Chapter Twenty-Three — One Little Lie
ELLIOT
Someone was downstairs. Elliot knew the difference between a house settling and a person moving through it.
Floorboards had rhythm. Pipes clicked. Old wood groaned beneath temperature changes.
People hesitated. That was what he heard now.
A pause beneath the bedroom. Then one careful step.
Another. Whoever had entered the carriage house was trying not to be heard.
The attempt made Elliot smile. Ronan saw. His face changed immediately.
“Don’t.”
Elliot looked at him.
“What?”
“That fucking face.”
Another footstep sounded below. Closer to the staircase. Elliot’s smile disappeared. He reached toward the nightstand. Nothing useful. Phone. Lamp. Glass of water. Ronan caught his wrist.
“You said no knives.”
“I gave you my keys.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Ronan.”
Another sound. A cabinet opening downstairs. Elliot’s entire body tightened. Whoever this was knew the house. Or was searching. The storage room. The mask. Fuck. Elliot stepped toward the door. Ronan blocked him.
“No.”
“Move.”
“No.”
“They’re downstairs.”
“I am aware.”
“My mask is downstairs.”
Ronan’s jaw tightened.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The sentence I never thought I’d hear in my fucking life.”
“Not now.”
Footsteps moved again. Kitchen. Then stopped. Silence. Elliot stared toward the bedroom door. Ronan whispered, “Police are outside.”
“There was a gunshot.”
“That doesn’t mean the officer is down.”
“It doesn’t mean he isn’t.”
Ronan’s expression hardened. Elliot continued.
“If whoever came in gets that mask, everything changes.”
“You confessed to me thirty minutes ago. I think everything already changed.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“Then move.”
“No.”
Elliot looked at him. Ronan looked back.
For one second, Elliot considered physically moving him.
He could. Probably. Not easily. Ronan was bigger, stronger, and considerably more difficult to surprise than most people.
But Elliot knew how. The thought appeared automatically.
Angle. Balance. Knee. Wrist. Throat if necessary.
He hated himself for thinking it about Ronan. Ronan saw something.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Wrong answer.”
Elliot exhaled.
“I was thinking about how to get past you.”
Ronan stared.
“How?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Did it involve hurting me?”
“No.”
Pause.
“Maybe a little.”
Ronan closed his eyes.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Not seriously.”
“That phrase has lost all value.”
A stair creaked. Both froze. This time there was no question. Someone had stepped onto the staircase. Ronan looked toward the bedroom door. Then Elliot. The argument ended. Ronan reached for the heavy metal drafting ruler on his desk. Elliot stared.
“That’s your weapon?”
“It’s steel.”
“It’s a ruler.”
“Do you have something better?”
“Yes.”
Ronan’s eyes narrowed.
“Where?”
Elliot looked toward the closet. Ronan immediately said, “No.”
“You asked.”
“I regret asking.”
The stair creaked again. Higher. Elliot lowered his voice.
“Second shelf. Back right.”
Ronan stared.
“You have a weapon in my room?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Flashlight.”
Ronan blinked.
“A flashlight.”
“Metal. Heavy.”
Ronan almost laughed.
“Suddenly my ruler isn’t stupid.”
“Your ruler remains stupid.”
Another step. Closer. Elliot crossed to the closet. Ronan didn’t stop him this time. He reached behind two folded blankets and pulled out the flashlight. Ronan looked at it. Then him.
“You put that there?”
“Emergency.”
“For what?”
“Apparently tonight.”
The hallway outside went quiet. No more steps. That was worse. Elliot switched off the bedroom lamp. Darkness collapsed around them. Ronan whispered, “What are you doing?”
“Making it harder to see us.”
Moonlight barely reached through the closed blinds. Elliot moved beside the door. Ronan caught his shirt.
“Stay with me.”
The words landed strangely. Not command. Fear. Elliot looked at him.
“I am.”
“Don’t do anything insane.”
“No promises.”
“Elliot.”
“I’ll try.”
Ronan stared. That answer apparently satisfied him more.
They waited. Five seconds. Ten. Twenty. Nothing.
Elliot could hear Ronan breathing. Could hear his own heartbeat.
Could hear movement outside. Shouting. Radio chatter.
Police. Good. Then the bedroom doorknob moved.
Slowly. Ronan’s grip tightened around the ruler.
Elliot lifted the flashlight. The knob stopped.
Neither breathed. Then turned again. The door opened two inches.
Three. A shape filled the gap. Black. Tall.
Face hidden. Elliot moved first. He slammed the door outward.
The figure stumbled. Elliot drove the flashlight into the side of their head.
A grunt. Male. The intruder caught Elliot’s arm.
Strong. Fast. Ronan hit him with the ruler.
The metallic crack was absurdly loud. The man swore. Ronan looked almost offended.
“See?”
