Ronan stared at the phone. Mission first. That had been the rule for twelve years. The reason he'd survived when others hadn't. The thing that kept him focused when everything else went sideways.
But the rule had never felt like this before. Like a choice between doing his job and protecting the one person who made him remember why the job mattered.
Keep digging. I need everything you can find on Caldwell's network before the centennial starts.
And Lila?
I'll handle Lila.
He pocketed the phone and grabbed his jacket. Whatever came next, he wasn't going to let her face it alone.
He found her at the dead drop.
The third bench from the fountain in the park, tucked under a live oak that had been there longer than the town itself. She sat with her back straight and her hands folded in her lap, watching the last families pack up their picnic blankets as darkness crept across the grass.
He dropped onto the bench beside her without speaking. Let the silence settle between them.
"I got your message," she said finally. "About Webb."
"Caleb found the payment. Fifty thousand dollars, three days after your father died."
She didn't flinch. Didn't cry. Just kept watching the families leave, her face carefully blank.
"My father knew Warren his whole life. They served on committees together. Went to the same church. Warren gave the eulogy at his funeral." Her voice was steady, flat. "He stood in front of everyone who loved my father and talked about what a good man he was. And the whole time, he knew. He knew what had happened. He'd paid for it."
"Lila—"
"I used to think about what I'd do if I ever found out the truth." She turned to look at him, and in the fading light, her eyes were dark and hard. "I imagined confronting whoever was responsible. Making them pay. Getting justice."
"And now?"
"Now I just feel tired." She let out a breath that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her. "Two years of digging. Two years of asking questions no one wanted to answer. And it turns out the monster was right in front of me the whole time, hiding behind charity galas and foundation dinners."
"We're going to stop him."
"How?" She shook her head. "He has money. Power. Connections. Half the town owes him something. The other half is too scared to ask questions. And we have—what? Some financial records and a theory?"
"We have more than that." He shifted on the bench, turning to face her. "We have documentation of falsified surveys going back a decade. We have shell company structures that tie Caldwell to restricted coastal properties. We have proof that David Webb was paid to replace your father and continue the scheme."
"Proof that will disappear the moment we try to use it. Just like the files from my office."
"Not this time." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a flash drive. "Everything Caleb has found. Encrypted, backed up to three separate secure servers. Even if they burn down every building in this town, the evidence survives."
She looked at the drive, then at him. Something shifted in her expression—not hope, exactly, but something close to it.
"Why are you doing this?"
"It's my job."
"No." She held his gaze. "This isn't just a job to you anymore. I can see it. The way you look at me. The way you—" She stopped, pressing her lips together.
He should lie. Should give her a professional answer about mission parameters and operational security. Should maintain the distance that had kept him alive all these years.
Instead, he said, "You're right. It stopped being just a job somewhere around the time you asked me to close your office door."
The park was empty now. The streetlights were coming on, casting pools of yellow light across the grass. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
"I told myself I wouldn't do this," she said quietly. "Get involved with someone I couldn't trust completely. After Jason, I promised myself?—"
