Page 434 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“Federal detention annex.”

Ronan froze. Federal?

“Why?”

“Temporary secure placement.”

“Address?”

She told him. Ronan stared at the picture. Elliot alone. Waiting. Tomorrow. He had promised. Saint sent one final message. DON’T BE LATE. Ronan’s jaw tightened. Then he typed. One response. Bell saw.

“Ronan.”

He hit send anyway. I never am. Saint did not reply. Ronan locked the phone. Vance stared.

“Why answer?”

Ronan looked toward her.

“Because that one wasn’t for Saint.”

Silence.

“It was for Elliot.”

Vance’s expression softened. Ronan looked at the photograph again. Elliot waiting behind another locked door. Tomorrow. No matter where Saint watched from. No matter how many cameras. No matter how many threats. Ronan would be there. Not because Saint told him to. Not because Elliot needed proof. Because Ronan had made a promise before any of them knew someone else was listening. And some things still belonged to them.

Chapter Thirty-Five — Don’t Be Late

DON’T BE LATE

THURSDAY · 9:54 A.M.

Elliot had learned three things about federal detention by ten in the morning. The coffee was worse than county. The walls were somehow grayer. And waiting for Ronan felt exactly the same no matter how many locks sat between them. He sat on a narrow bench inside a visitation room and stared at the clock above the door. 9:54. Six minutes. Ronan had promised tomorrow. Tomorrow had become today. Elliot hated how much that mattered. He hated needing a clock. Hated measuring minutes. Hated the tiny knot tightening beneath his ribs every time the second hand moved. Ronan would come. He knew that. Probably. No. He had promised. That should have been enough. It almost was. A corrections officer stood outside the glass panel in the door.

Different building. Different uniforms. Same problem. Elliot could not control anything here. He had spent the previous night trying not to think about that. Poorly. His cell had no roommate this time. Apparently confessing to five homicides and being connected to an active threat investigation earned privacy. Nice. He had slept maybe three hours. Every time footsteps passed his door, he looked up. Every time keys moved, he wondered whether Ronan had somehow arrived early. Pathetic. He knew. Still. 9:56. Four minutes. He looked toward the small camera in the upper corner. Saint knew where he was. Of course they did. The photograph sent to Ronan had proved that. Someone had access. Again. Maybe not this camera. Maybe another.

Maybe some employee. Maybe Saint had simply built so many access points into their lives that Elliot would never know which eyes belonged to them. He stared at the lens.

“Enjoying yourself?” The officer outside looked in. Elliot smiled politely. “Sorry.” The officer frowned and looked away. Golden boy. Still useful. Interesting. He stopped smiling. 9:58. Two minutes. His pulse increased. Ridiculous. Ronan would come. He had said so. The lock

clicked. Elliot stood too quickly. The officer opened the door. Not Ronan. Detective Vance. Disappointment hit hard enough that he immediately resented her for existing. She noticed.

“Oh.” Elliot sat. “What?” “Nothing.” Her mouth twitched. “Apparently that word survives incarceration.” “Unfortunately.” Vance entered. No folder. No notebook. That was new. “Why are you here?” “Good morning to you too.” “Ronan is supposed to be here.” “Yes.” Elliot stared. She waited. His stomach tightened. “What happened?” “Nothing.” He glared. Vance almost smiled. “He’s downstairs.” Relief arrived. Immediate. Embarrassing. “Why isn’t he here?” “Security.” Elliot’s body tightened again. “What security?” “Saint.” Of course. Vance sat across from him. “They contacted him this morning.” “When?” “On the drive.” “What did they say?” “Asked whether he was still coming.” Elliot’s jaw tightened. “And?” “He didn’t respond.” Good. He liked that. “He’s being screened again.” “For what?” “Tracking devices. Unauthorized electronics. Anything Saint could have planted.”

Elliot stared. “On Ronan.”

“Yes.” Anger moved through him. Not cold yet. Better. He breathed. Promise. No murder. Not relevant. Still. Vance watched.

“You’re learning.” “Don’t.” “What?” “Sound proud.” “Ronan said the same thing.” Elliot almost smiled. Of course. “Why are you here instead of him?” “Because I wanted to speak with you before he comes in.” “About?” “Saint.” “No.” Vance blinked. “What?” “You get the investigation after.” “After what?” “Visit.” She stared. Elliot folded his arms. “I’m not spending the first ten minutes hearing about Saint.” “You understand they are actively targeting both of you.” “Yes.” “And have access to this facility.” “Yes.” “And may be monitoring this conversation.” “Yes.” “Then why—” “Because Ronan promised he would come.” Vance stopped. Elliot looked toward the door. “He came.” “Yes.” “That happens first.” Silence. Vance studied him. Elliot hated that. Then she nodded. “Fine.” He looked back. “Fine?” “Yes.” Suspicious. “What?” “Nothing.” “Fuck that word.”

Vance actually laughed. Small. “Apparently contagious.” Then the lock clicked again. Elliot looked. Ronan. Everything else disappeared. He wore jeans, black hoodie, and the expression of someone who had argued with at least three federal employees before being allowed into the room. Probably accurate. His eyes found Elliot immediately. There. That feeling. Relief answering relief. Ronan entered. The officer closed the door. He looked toward Vance.

“You’re still here.” “Temporarily.” “Why?” “Work.” “Gross.” Vance stood. “I’ll give you twenty minutes.” Elliot frowned. “Thirty.” Ronan looked at him. Vance did too. “Facility policy.” “County gave thirty.” “This isn’t county.” “Then improve.” Ronan covered a laugh. Vance stared. Elliot stared back. Finally:

“Twenty-five.” Elliot smiled faintly. Ronan looked impressed. Vance pointed at him.

“Do not encourage him.” “Too late.” She left. The door closed. Silence. Ronan stood on the opposite side of the table. Elliot stood too. No physical contact allowed. Again. He hated everything.