Page 45 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“You're reckless,” Ronan said.

“With what?”

“Don't play stupid.”

“I said family thing.”

“After saying he's busy with me.”

“He is.” Ronan stopped beside the motorcycle.

Elliot kept walking two steps before turning. Streetlight caught the side of his face.

“What?” Ronan studied him.

“You want someone to figure it out?” Elliot's expression changed. For the first time that night, the jealousy disappeared completely. “No.”

“Then be careful.”

“I am careful.”

“Tonight you weren't.”

Elliot looked back toward Dylan's house. Music pulsed through the walls.

“You were letting him flirt with you.”

“So?”

“So I wanted him to know.”

“Know what?” Elliot looked at Ronan. “That he doesn't have a chance.” Ronan's irritation weakened. That was the problem with Elliot. He could make something unreasonable sound painfully simple. Ronan stepped closer. “Jealousy looks good on you.” Elliot smiled. “You think?”

“Unfortunately.” Ronan handed him the spare helmet. Elliot took it. “Does murder investigation paranoia look good on me too?”

“No.”

“Shame.”

“Put the fucking helmet on.” Elliot laughed. He pulled it over his head. Ronan climbed onto the motorcycle.

A second later, Elliot settled behind him. His arms wrapped around Ronan's waist. Nobody here could see anything strange in that. A passenger holding onto the driver. Normal. Elliot's hands slid beneath Ronan's jacket anyway. Ronan looked down. “Seriously?” Elliot's helmet rested against his shoulder. “Innocent.”

“Bullshit.”

Ronan started the engine. As they pulled away, he glanced once toward Dylan's house. Dylan stood in the doorway. Watching them leave. Ronan looked forward. He didn't notice Elliot turn his head. Didn't see the way Elliot watched Dylan until the house disappeared behind them. And he couldn't possibly know that somewhere inside Elliot's mind, Dylan Price had already become a problem that needed solving.

Chapter Five — What Happens Behind Closed Doors

ELLIOT

FRIDAY · 11:26 P.M.

The first thing Elliot did when they got home was lock the door. The second was watch Ronan notice. The deadbolt slid into place with a heavy metallic click that seemed louder inside the quiet carriage house than it should have. Behind Elliot, Ronan dropped both motorcycle helmets onto the narrow bench beside the entrance and shrugged out of his leather jacket. The ride home had left his dark hair windblown and flattened in strange places, and the cold had reddened the tips of his ears. Elliot remained beside the door. Ronan looked at the deadbolt. Then at him.

“No.”

Elliot blinked.