Page 167 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“You're a terrible liar.”

Elliot looked at him. That earned a reaction. Tiny. Enough. Ronan set his helmet on the seat. “What was it?”

“A message.”

“From?”

“I don't know.”

Ronan waited. Elliot started toward the house.

“Seriously?”

“I said I don't know.”

Ronan followed him. “You know that's not what I'm asking.” Elliot unlocked the door. “Then ask better questions.”

“Fine. What did the message say?”

Elliot stepped inside. “Spam.” Ronan stopped in the doorway. For approximately two seconds, he genuinely considered letting it go. Then Elliot pulled his phone from his pocket and turned the screen away while closing something. Ronan saw the movement. Not the screen. Enough.

“Give me your phone.”

Elliot looked up. “No.” Not offended. Not confused. Immediate. Ronan stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “What happened to offering it to me last night?”

“That was last night.”

“Convenient.”

Elliot's jaw tightened. “I'm not doing this again.”

“Neither am I.”

“Great.”

“Show me the message.”

“No.”

Ronan stared at him. Elliot stared back. Something had changed since Bellweather. This wasn't the defensive irritation from yesterday. It wasn't embarrassment over police knowing about them. It wasn't anger because Ronan had questioned him. This was different. Elliot was afraid. Ronan knew fear on him because Elliot wore it badly. He became colder. Still. His voice softened instead of rising. Every movement became deliberate, as though controlling enough small things could prevent whatever frightened him from getting closer. Ronan's anger disappeared.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Elliot.”

“Drop it.”

“No.”

Elliot walked toward the kitchen. Ronan caught his wrist. Elliot jerked free hard enough to knock a stack of mail from the island. Envelopes scattered across the floor. Neither moved. Ronan looked at him. Elliot's breathing had changed. Barely. But there.

“Who messaged you?”

“I don't know.”

This time Ronan believed that part.