Chapter Thirty-Four — I’m Coming Back #2
Ronan looked down. That sounded familiar. Be good for me. No more murders. Promise. Maybe he had asked Elliot for exactly that. Now it applied to him too.
“Okay.”
Bell stared.
“Are you having a breakthrough?”
“Fuck off.”
“Better.”
Ronan smiled faintly. Then his phone vibrated. Except Vance still had it. Both looked toward the reception desk. Vance’s coat lay there. Her phone? No. A different sound. Bell’s phone. He checked. Unknown email. His expression changed.
“What?”
Bell looked at Ronan. Then turned the screen. One sentence. COUNSEL SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN TO GIVE ADVICE HE WASN’T ASKED FOR. Ronan went cold. Saint had been listening. Again. In the lobby. Right now. Bell slowly looked around. Ceiling. Desk. Security camera. Vent. Ronan stood.
“No.”
Bell looked at him.
“What?”
“Don’t give them the reaction.”
“Ronan.”
“That’s what they want.”
He forced himself to sit again. His body hated it. Every nerve wanted movement. Search. Destroy. Find. Instead he sat. Bell stared.
“Was that restraint?”
“Don’t sound proud.”
“I’m a little proud.”
“Stop.”
Bell almost smiled. Then another email arrived. HE’S LEARNING. Ronan looked at the ceiling camera. Raised his middle finger. Bell sighed.
“Close enough.” Elliot was transferred at 11:18. Ronan did not know where. He hated every second of not knowing. At 11:27, Vance returned.
“Done.”
“Where?”
“No.”
Ronan laughed bitterly.
“Worth trying.”
“He’s safe.”
“Never use that word around me again.”
“Fair.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Not until he arrives.”
“Then?”
“Bell can arrange counsel communication.”
“What about me?”
“Visitation at the new facility depends on placement.”
His chest tightened.
“So maybe not tomorrow.”
Vance saw.
“Maybe not.”
Ronan looked away. The promise. Tomorrow. He had told Elliot tomorrow. Fuck. Vance sat across from him. Not detective posture. Almost human.
“He knows this wasn’t your choice.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It might.”
“He asked tomorrow.”
“I know.”
Ronan stared. Again. How did everyone know everything? Vance sighed.
“Your relationship is not subtle anymore.”
Fair.
“What do I tell him?”
“The truth.”
Ronan laughed.
“That’s becoming annoyingly popular advice.”
“Try it.”
He looked toward the locked corridor. Truth. I tried. They moved you. I’m still here. Maybe enough. He hoped. Vance handed back his temporary phone.
“Saint’s burner is being processed.”
“Anything?”
“Camera access.”
Ronan’s attention sharpened.
“They had county camera access?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Credentials.” “Stolen?” “Maybe.” “Whose?” Vance hesitated.
There. “What?” “Former employee.” Ronan stared.
“County?” “No.” “Then?” She looked at Bell.
Then Ronan. “St. Augustine Behavioral Health.” Silence.
Ronan’s stomach dropped. “The old hospital.” “Yes.” “How the fuck would those credentials access county cameras?” “They wouldn’t.
” “Then what?” “The username was reused.” Ronan frowned.
Vance continued. “Same person later worked county IT.” Cold.
“Name?” She hesitated again. Ronan stood.
“Vance.” “Dr. Samuel Cross.” Silence. Cross.
Adrian Cross. Ronan stared. “Samuel.” “Yes.” “Doctor?” “Clinical psychologist.” Everything sharpened.
Saint. Behavior. Projects. Forums. Manipulation.
A psychologist. Of course. “Worked at St. Augustine?” “Six years.” “When did it close?” “Eight years ago.” “Then county?” “Contract consultant, then information-security role.” “That makes no fucking sense.” “He had technical training.” “Psychologist and IT?” “People have multiple skills.” Ronan stared.
“Adrian Cross.” “Possibly fabricated from Samuel Cross.” “Where is Samuel now?” Vance’s expression changed.
Ronan knew. “What?” “Dead.” Silence. Bell looked up.
“When?” “Three years ago.” Ronan’s stomach dropped.
Nathan had been talking to Saint three years.
Caleb four. Samuel could not be Saint now.
Maybe ever. “Cause?” Vance said: “Suicide.” Everything went still.
Ronan thought of Caleb. Saint pushing him toward suicide.
Patterns. Projects. Maybe Samuel had been another project.
Maybe Saint took his name. “Family?” “One son.” Ronan’s attention sharpened.
“Name?” Vance looked at him. “Adrian.” There.
Fuck. “Adrian Cross exists.” “He did.” Ronan stared.
“Did?” “Reported missing six years ago.” Silence.
Bell swore softly. Ronan felt cold move through him.
“Age now?” “Twenty-nine.” “Nathan’s age range.
” “Yes.” “Patient at St. Augustine?” Vance shook her head.
“His father worked there.” “Then Adrian grew up around it.” “Possibly.”
“Photo?”
Vance pulled one up. Old. Teenager. Seventeen maybe. Dark hair. Thin face. Pale eyes. Ronan stared. Nothing. Then something. He had seen him. No. Maybe.
“Wait.”
Vance noticed.
“What?”
Ronan enlarged the image. The jaw. Eyes. Different hair. Older now. A face half remembered from somewhere.
