He was quiet for a moment, looking at the storefronts. "Small towns have layers. The surface is friendly, welcoming. Everybody knows everybody. But underneath, there are always currents. History. Grudges. Things people don't talk about."
Lila's step faltered slightly. "Is there something specific you're asking?"
"Not specific. Just—" He shrugged. "I've been doing this job for a long time. I know what normal event stress looks like. And I know what it looks like when someone is carrying more than event stress."
She stopped walking. "Are you saying I seem stressed?"
"I'm saying you seem like someone who's trying very hard to appear normal." His voice was kind, not accusatory. "Which is none of my business, except that my job is to keep people safe. And if there's something going on that might affect security for this event, I'd rather know about it now than find out later."
For a wild moment, she considered telling him everything. The permits. Her father's notes. The falsified surveys and the attorney who handled too many transactions, and the federal agent who'd appeared out of nowhere to investigate.
But she didn't know Mitch DeMario. Didn't know where his loyalties lay or who he reported to or whether he'd go straight to Warren Caldwell with whatever she told him.
"It's just the centennial," she said. "Two years of planning, and now it's almost here. I'll sleep again in three weeks."
Mitch studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded. "All right. But if that changes—if there's anything you need to tell me—my door is always open."
"I appreciate that."
They finished the parade route in professional silence, Mitch taking notes and Lila answering questions. By the time they returned to town hall, the shadows were lengthening across Main Street.
"I think we're in good shape," Mitch said. "I'll have a full security plan to you by Friday. We can make adjustments from there."
"Thank you. Really."
He extended his hand, and she shook it. His grip was firm, his eyes still holding that quiet assessment.
"Take care of yourself, Ms. Bennett. Whatever's going on—take care of yourself."
He walked away toward Main Square. His wife owned the flower shop on the corner, and he headed toward it now. Lila stood on the steps of the town hall, watching him go.
Two security professionals in one week. Both of them looking at her as if she were a puzzle they couldn't quite solve.
She needed to get better at pretending everything was fine.
The knock came at her office door just after five.
Most of the town hall staff had already left for the day. Lila was alone, catching up on the emails she'd neglected during her meetings with Warren and Mitch. She looked up, expecting the cleaning crew.
Ronan stood in the doorway.
"You shouldn't be here," she said automatically. "Someone might see."
"Everyone's gone. I checked." He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "I got your note. We need to talk about what happens next."
"I met with Warren Caldwell today."
That stopped him. "Why?"
"He summoned me. Said he wanted to check on the centennial preparations." She leaned back in her chair. "He asked about you. Wanted to know if you'd mentioned anything concerning about the town."
A muscle worked in his cheek—the only visible sign that anything she’d said had landed. "What did you tell him?"
"That you'd made standard security recommendations. Nothing unusual."
"Good." He moved to the window, looking out at the parking lot below. "What else?"
"He offered me a seat on the town council. Said there's an opening next spring and he wants to put my name forward."
