot’s expression softened.
“Stay.”
One word. Ronan looked toward Vance. She said nothing. Then toward the door. Finally, he dropped the keys onto the island.
“Fine.”
Elliot exhaled. Vance looked almost relieved.
“I’ll contact you if there’s anything you need to know.”
Ronan laughed.
“You mean anything you decide we need to know.”
“Yes.”
At least she was honest. She left. The door closed. Silence filled the carriage house. Ronan stared at it. Then Elliot said:
“You didn’t have to tell her about Wednesday.”
Ronan turned. There it was. Not concern about Dylan. Not fear about the killer. Wednesday.
“I know.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because Dylan is missing.”
“That has nothing to do with me going for a run.”
“You don’t know that.”
Elliot went completely still. Ronan heard himself. Fuck.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Stop.”
Ronan closed his mouth. Elliot looked exhausted. Not angry. Worse.
“Just stop apologizing after every time you say what you actually think.”
Ronan stared.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Trust me.”
“I’m trying.”
“No. You’re trying to prove you should trust me.”
“That’s not the same thing?”
“No.”
Ronan laughed without humor.
“Then explain the difference.”
Elliot folded his arms.
“Trust is believing me before you have proof.”
“And blind trust is how people get hurt.”
There. Again. Elliot looked away. Ronan dragged both hands over his face.
“This is impossible.”
“Apparently.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you want.”
“Nothing.”
Ronan almost laughed. That word. Again. Elliot walked toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
He stopped. Slowly turned. The expression on his face made Ronan regret the question before Elliot spoke.
“My room.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know exactly what you meant.”
“Elliot.”
“Second floor. First door on the left.”
“Fuck off.”
“Gladly.”
He went upstairs. The bedroom door closed. Not slammed. Somehow worse. Ronan stayed downstairs. He didn’t follow. For once. At 6:52, Dylan’s mother called him. Ronan stared at the unfamiliar number until voicemail picked up. Then she called again. He answered.
“Hello?”
“Ronan?”
The voice was already breaking. His stomach dropped.
“Yes.”
“This is Lisa Price.”
He sat down.
“Hi.”
“Have you heard from Dylan?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry. I know the police probably already asked.”
“It’s okay.”
A shaky inhale.
“He talks about you.”
Ronan looked toward the staircase.
“What?”
“Dylan.”
Her voice softened.
“He says you’re one of the only people who doesn’t bullshit him.”
Ronan swallowed. That sounded like Dylan.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, I just…”
She stopped. Ronan waited.
“I don’t know who else to call.”
That sentence hit harder than everything Vance had said. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“They’re looking.”
“I know.” “They found his phone.” “I know.” Another breath.
Ronan heard a man speaking faintly in the background.
Probably Dylan’s father. “Was he scared?” she asked.
Ronan closed his eyes. “Yes.” The truth felt cruel.
But lying would be worse. “Of the police?” “Everything.” “Did he think someone was following him?” Ronan froze.
“What?” “He mentioned it yesterday.” Cold moved through him.
“What did he say?” “That someone kept driving past the apartment.” Ronan sat straighter.
“What car?” “I don’t know.” “Did he?” “No.” “Did he tell police?” “I thought so.” Ronan’s heartbeat increased.
“When did he tell you?” “Last night.” “Anything else?” A pause.
“He said he saw someone outside once.” “What did they look like?” “He couldn’t tell.
” “Mask?” “No.” “Man?” “He thought so.” Ronan stood.
His body suddenly needed movement. “Did he say anything about Elliot?” Silence.
Fuck. Lisa’s voice changed. “Your brother?” “Stepbrother.” Ronan didn’t know why he corrected it. Habit.
“Did he?”
“I don’t know.”
“What does that mean?”
“He asked me a strange question.”
Ronan’s grip tightened around the phone.
“What question?”
Another pause.
“He asked whether you and Elliot had always been that close.”
Ronan stopped pacing. The room went completely still around him.
“What did you say?”
“That I barely know either of you.”
“Then?”
“He said forget it.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
“Did he seem afraid of Elliot?”
“I don’t know.”
There it was. That fucking phrase again. Ronan stared toward the staircase. Elliot was somewhere above him. Silent. Close. Suddenly impossible to understand.
“Ronan?”
He blinked.
“Sorry.”
“If you hear from him—”
“I’ll call immediately.”
“Please.”
“I promise.”