Page 74 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“I thought Lucas was paranoid because of Mason.”

“Maybe he was.”

“He isn't answering his phone.”

Ronan had nothing useful to say to that. Dylan breathed into the silence.

“Police want me at the station at eleven.”

“Want me to come?”

The question left Ronan before he'd thought about it. Dylan paused.

“You would?”

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“Maybe.”

Ronan checked the time.

“Text me.”

“Okay.”

“And tell them everything.”

“I am.”

“Everything.”

“Jesus, yes.”

Ronan ended the call. He stood motionless in the stairwell. The fluorescent light above him buzzed. Somebody had been following Lucas. Maybe. Or Lucas had been frightened because a guy he'd known had recently been stabbed to death. That made more sense. Fear changed patterns. Once your brain decided danger existed, every stranger became evidence. Every coincidence became surveillance. Ronan understood that because he'd been doing exactly the same thing for almost two weeks. He thought about Elliot again. The phone in his bedroom. The warm coffee. Mud on his shoe. No. Ronan shoved the thought away so violently it almost embarrassed him. Elliot was jealous. Manipulative sometimes. A brat always. He was not whatever Bellweather had turned the masked figure into.

Ronan knew him. That mattered. Dylan didn't ask Ronan to come to the station. At 10:52, he sent:

DYLAN: they want me alone apparently

Then:

DYLAN: i'll call after

Ronan spent the next two hours in the architecture studio and accomplished approximately nothing. At 1:14, Elliot texted.

ELLIOT: lunch?

Ronan stared at the message.

RONAN: class

ELLIOT: skip

RONAN: unlike you some of us need degrees

ELLIOT: my condolences