Chapter Three — Good Boys Don’t Bite #3
They stepped into the rain. By noon, Detective Vance had spoken with at least eleven other people from the party.
By three, Bellweather Police confirmed publicly that Mason Kerr's death was being investigated as a homicide.
By four, television vans were parked outside the university gates.
And by six, everyone in Bellweather had begun looking at everyone else differently.
Ronan was in the kitchen when Elliot came home.
He stood at the stove wearing black sweatpants and a white T-shirt, stirring something in a saucepan while music played quietly from a speaker beside the sink.
Elliot stopped inside the doorway. Ronan looked over.
“Shoes.”
Elliot looked down. Rainwater darkened the floor beneath them.
“Sorry.”
He kicked them off. Ronan returned to the stove.
“How was your interrogation?”
Elliot froze.
“How do you know?”
“Mom.”
“Of course.”
“She apparently has informants everywhere.”
“Claire.”
“Probably.”
Elliot dropped his bag.
“What are you making?”
“Pasta.”
“You can't cook.”
“I can boil water.”
“Debatable.”
Ronan gave him the finger without turning around. Elliot smiled. The day loosened from his shoulders. He walked into the kitchen.
“What'd the cop want?”
“Timeline.”
“About Mason?”
“Yeah.”
“You tell her you saw him?”
“Yeah.”
Ronan turned down the burner.
“Anything weird?”
Elliot thought about the photograph. The cracked porcelain. The evidence bag.
“No.”
Ronan looked at him. Elliot opened the refrigerator.
“What?”
“You hesitated.”
“I was thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
Elliot pulled out a bottle of water. Ronan turned back to the stove.
“You okay?”
The question irritated him unexpectedly. Elliot twisted the cap.
“Why wouldn't I be?”
“You knew him.”
“Barely.”
“You were at the party.”
“So?”
Ronan shrugged.
“Somebody gets murdered after you see them, it can fuck with you.”
Elliot drank. Cold water moved down his throat.
“I'll survive.”
“Not what I asked.”
Elliot leaned against the counter. Ronan glanced at him again. There were moments when Elliot hated how well Ronan watched him. Not because Ronan saw everything. Because he didn't. And sometimes Elliot couldn't decide whether that was disappointing or useful.
“You're staring,” Ronan said.
“You're pretty.”
Ronan snorted.
“Fuck off.”
“I mean it.”
“Go set the table.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ronan pointed the wooden spoon at him.
“Don't.”
Elliot smiled and grabbed two plates. They ate at the kitchen island.
Ronan complained about an architecture professor.
Elliot complained about nothing. Outside, rain continued tapping against the carriage-house windows.
For twenty minutes, Mason Kerr didn't exist. Neither did Detective Vance.
Neither did the mask sitting somewhere inside Bellweather Police evidence storage with a new crack across its cheek.
Then Ronan's phone lit up. A message appeared across the screen.
DYLAN: Friday. Don't bail again.
Elliot saw it. Ronan saw Elliot see it. Silence settled between them. Ronan turned the phone facedown. Elliot twirled pasta around his fork.
“Going?”
“Probably.”
“With him?”
“It's a party, Elliot.”
“You keep saying that like it answers the question.”
Ronan sighed.
“Don't start.”
Elliot looked at his plate. He could feel irritation returning beneath his ribs. Hot. Immediate. Embarrassingly easy.
“You promised you weren't sleeping with him.”
“I said I wouldn't.”
“So why go?”
“Because he's my friend.”
Elliot laughed softly.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“That fucking face.”
Elliot looked up. Ronan was watching him. The corner of his mouth had lifted. Amused.
“You think it's cute.”
“A little.”
“I could hate you.”
“No, you couldn't.”
Ronan reached across the island. His thumb brushed a spot of sauce from the corner of Elliot's mouth. The gesture was casual. Tender. Possessive in its own quiet way. Elliot went still. Ronan's hand lingered.
“You have nothing to worry about.”
Elliot looked at him.
“You don't know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“Because I'm telling you.”
Something in Elliot eased. Not completely. Enough. Ronan withdrew his hand. Elliot caught his wrist. Ronan's eyebrows lifted. Elliot turned his hand over and pressed his mouth against the inside of his wrist. Once. Then his teeth closed lightly over the skin. Ronan jerked.
“Jesus.”
Elliot smiled against him.
“Problem?”
“You're a fucking menace.”
Elliot bit slightly harder. Ronan's eyes darkened.
“Elliot.”
He released him. A faint crescent of teeth marks remained. Ronan stared at them. Then at Elliot.
“Good boys don't bite.”
Elliot smiled. Sweetly. The same smile Bellweather trusted.
“Who told you I was good?”
Ronan stared at him for another second. Then laughed and shook his head.
Elliot returned to his dinner. Outside, somewhere beyond the rain-dark windows, police were searching for Mason Kerr's killer.
Inside, Ronan reached across the island and stole a piece of garlic bread from Elliot's plate.
Elliot slapped his hand. Ronan laughed again.
And for the rest of the night, neither of them mentioned the dead boy.