Chapter 12 #2
“Tell me what happened with Warren today.”
"He threatened me," she said finally. Her voice sounded strange. Hollow. "He sat across from me and told me my father died because he asked too many questions, and then he offered me a seat on the town council."
"Tell me exactly what he said."
She told him. Every word she could remember. The warning about accidents. The comment about machinery and gears. The way he'd covered her hand with his while explaining how her father had trusted the wrong people.
When she finished, Ronan's knuckles were white on the table.
"We're not waiting."
"Ronan—"
"The plan was to let him give his speech on Monday. Let him stand up in front of the whole town, talking about legacy and sacrifice, and then destroy him." His jaw was tight. "That was before he looked you in the eye and told you he'd have you killed if you didn't fall in line."
"He didn't say that directly—"
"He said enough." Ronan turned to face her.
His eyes were hard in a way she hadn't seen before.
Not cold—hot. Controlled fury barely contained.
"I've spent twelve years running operations.
I know how to be patient. I understand the importance of patience.
But I am not going to sit back for eleven more days while that man decides whether you're useful enough to keep alive. "
Lila sat quietly and let him get it all out.
"He doesn't get to stand in front of the building your father dedicated his life to, and put his hand on his heart.
He doesn't get the applause or the speech or the handshakes from people he's been stealing from for thirty years.
We take him in the dark, before breakfast, before anyone's watching.
That's the point — not the date, not the optics.
He was counting on Monday to be his. His legacy. His last performance."
She took a deep breath.
Ronan's jaw was tight. "He doesn't get that."
"What about the mission? The bigger picture?"
"The mission was to expose the syndicate. We have enough evidence to do that now." He reached over and took her hand. His grip was warm, solid. "The bigger picture doesn't matter if you're not in it."
Something cracked open in her chest. She'd spent so long being careful, being smart, being alone with the weight of what she knew. And here was this man—this operative who'd been trained to put the mission first—choosing her instead.
"Ronan."
"I know what I'm doing." His thumb traced across her knuckles. I understand the price. And I'm doing it anyway."
She lifted his hand and pressed her lips to his fingers. Tasted salt. Her own tears or his skin, she wasn't sure.
"Okay," she said. "What's the new plan?"
He pulled out his phone. "Evidence goes to the feds tonight. State attorney general in the morning. Press by the end of the day tomorrow. We were planning to coordinate everything for maximum impact after the ceremony. Now we just detonate it all at once."
"And Warren?"
"If the FBI moves fast enough, he'll be in custody before the parade on Saturday." Ronan typed a message, sent it, waited. His phone buzzed. He read the response and nodded. "Caleb's ready. He's been ready for days. He was just waiting for my go."
"And you were waiting because..."
"Because I was trying to do this the clean way. The smart way." He met her eyes. "I was wrong."
She leaned across the console and kissed him. Hard. Brief. A seal on something neither of them was ready to name.
"Do it," she said.
He texted Caleb and hit send.
The sofa in Ronan’s rental was comfortable. At least comfortable enough. His movements were stiff and slightly awkward, but he tried to cover it up. She saw through it but didn’t comment.
Lila set a cup of coffee in front of him on the coffee table then sat down beside him. She faced him, her knee brushing his thigh.
His eyes stared into hers for a few moments. His voice was soft when he spoke. “Tell me about your mom.”
She swallowed the lump that quickly appeared.
Her elbow rested against the back of the sofa, and her head rested in her hand.
“She has dementia. She may have gotten it anyway, but the stress of my father’s passing so quickly and without so much as a warning really sent her through turmoil.
They were together for so long. They were each other’s rocks.
She was lost without him. Within a year, she began exhibiting the first signs of the disease.
Forgetting things. Names, people, then she forgot their wedding anniversary.
She would be horrified if she understood that.
They loved celebrating their anniversary.
That was when I knew something was wrong.
Doctors confirmed it shortly afterwards.
I moved back in with her and kept her here as long as I could.
But when I went to work, she was all alone, and one day she walked outside and got lost. That’s when I took her to Blossom Gardens. ”
His face softened in a way she hadn’t seen before. “Do you see her?”
