Page 116 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“Believe him.”

A strange pressure settled beneath his ribs. Ronan stared at her.

“Yes.”

He walked out. Elliot was sitting on the hood of Ronan's motorcycle when he exited the station. Ronan stopped.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Elliot looked up from his phone.

“Waiting.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why ask?”

Ronan crossed the parking lot. Cold wind cut between the buildings, lifting Elliot's hair from his forehead. He wore a charcoal coat over a dark green sweater, hands tucked into the sleeves against the cold. Ronan had never been so relieved and irritated to see someone at the same time.

“How'd you know I was here?”

“Your location.”

Ronan stared.

“My what?”

“You share it with me.”

“Since when?”

“Three years ago.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

Ronan pulled out his phone. Elliot smiled.

“You genuinely forgot?”

“Apparently.”

“That's adorable.” “Why are you checking my location?” “I wasn't.” “Then how'd you know?” “Your dad told Mom you got called in.” Ronan closed his eyes. “Of course.” “Our families are an intelligence network.” “Why'd you come?” Elliot looked at him. “Because you were at the police station.” Simple. Ronan felt irritation melt into something warmer despite himself. “I'm fine.” “I can see that.” Elliot hopped off the motorcycle. His gaze sharpened. “What did they ask?” Ronan hesitated. There. Elliot saw it. “What?” “Nothing.” His eyes narrowed. “Do not use that word with me.” Ronan almost laughed. “Come on.” “No.” “Elliot.” “What did they ask?” Ronan looked toward the police-station windows. Someone might be watching. The thought annoyed him. “Let's go home.” “You're avoiding the question.” “Yes.” Elliot went still. Ronan immediately realized admitting it had been a mistake. “Why?” “Because I don't want to do this in a parking lot.” Elliot studied him. Then nodded. “Fine.” Ronan handed him the spare helmet. Elliot stared at it. “My car is here.” “Leave it.” “Why?” “Because I said so.”

Elliot's mouth twitched.

“You're bossy today.”

“Helmet.”

He took it. For once without argument. They drove home. Elliot's arms stayed tighter around Ronan than usual. Ronan noticed. He always noticed. The carriage house felt too quiet when they arrived. Their parents were out. No television from the main house. No cars in the drive. Clouds had darkened the afternoon enough that Ronan turned on lamps despite it being barely five. Elliot took off his coat. Ronan stood near the kitchen. Neither spoke. Then Elliot said:

“What did she ask?”

Ronan exhaled.

“About Dylan.”