"You can trust me." He paused for a moment, gauging his next comment. "I came to Blossom Springs because your town is being used as a hub for something much bigger than falsified land permits."
She sat quietly. Processing.
"Something bigger?"
"We're still figuring out the full scope. But the syndicate that Caldwell works for—they have operations in at least three states. Money laundering. Property fraud. Possibly worse." He met her eyes. "Your father stumbled onto one piece of it. You found more. And when this is over, we're going to tear the whole thing down."
"When this is over." She repeated the words as if she were testing them. "What happens then? You disappear? Move on to the next town with the next cover story?"
"I don't know." It was the truth. He'd never thought about after. Never let himself imagine a life beyond the next mission, the next operation, the next threat to neutralize. "I've never had a reason to think about what comes after."
"And now?"
He reached out and took her hand. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly, but they curled around his and held on.
"Now I have a reason."
She leaned toward him, and he met her halfway. The kiss was soft, tentative—nothing like the heat he'd imagined in the long nights at his cottage. This was something different. Something that felt like a beginning instead of an ending.
When they pulled apart, her forehead rested against his.
"The centennial is in two weeks," she whispered.
"I’m aware."
"Whatever happens—whatever they try to do—I need to be there. I can't run. I can't hide. This is my town. My father's town. I won't let them take it from me."
"I know that too." He pulled back to look at her. "Which is why we're going to be ready. Mitch has the security plan locked down. Caleb is monitoring all communications in and out of Caldwell's network. And I'm going to be right beside you, every minute, until this is over."
"And Warren?"
"Warren is going to give a speech at the dedication ceremony on Monday. He's going to smile, shake hands, and accept thanks from all the people he's been stealing from for years. And when it's over, when the crowds have gone home, and the bunting comes down, we're going to have everything we need to destroy him."
She nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." She squeezed his hand. "Let's take down a monster."
The next morning, Ronan stood outside Miracle Garage on Main Street, watching Sid Hoffman work on a truck that had seen better decades.
Sid was in his late forties, lean and capable, with grease-stained hands and sharp eyes that noticed everything. He'd only lived in Blossom Springs for a couple of years, but he'd made himself essential—the only mechanic in town, the guy who kept everyone's cars running. And according to Lila, he'd been asking questions about Ronan.
Time to have a conversation.
"Hoffman." Ronan crossed the oil-stained concrete toward the open bay. "Got a minute?"
Sid straightened and wiped his hands on a rag, studying Ronan with the kind of measured assessment that came from years of watching people.
"Cross. The security consultant." He tossed the rag onto his workbench. "Been wondering when you'd stop by."
"You've been wondering about a lot of things, from what I hear."
"It's a small town. People talk." Sid leaned against the truck's fender. "And you've been giving them plenty to talk about."
"Such as?"
"Such as why a security consultant from Charleston spends more time asking questions about town history than checking sight lines and emergency exits. Such as why you've been seen with Lila Bennett at all hours. Such as why someone broke into the town hall the same week you showed up, and the police chief didn't seem all that interested in finding out who did it."
