Page 215 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“Explain.”

“He joked about Elliot hating him.”

“Specific language?” Ronan closed his eyes. “He said Elliot might murder him.” Silence. Fuck. “Context?” “Joking.” “About what?” “Coming to our place.” “Before or after Mason died?” “After.” Another silence. Ronan heard typing. “Anything else?” “Not that I remember.” “Think.” “I am fucking thinking.” “Good.” He rubbed his forehead. “Did you find anything connecting Dylan to the park besides the phone?” “No.” “What about his jacket?” “What jacket?” The question slipped out. Vance went quiet. Ronan’s stomach tightened. “What jacket?” “Ronan.” “No. You just said jacket.” “I didn’t.” “You absolutely—” “I said no.” He stopped. Had he misheard? No. Maybe. His nerves were shot. Vance continued. “Stay home tonight.” “Why?” “Because the person doing this is escalating.” “What makes you say that?” “Two murders. One missing person. Messages. Physical surveillance. Trespass.” Ronan stared at the closed blinds. “Do you think Dylan is alive?” Vance went quiet. Too long. “Detective.” “I don’t know.”

At least she said it. Ronan swallowed.

“Call me.”

“If there’s something to call about.”

The line ended. He stared at the screen. Then another notification appeared. Elliot’s location. No. Not a notification. Ronan had opened the app without realizing it. The blue dot sat inside the carriage house. Second floor. As if the phone could know that precisely. Home. Ronan looked at it. Then closed the app immediately.

“What the fuck am I doing?”

He threw the phone onto the couch. At 7:36, Elliot came downstairs. Ronan heard him before he saw him. Slow footsteps. Then Elliot appeared at the bottom wearing black sweatpants and one of Ronan’s old Merrick hoodies. Ronan noticed immediately.

“That's mine.”

Elliot looked down.

“I know.”

“You stole it.”

“You left it in my room.”

“Three months ago.”

“Abandonment.”

Ronan almost smiled. Almost. Elliot walked into the kitchen. Opened the refrigerator. Closed it. Opened a cabinet. Closed that too. Ronan watched.

“Hungry?”

“No.”

“You've opened half the kitchen.”

“I’m looking.”

“For?”

“I don’t know.”

Ronan nodded. Fair. Elliot finally pulled out crackers. He sat at the island. For several minutes, neither spoke. Ronan hated the distance. He hated himself more for creating it.

“Dylan’s mom called.”

Elliot looked up.

“What did she say?”

“That Dylan thought someone was watching his apartment.”

His expression tightened.

“Same person?”