Prologue #2
Ronan considered the question. The perfect storefronts. The friendly barista. The complete absence of anything that looked suspicious.
Too clean, he wrote. Something's off.
That's what seventeen flags said. Keep your eyes open.
He intended to. He always did.
The coffee shop door opened, and Ronan looked up automatically, tracking the new arrival the way he tracked everything.
A woman. Brown hair twisted up with a pencil. Canvas bag over her shoulder, stuffed with papers. She was talking to someone on her phone, her free hand gesturing emphatically as she walked toward the counter.
"I know, I know, but the vendor said—no, I understand that, but—" She laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. "Fine. Fine. I'll figure it out. I always figure it out, don't I?"
She ended the call and shoved the phone into her bag, then turned to the woman behind the counter with a smile that transformed her whole face.
"Hanna. Please tell me you have my usual ready. I'm running on four hours of sleep and pure spite."
"Already working on it, honey."
Ronan watched her. Lila Bennett. The woman from the photograph. The one he was supposed to get close to, extract information from, and use to access the secrets buried in this town's records.
She looked different in person. More vivid. More real. The photograph had been a frozen moment, but this woman was all motion—the way she drummed her fingers on the counter, the way she shifted her weight from foot to foot, the way her eyes swept the room and landed, briefly, on him.
A flicker of curiosity. A small smile, the automatic politeness of a woman who was friendly to everyone.
Then her drink was ready, and she was gone, the bell chiming behind her.
Ronan watched her cross the square toward the town hall, her stride quick and purposeful.
Just a resource. Just an access point.
He told himself that twice more before he finished his coffee.
The rental cottage was on the outskirts of town, a ten-minute drive from the main square. Small. Functional. The kind of place that wouldn't draw attention.
Ronan unpacked with military efficiency. Clothes in the dresser. Toiletries in the bathroom. Electronics on the kitchen table—laptop, secure phone, and the small signal jammer he carried on every assignment.
He set up the laptop and opened a secure channel to Caleb.
"I'm in."
Caleb's face appeared on the screen, slightly pixelated from the encryption. "Fast work. What's the read?"
"Town's exactly what it looks like on paper. Pretty, friendly, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone." Ronan paused. "Which means an outsider asking questions is going to get noticed."
"That's why you've got the cover. Security consultant, here to help with their big celebration. Totally benign."
"I've already been clocked by at least three people who are going to mention me to everyone they know. The woman at the coffee shop. A man walking his dog who watched me park. A teenager who took my picture with her phone."
"Small towns." Caleb shrugged. "Use it. The more visible you are as a legitimate professional, the less people will wonder about your real motives."
"And Bennett?"
"What about her?"
Ronan hesitated. He wasn't sure how to describe it—the way she'd looked crossing the square, the energy that seemed to radiate from her even at a distance.
"I saw her. At the coffee shop. She didn't notice me."
"You'll be meeting with her tomorrow. She's the event coordinator—she'll be your primary point of contact.
" Caleb pulled up something on his screen.
"Her background checks out. Boring, actually.
Born here, went to college in San Francisco, came back when her mother got sick.
Never married. No criminal record. Not even a parking ticket. "
"Too clean."
"Some people are just clean, Ronan."
"Everyone’s usually hiding something."
"Yeah, well." Caleb's expression flickered—something that might have been sympathy, or might have been a warning. "Just remember what you're there for. Get close to her, find out what she knows about the property irregularities, and don't—"
"Don't what?"
"Don't forget that she's an asset. Not a person."
Caleb’s screen saver kicked in—a slow rotation of satellite feeds, cities seen from orbit. Neither of them spoke until it cycled twice.
"She's a person," Ronan said finally. "They're all people. That's what makes this job hard."
"That's what makes this job necessary." Caleb leaned closer to the camera.
"If Blossom Springs is what we think it is—a hub for something larger, something that's been operating under the radar for decades—then the people running it have been very careful to look like ordinary citizens.
Bennett might be innocent. Or she might be part of it. You won't know until you dig."
“You don’t need to remind me what I’m here for.”
He nodded once, the way a man did when words would say too much. "I'm just reminding you why it matters."
The call ended. Ronan sat in the quiet cottage, the laptop screen fading to black.
He thought about Lila Bennett. Her laugh. Her smile. The way she'd said I'll figure it out. I always figure it out, don't I?
Maybe she was innocent. Maybe she'd spent eight years in a permits office without noticing that the records she filed were being manipulated by someone with very dark purposes.
Or maybe she knew exactly what was happening and was very, very good at pretending she didn't.
Either way, he needed to find out.
He closed the laptop and went to stand at the window. The sun was setting over the water, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. In the distance, he could see the lights of Blossom Springs beginning to flicker on, one by one, like a town slowly opening its eyes.
Beautiful.
He didn't trust it.
He never trusted beautiful things. Beautiful things were usually hiding something.
Tomorrow, he would meet Lila Bennett. He would smile, ask questions, and carefully, methodically, begin to take apart the lie that was Blossom Springs.
And if she turned out to be part of that lie—
He'd deal with it. The way he dealt with everything.
One piece at a time.