Chapter Thirty-Seven — Good Boy #3
She radioed. Officers moved. Ronan looked Elliot over.
“You’re bleeding.” “Lip.” “Anything else?” “Ribs.” “Knife?” “No.” “He had one?” “Yes.” Ronan’s face hardened.
Elliot touched his wrist. “No.” “I know.” “Do you?” Ronan looked at him.
Then exhaled. “Yes.” Vance stared at Elliot.
“You were alone with him.” “Yes.” “He attacked you.” “Yes.” “And he’s alive.
” Elliot knew what she meant. He looked toward Ronan. Then back.
“Yes.” Vance’s expression changed. Not absolution. Not forgiveness. Something else. Recognition.
“You let him go.” “I stopped choking him.” Ronan’s eyes widened. “You what?” “Later.” “Elliot.” “Later.” Vance almost smiled. Then radio. “Suspect located.” Everything sharpened. “Where?” “Roof access.” Fuck. They moved. Elliot started with them. Vance stopped him.
“No.” “He has a knife.”
“You are in custody.” “He killed an officer.” “You are in custody.” “Vance.” Ronan caught Elliot’s arm. “She’s right.” Elliot stared. Ronan nodded. “Let them.” Hard. Fuck. Elliot stepped back. Vance went. Officers followed. Ronan stayed. Elliot looked at him.
“You could go.” “No.” “Why?” “Because you’re here.” Simple. His chest tightened. Ronan touched his face carefully. “Did you want to kill him?” “Yes.” “Badly?” “Yes.” “Why didn’t you?” Elliot thought. The obvious answer sat there. Promise. Ronan. Love. But that wasn't the whole truth.
“Because I didn't want him deciding what I did next.” Ronan stared. Then smiled. Small. Proud. Elliot rolled his eyes. “Stop.” “No.” “I knew you’d do that.” “Deal with it.” Elliot almost smiled.
Then gunshot. Above. Both froze. Another.
Ronan grabbed Elliot. Elliot grabbed him back.
Radio chatter exploded from Vance’s abandoned channel nearby.
“SHOTS FIRED.” Fuck. “OFFICER HIT.” Elliot’s stomach dropped. Then: “CROSS MOVING WEST.” Ronan looked toward the roof. “Stay.” Elliot almost laughed. “With you?” “Yes.” “Fine.”
They waited. Worst thing imaginable. Footsteps. Shouting. Then silence. Long. Too long. Radio.
“Suspect down.” Elliot stopped breathing. Ronan’s hand tightened. “Status?” Static. Then: “Alive.” Elliot exhaled. Adrian alive. Good. He was surprised by how much he meant it. Ronan looked at him.
“You okay?” “No.” “Same.” They waited. Eventually Vance returned. Blood on her sleeve. Not hers.
“Officer?” Ronan asked. “Shoulder. Stable.” “Adrian?” “Gunshot to leg.” Elliot stared. “Custody?” “Yes.” The word settled. Saint. Caught. Alive. Human. Finished. Maybe. Elliot felt nothing like he expected. No victory. No release. Just exhaustion. Vance looked at him.
“He confessed on camera downstairs.” “To the projects?” “We heard enough.” “Four.” “What?” “He killed four projects. Daniel Hart, Mara Voss, Isaac Rowe, Lena Morrow.”
Vance’s expression hardened. “Lena too.” “Yes.” “Details?” “No.” “He admitted it?” “Yes.” “And the officer here?” “Yes.” Vance nodded. Evidence. Finally. Elliot looked toward the roof.
“Five.” Ronan understood. Same number. Elliot hated that. Then Vance said:
“Six.” He looked at her. “What?” She swallowed. “The officer Saint killed during the breach wasn’t the first death today.”
Cold. “Who?” “Security contractor.” “Where?” “Utility room.” Elliot looked down. Six. Adrian had surpassed him. He hated that his brain counted. Ronan noticed.
“Don’t.” “What?” “Compare.” Elliot looked at him.
Ronan’s expression softened. “Bodies aren’t a scoreboard.
” There. Exactly. Elliot exhaled. “No.” Vance looked between them.
Then toward Elliot. “We need to get you medically cleared.” “I’m fine.
” “You were assaulted.” “I’ve been worse.
” “That is not a medical standard.” Ronan smiled faintly.
“I like her.” “Fuck both of you.” “There he is.” They started toward the secured wing.
Elliot walked between Vance and Ronan. Technically custody.
Still. Adrian caught. Still. Five murders confessed.
Still. Nothing magically fixed. Good. It shouldn't. At the corridor, an officer approached with handcuffs. Ronan’s expression tightened.
Elliot held out his wrists. No resistance.
Metal closed. Cold. Familiar. Ronan looked at him. Elliot smiled faintly.
“I’m okay.” “Actually?”
“No.” “Better.” Elliot looked toward the elevator. “Tomorrow?” Ronan stared. “What?” “Visit.” Ronan laughed softly. “You just survived being kidnapped inside federal custody and you’re worried about visitation.”
“Yes.” “Psychopath.” “Technically—” “Do not.” Elliot smiled. Ronan stepped closer before the officer could move him. Forehead to forehead. Brief.
“I’ll be here.” Elliot closed his eyes. “I know.” This time he did.
No doubt. No fear hidden inside it. He knew.
Ronan pulled away. The officer guided Elliot toward the elevator.
Doors opened. Elliot stepped inside. Looked back.
Ronan remained there. Still here. The doors started closing. Then Ronan called:
“Elliot.” He looked up. Ronan smiled. “Good boy. The words hit. But differently. No Saint. No permission. No ownership. No leash. Just Ronan. Proud because Elliot had been given every reason to kill Adrian Cross and chose not to. Elliot smiled.
“Fuck you.” The doors closed on Ronan laughing. And for the first time since Saint entered his life, Elliot heard the words good boy without feeling like they belonged to anyone but him.