Page 171 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“Elliot's phone.”

“When?”

“Maybe forty minutes ago.”

“Do not delete the original.”

Elliot rolled his eyes. Ronan ignored him. “We won't.”

“Has anyone responded?”

“No.”

“Good. Don't.”

Bell paused.

“I'm contacting Detective Vance.”

Elliot mouthed, No. Ronan turned away. “Okay.”

“Are you both home?”

“Yes.”

“Stay there.”

Ronan looked back at Elliot. He hated how satisfying that instruction felt.

“Fine.”

“And Ronan?”

“Yeah?”

“Lock the doors.”

The call ended. Ronan stared at his phone. Then at Elliot. Elliot's expression had gone completely still.

“What did he say?”

“Lock the doors.”

Neither moved. For a moment, the words seemed ridiculous. They were home in the middle of the afternoon. Their parents were less than a hundred yards away. The property was private. Security cameras covered the main gate. Locks felt theatrical. Then Ronan walked to the door and turned the deadbolt. The click sounded louder than it should have.

“Close the blinds,” Elliot said.

Ronan looked at him. Elliot's voice was quiet.

“Please.”

That one word killed the rest of the argument. Ronan moved. Living room first. Kitchen. The narrow window beside the stairs. Then the French doors facing the garden. One by one, afternoon disappeared. By the time he finished, the carriage house felt smaller. Safer. Maybe. Elliot stood in the middle of the kitchen holding his phone.

“You think they're watching us?”

“I don't know.”

“That's not comforting.”