“Where?”
Bell asked. Ronan’s pulse increased. Campus. No. Hospital? No. His own house. He stared harder. Then it hit. The camera installers. That morning. One worker. Standing near the maple tree. Dark baseball cap. Thin face. Barely looked at Ronan. Fuck. Ronan stood so fast the chair scraped backward.
“He was at the house.”
Vance froze.
“What?”
“This morning.”
“Who?”
“Camera crew.”
Her face emptied.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“No.”
“Ronan.”
“I think.”
He pulled out his phone. No pictures. Maybe security. Thomas. Main house cameras.
“Call my dad.”
Vance was already moving. Ronan followed. Bell behind.
“What did he look like?”
Ronan described. Dark hair. Maybe thirty. Thin. Pale eyes. Cap. Vance called dispatch. Then Thomas. No answer. Ronan’s stomach dropped. Again.
“Dad.”
He called. Nothing. Rebecca. Nothing. His pulse slammed.
“No.”
Vance spoke into radio.
“Units to Vale residence now.”
Ronan grabbed his jacket. Vance blocked him.
“Stay.” “No.” “Ronan.” “My parents are there.” “Police are going.” “I’m going.
” “Saint wants you moving.” “I don’t care.
” Vance stared. Ronan stopped. There. The trap.
Again. Every time. Move because fear says move.
React because love says react. No. He breathed.
Once. Twice. “Fine.” Vance blinked. “What?” “I stay.” Bell stared like Ronan had begun levitating.
Ronan looked at Vance. “But call them.” “I am.” Another ring.
Then Thomas answered. Ronan almost collapsed.
“Dad.” “Hey.” Ronan closed his eyes. “Where are you?” “Main house.” “Mom?” “Upstairs.” “Are you okay?” Pause.
“Yes?” Thomas’s voice sharpened. “What happened?” “The camera installers.” “What about them?” “How many?” “Three.” “Names?” “I don’t know.
” “Are they gone?” “One is still outside.” Ronan’s blood went cold. “Dad.”
“What?”
“Lock the doors.”
Silence.
“Now.”
Thomas immediately understood something was wrong. Ronan heard movement.
“Rebecca!”
Vance grabbed the phone.
“Mr. Vale, this is Detective Vance. Do not approach the worker. Go upstairs, lock yourself in a room, stay away from windows.”
Thomas swore. Ronan paced. No. Stop. He forced himself still. Vance continued.
“Officers are less than four minutes away.”
Then Thomas whispered:
“He’s looking at the house.”
Ronan stopped breathing.
“What?”
Thomas’s voice dropped.
“The worker.”
Silence.
“He’s standing in the backyard.”
Ronan looked at Vance. She went pale. Thomas continued.
“He’s looking straight at the kitchen window.”
Then:
“He’s smiling.”
Ronan’s entire body went cold. The line clicked. Message incoming. His phone. Unknown number. One photograph. Thomas and Rebecca standing upstairs behind a curtain. Taken from the backyard. Right now. Beneath it:
GOOD BOY.
Ronan stared. Another message.
YOU STAYED.
His chest tightened. Saint had expected him to run. He hadn't. Another:
MAYBE YOU ARE LEARNING.
Ronan looked at Vance.
“Get them out.”
“We are.”
His phone vibrated again. DON’T WORRY. Then: I’M NOT HERE FOR THEM. Ronan stopped. Another message.
I JUST WANTED YOU TO KNOW I COULD BE.
Rage hit. Immediate. White-hot. He gripped the phone. Promise. Not his promise. Elliot’s. Still. Choice. Ronan breathed. Did not type. Did not move. Saint sent:
VERY GOOD.
Ronan looked at the words. Then at Vance. “Trace it.”
“Already trying.” Another vibration. Photo.
Not his parents. Elliot. Different room now.
Transport complete. Sitting alone on a bench.
Looking toward a door. Ronan’s heart stopped.
Message: HE’S WAITING FOR YOU. Then: YOU PROMISED TOMORROW.
Ronan stared. Saint knew exactly where Elliot had been moved.
Again. No location was safe. No building.
No transfer. No secret. Nothing. Ronan looked at Vance.
“Where is he?”
She said nothing.
“Vance.”
Her expression changed. She understood. If Saint already knew, secrecy was useless.
“Federal detention annex.”
Ronan froze. Federal?
“Why?”
“Temporary secure placement.”
“Address?”
She told him. Ronan stared at the picture. Elliot alone. Waiting. Tomorrow. He had promised. Saint sent one final message. DON’T BE LATE. Ronan’s jaw tightened. Then he typed. One response. Bell saw.
“Ronan.”
He hit send anyway. I never am. Saint did not reply. Ronan locked the phone. Vance stared.
“Why answer?”
Ronan looked toward her.
“Because that one wasn’t for Saint.”
Silence.
“It was for Elliot.”
Vance’s expression softened. Ronan looked at the photograph again.
Elliot waiting behind another locked door.
Tomorrow. No matter where Saint watched from.
No matter how many cameras. No matter how many threats.
Ronan would be there. Not because Saint told him to.
Not because Elliot needed proof. Because Ronan had made a promise before any of them knew someone else was listening. And some things still belonged to them.