The firehouse stop didn’t take long, neither did the police station a block away—another tricky endeavor due to the constant presence of on-duty first responders. She stopped at a few of the smaller churches in town and then circled to the mall.
Her final stop was the park. No one should be there now. Until next week’s tree lighting and then advent ceremony, the park wouldn’t see many visitors during daylight hours with the weather this frigid, let alone near midnight.
She pulled in, wishing she still had hot chocolate left. The park kept her outside the longest since she walked the entire perimeter, leaving candy canes on each bench. She wouldn’t leave that many every night, but always put out more the first few days after Thanksgiving and the last week leading to Christmas.
“Awfully late to be out and about.”
She jumped backward, scared by the disembodied voice. Her heart pounded, even once her brain connected recognition of the voice to a familiar person. Sure enough, when she shifted her gaze to the direction of the voice, she saw Donovan Byrne. Once she caught her breath, she responded. “I could say the same about you.”
He shrugged but didn’t respond directly to her reply. “You’re behind the candy canes, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?” Her blood ran cold, and it had nothing to do with the temperature.
“Your story earlier at church didn’t add up, and I put the pieces together.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “And just now I saw you putting them around the park.”
She froze in place. How could she deny the truth? She’d been caught. By a journalist no less. Defenses rose in the form of anger. “You were spying on me?”
“No.” He didn’t bat an eye at her hurled accusation. “When I had my suspicions, I took a guess at where you might show up.”
“Same difference,” she muttered, all joy zapped.
“Why the cloak-and-dagger act?” Creases formed around his eyes and he stepped forward. “And why do you do this?”
She shook her head. “This is something I do for myself, all right? I know you work for the newspaper—but please, don’t turn this into a story.”
The wrinkles deepened. “It’s in my nature. I can’t help it.”
“I don’t know you very well outside of seeing you at church, but I’m begging you, please keep my secret.” She held her breath, afraid of his answer.
Close enough to touch her, he reached out and laid a hand on her arm. “I work for the newspaper, yes, but my company’s motto—and my own—has always beenpeople first. I would never disclose your identity without your consent.”
“Thank you.” Her chest sank with a relieved exhale. “I appreciate that.”
“It’s cold.” He jutted his chin toward his car, in the opposite lot from where she’d parked. “I’m going to get home.”
“Me, too.”
He pivoted on one foot then paused. “I’ll see you at church on Sunday.”
“See you then.” Her conversation skills lacked in the aftermath of being discovered.
She watched him leave, wondering if he could really be trusted. Sinking onto an icy metal bench, memories flashed in front of her. In her experience, the media had no scruples, no concept of boundaries. She found it hard to believe a newspaper would abide by a people-first policy. Usually, money or ratings came first.
“Please, Lord, help Donovan to respect my wishes and keep my identity a secret.”
The lights on an angel ornament hanging from a lamppost twinkled. Zoe clung to it as a sign God had heard her prayer and answered with a definite yes.
