Page 243 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“Don’t.” Elliot stopped. Ronan stared at the mask. Then at the gloves beneath it. Black hoodie. Shoe covers. Everything neatly folded. Everything prepared.

“How many times did you wear this?” Elliot’s voice came quietly. “Five.” Ronan closed his eyes. Of course. Five. He released Elliot’s wrist. “Vance needs to know someone copied it.” Elliot went still. “If she sees this, I’m done.” Ronan looked at him. There it was. The choice. Not abstract anymore. Not someday. Now. Police outside. Evidence in front of him. Five dead people. A killer he loved. And another person somewhere in Bellweather who knew exactly what Elliot had done. Ronan stared at the cracked porcelain face. Then at Elliot. “What happens if I tell her?” Elliot swallowed. “I go to prison.”

“Probably.”

“Yes.”

“And if I don’t?” Elliot said nothing. Ronan’s voice dropped. “What happens?”

“We figure out who’s watching us.”

“We?” Hope appeared too quickly in Elliot’s eyes. Ronan hated seeing it. “Yes,” Elliot whispered. Ronan looked back at the mask. Five bodies. Five. His stomach turned. He should call Vance. He knew that. There was no moral confusion about what the correct answer was. Five people were dead. Ronan pulled out his phone. Elliot’s face collapsed. Not dramatically. Just enough. Ronan looked at Vance’s text. Then opened the reply field. His thumb hovered. Elliot didn’t beg. That somehow made it worse. Ronan typed: I haven’t seen another mask. Elliot hasn’t either. We’re both home. He stared at the lie. Then hit send. Elliot inhaled sharply. Ronan locked the phone. Neither spoke. The mask stared up between them. Ronan felt sick. He had crossed something. Not as far as Elliot. Not remotely. But far enough that going backward would never be as simple as it had been five minutes ago.

Elliot whispered:

“Why?”

Ronan looked at him.

“I don’t know.”

That was the truth. The only one he had left. And for tonight, it was enough.

Chapter Twenty — Everything You Never Knew

ELLIOT

MONDAY · 9:42 P.M.

Ronan had lied for him. Elliot could not stop thinking about it. The storage room remained open behind them, its weak ceiling bulb spilling yellow light across stacked boxes and the black container on the floor. The mask sat inside exactly where Elliot had left it, white porcelain tilted upward, black eyeholes absorbing the light instead of reflecting it. Ronan stood several feet away with his phone still in one hand. The lie he had just sent Detective Vance remained somewhere behind the locked screen. I haven’t seen another mask. Elliot hasn’t either. We’re both home. Simple. Clean. False. Elliot stared at him. Ronan looked sick. Not metaphorically. Actually sick. His face had gone pale beneath the warm light. His jaw remained clenched so hard a muscle pulsed near his temple. One hand opened and closed at his side like his body needed something physical to do with the panic.

Elliot had imagined Ronan choosing him countless times. Not like this. Never like this.

“Why?” Elliot asked.

Ronan looked at him. The answer came immediately.

“I don’t know.”

Elliot believed him. That made it worse. Ronan stepped out of the storage room. Elliot followed. Neither touched the container. Neither closed the door. The entire downstairs suddenly felt contaminated by what they both knew was sitting five feet away. Ronan walked into the kitchen and braced both hands against the island. Elliot remained near the stairs. The distance between them felt deliberate.

“You lied to her,” Elliot said.

Ronan laughed once. There was no humor in it.

“Thank you. I noticed.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Don’t.” Elliot went quiet. Ronan bowed his head. For several seconds, he simply breathed. Then he looked up. “What the fuck did I just do?” Elliot’s chest tightened. “You protected me.” “Do not call it that.” “Why?” “Because that makes it sound noble.” Elliot stared. Ronan pushed away from the island. “I lied to a homicide detective while evidence linking you to five murders is sitting under our stairs.” His voice remained low. Controlled. That control looked fragile now. “You protected me,” Elliot repeated. Ronan’s eyes flashed. “I said stop.” Elliot did. For once. Ronan paced toward the living room and back. “Five.” The word came out like it hurt him. “Five fucking people.” Elliot looked down. “You keep saying that like the number is going to change.” Ronan stopped. Bad answer. Elliot knew immediately. “Jesus Christ.” “That’s not what I meant.” “No, explain.” “I mean I already told you.” “And you sound annoyed that I’m struggling with it.” “I’m not.” “You are.” “I’m not.” Ronan laughed bitterly. “Do you even understand what you told me?” “Yes.” “No.” Elliot’s jaw tightened. Ronan stepped closer. “Five people are dead because you decided they deserved to be.” Elliot looked at him. “They hurt people.” “So?” “So that mattered.”

“Not enough for murder.”

“I know what you think.”

Ronan stared. The sentence had been too detached. Too easy. Elliot saw that. He softened his voice.

“I know.”