Elliot would have laughed if the intruder hadn’t immediately lunged.
The three of them crashed into the hallway wall.
A framed print fell. Glass shattered. Elliot felt a hand close around his throat.
His body reacted. No fear. No hesitation.
Everything narrowed. Wrist. Elbow. Weight.
Breathing. Elliot struck the man’s forearm, turned beneath the grip, and drove him shoulder-first into the wall.
Ronan froze for half a second. Elliot noticed.
No time. The intruder recovered. Fast. Too fast. He swung.
Elliot ducked. The fist hit drywall. Ronan grabbed the back of the man’s jacket and pulled.
The hood slipped. Dark hair. Short. No face yet.
The intruder twisted and drove an elbow into Ronan’s ribs. Ronan grunted. Elliot saw red.
Not metaphorically. Something inside him simply turned. He grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him into the wall. Hard. The intruder’s head struck wood. Once. Elliot did it again.
“Elliot.”
Ronan’s voice. Distant. The man clawed at Elliot’s wrist. Elliot tightened. Again.
“Elliot.”
He wanted the face. Needed the face. He ripped the hood backward. A black fabric mask covered everything below the eyes. Not porcelain. Not copied. Just cloth. The man stared at him. Brown eyes. Familiar? Maybe. Elliot leaned closer.
“Who are you?”
The man laughed. Actually laughed. Elliot tightened his grip.
“Wrong answer.”
“Elliot.”
Ronan caught his shoulder. The intruder spoke through the mask.
“There he is.”
Elliot froze. The voice was distorted. Small device beneath the fabric. The same kind Dylan described. Ronan heard it too. His grip tightened. The intruder’s eyes remained on Elliot.
“I wondered when he’d finally get to see you.”
Elliot’s stomach dropped. Ronan went still.
“Who the fuck are you?” Ronan asked.
The man ignored him. He stared at Elliot.
“Five wasn’t enough?”
Silence. Ronan’s face changed. Police shouted downstairs. The intruder smiled beneath the mask. Elliot could see it in his eyes.
“You really did tell him.”
Elliot punched him. Hard. The man’s head snapped sideways. Ronan grabbed Elliot immediately.
“Stop.”
“He knows.”
“I heard.”
“He fucking knows.”
“I know.”
The intruder laughed again. Blood appeared along the edge of the fabric mask. Then his hand moved. Elliot saw the flash. Knife.
“Ronan!”
Everything happened at once. The blade came up.
Ronan shoved Elliot sideways. The knife sliced across Ronan’s forearm.
He swore. Elliot stopped thinking. He hit the intruder once.
Twice. Third time. The man lost the knife.
It struck the floor. Elliot kicked it away.
Then drove him backward into the wall. Ronan shouted his name.
Elliot heard nothing else. His fist connected with the man’s face through the fabric.
Again. Blood. Again. The man slid. Elliot followed him down.
His hands found the throat. Pressure. Simple.
Efficient. The man struggled. His eyes widened.
Elliot watched. No mask this time. No porcelain between them.
Still. Easy. Ronan grabbed Elliot from behind.
“STOP.”
Elliot resisted.
“Elliot!”
“He hurt you.”
“I’m fine.”
“He cut you.”
“I’m fine.”
“He came into our house.”
“I KNOW.”
Ronan pulled harder. Elliot released. Barely.
The intruder sucked in air. Elliot stared at him.
Wanted to finish it. Every instinct screamed.
Threat. Remove threat. Ronan stood between them.
Actually between them. Elliot looked at him.
Blood ran from the cut on his arm. Not much.
Enough. Elliot’s attention locked onto it. Ronan saw.
“Don’t.”
“He cut you.”
“It’s shallow.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
The intruder moved. Elliot lunged. Ronan caught him. Police boots thundered up the staircase.
“DOWN!”
Weapons. Flashlights. Voices. Everything became chaos. Ronan shoved Elliot backward.
“Hands.”
“What?”
“Show them your hands.”
Elliot understood. He raised them. Police filled the hallway.
One officer stepped over the dropped knife.
Another forced the intruder onto his stomach.
Handcuffs. Commands. The man laughed even while they restrained him.
Elliot stared. Then one officer pulled off the fabric mask.
Elliot stopped breathing. Ronan whispered:
“Who the fuck is that?”
Elliot knew him. Not well. Enough.
“Nathan.”
The man looked over. Blood covered his mouth. He smiled. Ronan turned.
“You know him?”
Elliot’s stomach tightened.
“Nathan Reed.”
“Who is Nathan Reed?”
The answer arrived reluctantly.
“Bellweather.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“Nathan was in my statistics class last year.”
Nathan laughed from the floor.
“Statistics.”
One officer told him to shut up. He didn’t.
“That’s all I was?”
Elliot stared. Ronan looked between them.
“What the fuck does that mean?”