"You think someone killed him."
"I think someone made sure he couldn't ask any more questions." She met his gaze. "And I think you're not a security consultant. Or not just a security consultant. So why don't you tell me who you really are and why you're really here?"
The smart move was to lie.
Ronan had been lying professionally for twelve years. To assets and targets, to allies and enemies, to people who trusted him and people who wanted him dead. The lies came easily, fitted themselves to whatever shape the situation required.
But Lila was watching him with those warm brown eyes that saw too much, and the lie stuck in his throat.
"I can't tell you everything."
"That's not a denial."
"No. It's not." He leaned back in his chair, weighing his options. She'd already shown him her hand. Already taken a risk that could cost her everything if she'd misjudged him. The least he could do was give her something real in return.
"I work for a federal agency. Off the books. We investigate financial crimes that intersect with national security concerns."
"Financial crimes."
"Money laundering. Fraud. Corruption that compromises critical infrastructure." He gestured at the papers spread across her desk. "Falsified land records that restrict coastal access could affect military readiness, emergency response, and federal shipping routes. It flags our attention."
"So you're some kind of federal agent."
"Something like that."
"And you came to Blossom Springs because of the permits."
"I came because the permits are part of a larger pattern. One that extends beyond your town." He paused. "How much do you know about Warren Caldwell?"
Something flickered in her expression. There and gone. "Warren? He's on the town council. Runs the charitable foundation. His family has been here for generations."
"That's his public profile. What do you know about him personally?"
"He's well-respected. Generous. He funded the new wing of the library, the youth sports complex, and half the scholarships at the high school." She hesitated. "He also recommended your firm for the security assessment."
"He did."
"Which means he's the reason you're here." Her eyes narrowed. "Is Warren part of whatever you're investigating?"
"I don't know yet." It was the truth. Caldwell's name appeared in too many places to be a coincidence, but appearing wasn't the same as participating. "His connections put him in a position to facilitate things. Whether he's aware of what he's facilitating is another question."
"Warren Caldwell is not a criminal."
"You're sure about that?"
"I've known him my entire life. He was at my christening. He spoke at my father's funeral." Her voice had gone sharp. "He's not?—"
"I'm not accusing him of anything. I'm asking questions." Ronan kept his tone calm. "The same way you've been asking questions for two years. The same way your father was asking questions before he died."
The sharpness drained from her expression, replaced by something more complicated. Fear, maybe. Or the beginning of doubt.
"What do you want from me?"
"Access. Information. The perspective of someone who knows this town from the inside." He watched her the way she’d started watching him—with the kind of attention that was either paranoia or the beginning of something else. "And your discretion. What I've told you doesn't leave this room. If it does, I disappear, and whatever's happening here continues without interference."
"That sounds like a threat."
"It's a reality. I'm here because someone up the chain decided the situation warranted intervention. If my cover gets blown, they'll pull me out and write Blossom Springs off as too risky. The permits will keep getting falsified. The land will keep changing hands. And whoever's responsible for your father's death will keep operating without consequences."
