Chapter 6 #2
"I'm saying you seem like someone who's trying very hard to appear normal.
" His voice was kind, not accusatory. "Which is none of my business, except that my job is to keep people safe.
And if there's something going on that might affect security for this event, I'd rather know about it now than find out later. "
For a wild moment, she considered telling him everything. The permits. Her father's notes. The falsified surveys and the attorney who handled too many transactions, and the federal agent who'd appeared out of nowhere to investigate.
But she didn't know Mitch DeMario. Didn't know where his loyalties lay or who he reported to or whether he'd go straight to Warren Caldwell with whatever she told him.
"It's just the centennial," she said. "Two years of planning, and now it's almost here. I'll sleep again in three weeks."
Mitch studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded. "All right. But if that changes—if there's anything you need to tell me—my door is always open."
"I appreciate that."
They finished the parade route in professional silence, Mitch taking notes and Lila answering questions. By the time they returned to town hall, the shadows were lengthening across Main Street.
"I think we're in good shape," Mitch said. "I'll have a full security plan to you by Friday. We can make adjustments from there."
"Thank you. Really."
He extended his hand, and she shook it. His grip was firm, his eyes still holding that quiet assessment.
"Take care of yourself, Ms. Bennett. Whatever's going on—take care of yourself."
He walked away toward Main Square. His wife owned the flower shop on the corner, and he headed toward it now. Lila stood on the steps of the town hall, watching him go.
Two security professionals in one week. Both of them looking at her as if she were a puzzle they couldn't quite solve.
She needed to get better at pretending everything was fine.
The knock came at her office door just after five.
Most of the town hall staff had already left for the day. Lila was alone, catching up on the emails she'd neglected during her meetings with Warren and Mitch. She looked up, expecting the cleaning crew.
Ronan stood in the doorway.
"You shouldn't be here," she said automatically. "Someone might see."
"Everyone's gone. I checked." He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "I got your note. We need to talk about what happens next."
"I met with Warren Caldwell today."
That stopped him. "Why?"
"He summoned me. Said he wanted to check on the centennial preparations." She leaned back in her chair. "He asked about you. Wanted to know if you'd mentioned anything concerning about the town."
A muscle worked in his cheek—the only visible sign that anything she’d said had landed. "What did you tell him?"
"That you'd made standard security recommendations. Nothing unusual."
"Good." He moved to the window, looking out at the parking lot below. "What else?"
"He offered me a seat on the town council. Said there's an opening next spring and he wants to put my name forward."
Ronan turned sharply. "He what?"
"Town council. The seat Evelyn Marsh is vacating." Lila watched his face, trying to read the rapid calculations happening behind his eyes. "He said I'm respected and trusted. That my father would be proud."
"That's not a random offer."
"No. It's not." She stood and crossed to where he was standing, close enough that she could see the faint scar along his jawline. "What does it mean?"
"It means he's either trying to co-opt you or control you." Ronan's voice was low, intense. "If you're on the council, you're part of the system. You vote the way they want you to vote, sign off on the things they want signed off on. And if you don't—"
"I become a problem."
"Exactly."
"Like my father was a problem."
Neither of them moved. Outside, a car door slammed.
Someone laughed. The ordinary sounds of a town that had no idea what was happening in this room.
Ronan's expression shifted— His hand came up before the rest of him caught up—instinct overriding training. His thumb found the tear on her cheek, and his fingers curved against her jaw with a gentleness that didn’t match anything else about him.
"We don't know that yet."
"But you suspect it."
"I suspect a lot of things. Suspicion isn't evidence."
"Then find the evidence." She was standing too close to him.
She knew it. She didn't move. "Find out what really happened to my father.
Find out who's running this operation and how deep it goes.
Because I can't keep pretending everything is normal when nothing is normal, and I can't keep lying to people I care about, and I can't—"
Her voice cracked. She hadn't meant for it to. Hadn't meant for any of this—the desperate edge, the way her hands were shaking, the tears suddenly burning at the back of her eyes.
Ronan's hand came up, cupping her face. His thumb brushed across her cheek, catching a tear that had fallen.
"Hey." His voice was rough. Gentle. "Look at me."
She looked. His eyes were gray and steady and closer than they'd ever been.
"I'm going to find out what happened. I promise you. Whatever it takes, however long it takes, I will get you answers."
"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep."
"I don't."
She believed him. That was the terrifying part. Standing in her office with his hand on her face and her heart pounding and everything she thought she knew crumbling around her, she believed him.
"This is a bad idea," she whispered.
“Worst one I’ve had in years.”
"You're investigating my town. My family's history. Everything I've ever known."
"Yeah."
"And I don't even know your real name. Your real story. Anything about who you actually are."
"Ronan Cross is my real name. I served ten years in the Army as a Ranger.
I lost three men on my last deployment because of bad intelligence, and I swore I'd never let that happen again.
" His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone.
"I like strong coffee and I hate small talk and I haven't trusted anyone in twelve years. "
"But you trust me?"
"I shouldn't." His mouth curved, barely. "But yes. I trust you."
She should step back. Should put professional distance between them and focus on the mission and all the very good reasons why getting emotionally involved with a federal agent was a terrible idea.
Instead, she leaned into his touch.
"What happens now?"
"Now, we keep working. We stay careful. We don't give anyone a reason to suspect you're anything other than an overworked event coordinator." His hand dropped from her face, and she felt the loss of contact like a physical ache. "And we don't do this again. Not here. Not where anyone could see."
"Right. Of course." She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself. "Professional boundaries."
"Lila."
She looked up.
"This isn't about boundaries." His voice was rough. "This is about keeping you safe. If anyone suspects there's something between us—something more than professional—they'll use it. Against both of us."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
"I understand that you're trying to protect me.
" She held his gaze. "I also understand that I'm a grown woman who's been making her own decisions for a long time.
So let me be clear: if something happens between us, it will be because I chose it.
Not because you swept me off my feet or I got carried away by the drama of the situation. Because I chose it."
He stared at her. For a moment, she thought she'd gone too far. Said too much.
Then he nodded, once, his posture changed briefly. It was subtle but noticeable. Respect, maybe. Or recognition.
"When this is over," he said quietly. "When the case is closed, and you don't have to pretend anymore, and I don't have to lie about why I'm here. Ask me again."
"Ask you what?"
"Anything you want." He moved toward the door. "And I'll give you an honest answer."
Ronan pulled out his phone and texted Caleb.
Passive eyes tonight on Lila. Her trip home, until she’s safe in the house.
Roger that.
He left without looking back. Lila stood in her office, alone with the silence and the shadows and the question she'd carry with her for however long it took to reach the other side of this.
When this is over.
She just had to survive long enough to find out what that looked like.