Chapter Twenty-Nine — Be Good for Me
ELLIOT
Elliot did not remember getting into the car. He remembered Ronan’s hands on his face. He remembered the photograph of his mother. He remembered Saint’s message.
I TOOK THE WRONG MOM.
After that, the world became pieces. Vance shouting into her radio.
Storage-unit alarms. Smoke. Ronan keeping one hand locked around Elliot’s wrist as if he expected Elliot to disappear the second he let go.
Maybe he would have. Probably. Now Elliot sat in the back of an unmarked police SUV with Ronan beside him and Detective Vance in the front passenger seat while Bellweather disappeared behind them.
His knee bounced. Ronan put his hand on it. Elliot looked down.
“Stop.”
Ronan’s fingers tightened.
“No.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are vibrating.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
Elliot looked toward the window. Industrial buildings gave way to residential streets.
Then trees. The route toward home. His stomach turned.
Rebecca. He pictured her in the kitchen that morning carrying coffee and breakfast. Touching his face.
Telling him he could come to her. He had lied directly into her eyes less than three hours ago.
Now somebody had taken her because of him.
The thought sharpened into something violent.
Find Saint. Remove Saint. Simple. Ronan squeezed his knee. Elliot looked over.
“No.”
“What?”
“I know that face.”
“You know nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
Elliot’s jaw tightened. Ronan leaned closer.
“You promised.”
“I know.”
“Then stop planning.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Elliot laughed once.
“Would you like me to turn off my thoughts?”
“If possible.”
“Helpful.”
Ronan’s hand moved from his knee to his wrist. Pulse. Anchor. Elliot hated that it worked. Vance looked back from the front seat.
“Rebecca’s phone is still active.”
His attention snapped toward her.
“Location?”
“Moving.”
“Where?”
“East.”
“Show me.”
Vance hesitated. Ronan said, “Show him.” She looked between them in the mirror. Then handed the phone back. A map. Red route. Rebecca’s phone moving away from the property. Not fast. Maybe twenty-five miles per hour. Elliot stared.
“Vehicle.”
“Likely.”
“Plate readers?”
“Working.”
“Traffic cameras?”
“Working.”
“Air support?”
“Requested.”
Vance took the phone. Elliot’s jaw tightened.
“Requested.”
“We’re not Los Angeles.”
“That’s not my problem.”
Vance turned slightly.
“No. Your problem is staying useful.”
Elliot stared. Ronan almost smiled. Elliot glared at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Fuck that word.”
Ronan’s mouth twitched. Good. Normal. Tiny. Then Vance’s phone rang. She answered.
“Vance.”
Pause. Her expression hardened.
“Where?”
Elliot leaned forward. Ronan grabbed the back of his hoodie and pulled him down.
“Sit.”
“Ronan.”
“Seatbelt.”
“Fuck you.”
“Later.”
Wrong. Very wrong. Elliot stared. Ronan realized. Then actually laughed. Vance looked like she wanted another assignment. She ended the call.
“We have the vehicle.”
Elliot stopped breathing.
“Where?”
“County Route Twelve.”
“Description?”
“White cargo van.”
“Rebecca?”
“We don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Windows are covered.”
Elliot’s entire body tightened. Ronan felt it.
“Stay.”
“I’m sitting.”
“You know what I mean.”
Vance continued.
“Patrol is following at distance.”
“Why not stop it?”
“Because if Rebecca is inside, a high-risk stop could get her killed.”
“So you’re letting them drive.”
“We’re tracking.”
“Same difference.”
“No.”
Elliot looked away. His mother inside a van with Saint. Maybe. Knife. Gun. Bindings. Unknown. The variables multiplied. He hated variables. Ronan touched his hand again. Elliot grabbed it. Hard. Ronan didn’t complain.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“No.” “Elliot.” “No.” “Why?” “Because you’ll tell me not to.
” “Probably.” “That’s why.” Ronan stared.
Then: “Tell me anyway.” Elliot looked at him.
Ronan’s expression was serious. Not controlling.
Not afraid. Present. Elliot swallowed. “If they stop the van and Saint has a weapon, police reaction time matters.” “Yes.” “If Saint exits first, officers focus on them.” “Yes.” “If Mom is inside—” “No.” “What?” “I can see where this goes.” “You asked.” “You’re planning to use the stop as an opening.
” “Yes.” “No.” Elliot laughed bitterly. “There.” “Because you are not running into crossfire.” “I know how to—” “No.” “You don’t know what I know.
” “I know you’re not bulletproof.” Elliot looked away.
Ronan lowered his voice. “Be scared.” “What?” “Stop trying to solve it for thirty seconds and just be scared.” Elliot’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t do that.” “I know.” “Then why ask?” “Because you don’t have to be useful to me.
” Silence. The sentence hit harder than it should have. Elliot stared. Ronan continued.
“You don’t have to be smart. You don’t have to have the plan. You don’t have to be the fucking killer who can fix everything.”
Elliot looked down.
“You can just be scared your mom got taken.”
His throat tightened. No. He hated this. He hated Ronan when he did this. Not because Ronan was wrong. Because Ronan kept finding places Elliot had spent his whole life keeping locked.