“Not that much anymore. It got to the point that she would become agitated when she saw me. Like she knew she should know me, but couldn’t place me, and she became unruly.
The doctor told me it was best if I didn’t visit that often.
The nurses send me pictures of her and keep me informed of her health.
I’ve gone a couple of times during mealtime and stood around the corner just to watch her.
But now she’s so bad, she has to be fed in her room. ”
A tear slid down her cheek, and Ronan reached slowly with his left hand and wiped it away. She leaned in and kissed his lips softly and rested her forehead against his cheek. His presence was comforting, and to finally be able to talk about her mom to someone felt so good.
The call came three hours later.
Lila was back in her office, trying to focus on the parade route logistics, when her phone buzzed with a Tampa area code.
"Ms. Bennett? This is Agent Sarah Holloway with the FBI."
Lila's stomach dropped.
"We've received a substantial body of evidence regarding criminal activity in your community. I need to speak with you about your involvement."
"My involvement?"
"Your name appears in several documents. Property records, permit filings, correspondence with Warren Caldwell." The agent's voice was flat, professional. Impossible to read. "I'd like to arrange a meeting to discuss your cooperation."
Lila's mind raced. Caleb had said the evidence would protect her—prove she was a witness, not a participant. But this agent didn't sound like she was calling to offer protection.
"I'm not sure I understand. Am I a suspect?"
"That depends on what you tell me tomorrow." A pause. "Nine a.m., FBI field office in Tampa. I'll text you the address."
The line went dead.
Lila stared at the phone. Her heart was pounding. This wasn't what Ronan had promised. This wasn't the cavalry arriving to save the day.
She stepped out of her office and walked to the exit door. Once she reached the back path to the parking lot, she dialed Ronan.
"The FBI just called. They want to meet tomorrow." She kept her voice low. "The agent made it sound like I might be a suspect."
"What exactly did she say?"
"That my name appears in documents. Property records, correspondence with Warren. She asked about my involvement." Lila's hand was shaking again. "Ronan, what if the evidence makes me look guilty? I've been filing permits for years. My signature is on half the documents in that office."
"Your signature is on legitimate paperwork. The falsified records came from Webb and the county surveyor's office, not from you."
"But she didn't say I was a witness. She said that depends on what I tell her."
Silence on the other end. Then: "Caleb's reaching out to his contacts at DOJ. He'll make sure the FBI understands your role before that meeting."
"And if they don't?"
"Then I'll be in that room with you, and we'll explain it together." His voice softened. "You're not going through this alone. Whatever happens tomorrow, I'm there."
She closed her eyes. Breathed.
"Okay."
"Lila. Do you trust me?"
The question hung in the air. A week ago, she would have hesitated. A week ago, she was still half-convinced he was hiding something that could hurt her.
"Yes," she said. "I trust you."
"Then trust that I won't let them turn you into a scapegoat. Whatever it takes."
She ended the call and sat in her office, watching the afternoon light move across the wall. Through the window, Main Street was bustling—shopkeepers putting up bunting, tourists snapping photos of the historic buildings, children running toward the ice cream shop on the corner.
Her town. Her father's town.
In forty-eight hours, it would never be the same.
Mitch DeMario called just after six.
Lila was at Ronan's cottage, sitting on the porch with a glass of wine she'd barely touched, watching the sun sink toward the Gulf. Ronan was inside, on a call with Caleb, sorting out the logistics of tomorrow's meeting.
"Lila. We have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"Those vendor applications I denied. Someone broke into my office an hour ago and took the files."
She set down the wine glass. "Are you okay?"
"Wasn't there when it happened. But whoever did it knew exactly what they were looking for. In and out in under ten minutes." Mitch's voice was tight. "Same MO as your office break-in."
"Did you call Chief Fielding?"
The pause was a beat too long.
"Yeah. He took a report." Mitch exhaled. "He asked a lot of questions about why I was looking into Coastal Property Services. Who told me to? Asked what else I'd found."
Something cold moved through Lila's chest.
"What did you tell him?"
"That I'm a security professional doing my job. That holding company addresses on vendor applications raised flags." Another pause. "But Lila—the way he was asking. Like he already knew the answers and wanted to see what I'd say."