"Lila?"
"Lila Bennett. She's coordinating the whole thing. Knows everyone in town, knows everything about this place." The woman set the cup on the counter. "She'll take good care of you."
Ronan paid and found a table near the window. The view gave him a clear line of sight to the town square, the harbor beyond it, and the cluster of buildings that comprised downtown Blossom Springs.
His phone buzzed. Caleb.
You there?
Just arrived, he typed back. Getting the lay of the land.
First impressions?
Ronan considered the question. The perfect storefronts. The friendly barista. The complete absence of anything that looked suspicious.
Too clean, he wrote. Something's off.
That's what seventeen flags said. Keep your eyes open.
He intended to. He always did.
The coffee shop door opened, and Ronan looked up automatically, tracking the new arrival the way he tracked everything.
A woman. Brown hair twisted up with a pencil. Canvas bag over her shoulder, stuffed with papers. She was talking to someone on her phone, her free hand gesturing emphatically as she walked toward the counter.
"I know, I know, but the vendor said—no, I understand that, but—" She laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. "Fine. Fine. I'll figure it out. I always figure it out, don't I?"
She ended the call and shoved the phone into her bag, then turned to the woman behind the counter with a smile that transformed her whole face.
"Hanna. Please tell me you have my usual ready. I'm running on four hours of sleep and pure spite."
"Already working on it, honey."
Ronan watched her. Lila Bennett. The woman from the photograph. The one he was supposed to get close to, extract information from, and use to access the secrets buried in this town's records.
She looked different in person. More vivid. More real. The photograph had been a frozen moment, but this woman was all motion—the way she drummed her fingers on the counter, the way she shifted her weight from foot to foot, the way her eyes swept the room and landed, briefly, on him.
A flicker of curiosity. A small smile, the automatic politeness of a woman who was friendly to everyone.
Then her drink was ready, and she was gone, the bell chiming behind her.
Ronan watched her cross the square toward the town hall, her stride quick and purposeful.
Just a resource. Just an access point.
He told himself that twice more before he finished his coffee.
The rental cottage was on the outskirts of town, a ten-minute drive from the main square. Small. Functional. The kind of place that wouldn't draw attention.
Ronan unpacked with military efficiency. Clothes in the dresser. Toiletries in the bathroom. Electronics on the kitchen table—laptop, secure phone, and the small signal jammer he carried on every assignment.
He set up the laptop and opened a secure channel to Caleb.
"I'm in."
Caleb's face appeared on the screen, slightly pixelated from the encryption. "Fast work. What's the read?"
"Town's exactly what it looks like on paper. Pretty, friendly, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone." Ronan paused. "Which means an outsider asking questions is going to get noticed."
