Page 132 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“Why?”

“Because they're listening.”

Ronan laughed. Elliot didn't. The laugh faded.

“You really are worried.”

“Yes.”

Ronan looked at him for a long moment. Then pulled him closer until Elliot stood between his knees.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

Elliot's chest tightened.

“You can't promise that.”

“Watch me.”

“You don't control the police.”

“No. But I control what I do.”

Elliot swallowed. Ronan's forehead rested briefly against his stomach. The gesture surprised him. Ronan rarely sought comfort. He gave it. Demanded it. Mocked Elliot for needing it. But rarely took it. Elliot's fingers moved into his hair. Slowly. Possessively. Mine. The thought came easier than breathing. If Bellweather wanted a dangerous brother, Elliot could give them one. They simply had the wrong name. Detective Vance arrived at 2:18 P.M. No warning. No phone call. One moment Elliot and Ronan were sitting in the living room. The next, someone knocked on the carriage-house door. Three firm knocks. Ronan looked toward it. Elliot knew before either moved. He didn't know how. Maybe pattern recognition. Maybe instinct. Maybe paranoia had finally become useful.

“Stay,” Ronan said.

Elliot stared.

“Excuse me?”

Ronan stood.

“Just stay there.”

“You're proving the controlling rumor.”

“Cute.”

He walked toward the door. Elliot followed. Ronan looked back.

“What part of stay was confusing?”

“All of it.”

Another knock. Ronan opened the door. Vance stood beneath the porch roof. Dark coat. Badge visible. A uniformed officer waited several feet behind her. Ronan's body changed. Elliot felt it. Shoulders wider. Posture straighter. Protective. The version strangers found intimidating. Elliot almost wanted to tell him to soften. Instead, he stood beside him. Vance looked between them.

“Mr. Vale. Mr. Mercer.”

Ronan's voice was flat.

“What do you want?”

“I'd like to ask you a few follow-up questions.”

“You have my number.”

“I was nearby.”