“She hugged me this morning.”
Ronan’s expression softened. Elliot looked toward the window.
“I lied to her.”
“I know.”
“She asked if I needed help.”
Ronan said nothing.
“I said no.”
“She’d still help you.”
“That’s not the point.”
“No.”
Elliot swallowed.
“What if she gets hurt because I couldn’t tell her?”
Ronan’s hand tightened around his.
“That wouldn’t be because you didn’t confess over breakfast.”
“It’s because of me.”
“Saint took her.”
“Because of me.”
“Yes.”
The direct answer hurt. Ronan continued.
“But Saint still made the choice.”
Elliot looked at him.
“You don’t have to steal every bad thing somebody else does just because you’re guilty of your own.”
Silence. That sentence sat uncomfortably. Elliot hated it. Maybe because part of him needed it. Vance’s radio crackled.
“Vehicle turning southbound.”
She grabbed it.
“Maintain distance. No stop until units are in position.”
Elliot’s chest tightened again. Ronan squeezed his hand.
“Still here?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Elliot looked toward him. Ronan caught it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Banned.”
Elliot almost smiled. Then Vance said:
“They’re heading toward Bellweather Lake.”
Everything inside Elliot went cold.
“Where?”
“South access road.”
He knew it. Old marina. Seasonal cabins. Boat-storage sheds. Remote in November.
“Saint knows the lake.”
Ronan frowned.
“How?”
“I mentioned it.”
“When?”
“Forum.”
“Of course.”
Elliot closed his eyes. Saint had asked where Elliot went when he wanted silence. He’d answered Bellweather Lake. Months ago. Before Tyler. Before anything. Ronan saw his face.
“What?”
“I told Saint.”
“About the lake.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They asked where I felt calm.”
Ronan went quiet. That was somehow more violating than the murder questions. Personal details turned into geography. Preferences turned into traps. Saint had built a map of Elliot piece by piece and Elliot had handed them half the coordinates.
“Which part?”
“Old marina.”
Vance immediately looked back.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
She relayed it. Police shifted. Ronan’s grip remained around Elliot’s hand. No one spoke for the next seven minutes. Then the SUV slowed. Vance looked at the phone.
“The van stopped.”
Elliot’s pulse slammed.
“Where?”
“Boat-storage yard.”
“Rebecca?”
“No visual.”
The driver turned onto a narrow road lined with dead grass and bare trees. Blue lights remained off. Other vehicles appeared ahead. Unmarked. Police moving quietly. Vance turned.
“You two stay in this vehicle.”
Elliot laughed. She stared.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Elliot.”
“No.”
Ronan looked between them. Vance continued.
“If Rebecca is inside, tactical clears the structure.”
“Structure?”
“Storage warehouse.”
“I know the layout.”
Vance’s eyes narrowed.
“How?”
“I’ve been here.”
Ronan sighed.
“Of course you have.”
Elliot ignored him.
“Two entrances. Office in front. Service door rear. Main storage bay has skylights and a maintenance corridor on the east side.”
Vance stared.
“When were you here?”
“Last summer.”
“Why?”
“Boat rental.”
Ronan looked at him.
“With who?”
“Claire.”
That landed. Claire again. Good memories poisoned. Elliot hated Saint. No. Promise. He breathed. Vance relayed the layout. Then opened the door.
“Stay here.”
She left. Elliot immediately unbuckled. Ronan caught him.
“No.”
“I’m not sitting here.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Mom is in there.”
“And armed officers are going in.”
“They don’t know the building like I do.”
“You just told them.” “Not enough.” Ronan stared.
Elliot pulled. Ronan did not let go. “Ronan.” “No.” “Let go.” “Promise.” Elliot’s jaw tightened.
“Stop using that.” “Why?” “Because it works.” Ronan’s expression softened.
“Good.” “Fuck you.” “Also later.” Elliot stared.
Ronan laughed once. “Nervous reflex.” “I’m going to kill you.
” Ronan’s smile disappeared. Elliot closed his eyes.
Bad wording. Very. “Sorry.” “Allowed.” Elliot looked toward the warehouse.
Officers moved along the perimeter. No gunfire.
No shouting. Too quiet. That bothered him.
“Something’s wrong.” Ronan followed his gaze.
“What?” “Van.” “What about it?” “Saint knows police track phones.” “So?” “Why keep Mom’s phone on?
” Ronan froze. There. Exactly. Vance had followed a signal Saint wanted followed.
Elliot reached for the door. Ronan stopped him.
“Wait.” “This is another storage unit.” “What?” “Mercy Storage was distraction.” Ronan’s face changed.
“This could be too.” “Yes.” “But the van—” “Could be empty.”
“Rebecca’s phone?”
“Bait.”
Ronan immediately called Vance from his temporary phone. She answered.
“What?”
“It’s bait.”
Silence. Elliot leaned toward the phone.
“Saint wanted us here.”
Vance’s tone sharpened.
“Why?”
“The phone was too easy.”
“Could still be—”
“Check the van before entry.”