Instead, it felt like being seen. Like someone was finally paying attention to the questions she'd been asking alone for two years.
"What makes you think there are things people don't want to talk about?"
"There always are." His voice dropped, losing some of its professional polish. "Places that look the most perfect are usually hiding the biggest problems."
"And you think Blossom Springs looks perfect?"
"I think it looks very carefully maintained."
She almost laughed. Carefully maintained. That was one way to put it. The historical preservation codes. The paint colors, streetlights, and approved signage. The way everyone smiled and waved and pretended everything was fine, even when it wasn't.
"You're good at this," she said. "The questions that aren't really questions. The observations that are actually accusations."
"I'm not accusing you of anything."
"No. You're just watching. Waiting for me to slip up and tell you something useful."
His eyebrows lifted a fraction. Not much. On a face that disciplined, it was practically a standing ovation. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"
"Isn't it?"
"I'm trying to do my job. Which is easier when people are honest with me."
"I've been honest with you."
"You've been professional. Cooperative. Helpful." He leaned forward slightly. "But you haven't been honest. Not completely."
Her heart kicked against her ribs. "And what exactly do you think I'm hiding?"
"I don't know yet." He held her gaze. "But I will. That's what I do."
She should tell him to leave. End this conversation before it goes somewhere she can’t control. He was a stranger, an outsider, someone she had no reason to trust and every reason to suspect.
But he was also the first person in two years who'd looked at her like he knew she was carrying something heavy. Like he might actually help her carry it.
"I saw you this morning." The words came out before she could stop them. "On the bench in front of the VFW. Before you went into the station."
He didn't flinch. Didn't look away. "I know."
"You were watching me."
"I was watching the town." His mouth curved slightly. "You happened to be part of it."
She should be angry. She should tell him to leave, report him to Warren, and demand to know what kind of security consultant spied on people he was supposed to be working with.
Instead, she said, "And what did you conclude? From watching?"
"That you're worried about something. That you went to Chief Fielding hoping he'd help, and he didn't give you what you needed." He paused. "And that whatever you're worried about, it's bigger than logistics for the centennial."
The air between them felt charged, electric with things unsaid. She could lie. Dismiss his observations. Send him away and figure out her next move alone, the way she'd been doing for two years.
Or.
She glanced at the door, still open. Then back at him.
"Close that, would you?"
He rose without comment and pushed the door shut. The click of the latch sounded louder than it should have.
