by Debra Webb
Her hard gaze moved deliberately from Danny to Filmore to him. He felt it like a touch. After a moment, she settled that tough blue gaze back on Filmore.
“Mr. Filmore, what is the problem here?”
“I need a moment of your time,” he began. “The new precautions are an impediment—”
She held up a hand and he stopped talking. Riley put that skill right up there with a superpower. One fact had been immediately clear: the president of the historical society loved the sound of his own voice.
Her cool gaze landed on Riley again, raked him from head to toe and back up. “You are?”
“Not a part of this,” he said, holding up his hands. “I’m just on garland detail.” He pointed to the ladder.
She eyed the ladder and then stepped forward, holding out a hand. “Name and identification, please.”
He hoped this was a stunt for the crotchety Filmore. “Was I hanging garland too fast, ma’am?”
She glared at him.
“I checked his credentials when he came in, Chief,” Danny piped up. “He’s with the design team.”
“Your name,” she insisted.
Riley gave her his friendliest lopsided grin. “Riley O’Brien.” The grin didn’t appear to be any more effective on the police chief than when he’d used it on his teachers in private school.
“You’re Irish?”
“That’s what my parents tell me.” According to his new background courtesy of the Specialists’ technology wizards, he was first-generation American, born of Irish immigrants. As he’d memorized his manufactured past it was as if the techs had somehow tapped the childhood fantasy that carried him through his long years at the orphanage.
“What brings you to Belclare?”
“Steady work,” he replied as she returned his Maryland driver’s license and the work permit.
“And you’ll be leaving when?”
“Actually, I’m thinking I’ll stay.” He looked over to Danny. “Maybe you can point me to a place to rent?”
“The personnel don’t typically stay on after the work is done,” the chief countered before Danny could reply.
Riley shrugged. “So far, I like what I see.”
She examined his progress with the decorations. “Why aren’t you done?”
“I was taking my required break, but that got interrupted.”
“Well, we won’t waste any more of your time.”
“Thank you.” He returned his wallet to his back pocket and zipped up his vest halfway. With a wave to Danny, he headed out to Sadie’s while the chief addressed Mr. Filmore.
The sky was heavy and he smelled snow on the air. Riley didn’t need a weather forecast to tell him Belclare’s annual Christmas Village would benefit from an idyllic blanket of fluffy white snow for the opening weekend. The most profitable weekend according to the background reports. All he had to do was make sure no one ruined it for them by assassinating their beloved chief of police.
Sadie’s was quiet and the hot chocolate orders were ready sooner than he’d hoped. He needed to keep an eye on the chief, but he also wanted a few minutes of distance to gather his thoughts. Whatever he’d expected, she’d been...more. Sure, she was beautiful and she clearly had her finger on the pulse of this town. He didn’t like how that made him feel. Uneasy. Turned-on. A potential lifelong assignment out here suddenly took on a new element of risk. And a potential unexpected angle.
What if he asked her out? It would be a valid way to stay close, especially in these early days. He headed back over to the police station, planning how best to get a few details about her out of Danny. Riley knew how to ask questions without giving away his real motives.
Work, he reminded himself. That was his real motive. This wasn’t the time to get distracted.
Chapter Two
“You simply must relax the police presence on Main,” Mr. Filmore said, not for the first time.
Too bad Abby didn’t have any evidence tying him to any illegal activity. Not even a whiff of mental instability or aggression in his background.
As much as Filmore tested her patience, she refused to give in to the temptation to play favorites. All the citizens of Belclare deserved her best effort as their police chief. It was a shame she didn’t trust them equally anymore.
Despite the press conference that had gone viral thanks to national news and social media, in recent days her confident speech felt more like a publicity stunt. She knew the value of perception as well as caution. The mail and email that flooded the department and website in the days following the drug bust was mostly positive, but the threats, in an increasing number, had to be assessed and cleared or sent up to the feds, who claimed she was in trouble. They’d even suggested she employ a protective detail, but they hadn’t given her the personnel. Besides, with everyone in town watching for her next mistake, she had enough eyes on her already.
The threats monopolized her time, taking her away from other important daily endeavors, though Homeland Security would disagree with that assessment. They were sure she was dealing with a sleeper cell and their insistence, while absurd, had her looking at everyone in town with suspicion. She knew these people. Cared about them—even the hardheaded one glaring at her right now.
Of course, Martin didn’t care that she’d drawn that line with his safety in mind. Aesthetics and historical accuracy mattered more than anything else to him. Thankfully, the men and women on the police force agreed with the aggressive line she’d drawn.
“I will not relax the patrols on Main or anywhere else, Mr. Filmore.”
“But the problem was out at the docks. Isn’t it a better use of resources to keep your patrols focused in that area?”
He wanted her to save resources in the hope that he could divert any funds she didn’t spend into his budget at the next council meeting. She knew the tactic far too well. She’d taken this job despite the politics that went with it. Abby felt the tension mounting. Her shoulders were tight, her legs were ready to spring and her toes were cramping in these stupid pumps. She reminded herself she couldn’t throw a tantrum. There were better outlets than the bloodcurdling scream of frustration trapped in her throat.
A soft tap-tap-tap of a hammer and squeak of boots on the metal ladder told her O’Brien was back to work in the lobby. Talk about an outlet. Wow. Riley O’Brien would certainly qualify as an effective distraction. He was handsome and built. If only she could be sure he wasn’t also a threat in contractor’s clothing. Had she really just thought that? She gave herself a mental shake. This had to be some universal female fantasy involving a thermal shirt, faded jeans and a tool belt that sparked sudden, inexplicable lust in a stranger under present circumstances.
“Well?” Filmore demanded.
She dragged herself back to the present. Mr. Filmore deserved a thoughtful reply. “I could have the increased patrols work in their civilian clothes.”
“How is that any better?”
She knew it! It wasn’t about the official uniform presence hindering anything. His dissatisfaction was about the budget. She was done with Filmore’s whining and she had another appointment in just fifteen minutes. Abby squared her shoulders. “My officers will be out there, in uniform. End of discussion. They will not harass anyone, because I’ve given clear instructions—” based on the most recent threats that she didn’t bother explaining “—regarding what they should look for.”
Filmore made an unpleasant sound of frustration. “I suppose you expect me to be grateful.”
She smiled, remembering he was a decent guy if a bit uptight about historical accuracy. “I expect you to recognize the necessity of the situation. Together is the only way Belclare gets through this rough patch.”
His beady eyes locked on to her. “You might have thought of this ‘rough patch’ before you turned our town into a target.”
Before she could respond, he spun on his heel and marched out of her office, his spine ramrod straight.
Abby let him have th
e last word. Not because he deserved it, but because she refused to be late to her next appointment. She was ready for a bit of solitude in her car and the comfort of coffee and conversation with a friend who didn’t have an agenda. She shut down her computer and moved away from her desk. Adjusting the silk scarf at her throat, she slipped into her black wool overcoat.
She was debating the wisdom of ruining her look by switching from her heels to her winter boots when someone knocked on her office door. Again. She turned and the professional smile she’d forced onto her face faded at the sight of Riley O’Brien filling her doorway. “Yes?”
“Danny said I could come on back.”
She made a mental note to have a chat with Danny.
“I just wanted you to know I’d finished the lobby as well as the display out front.”
“I’m sure your boss will be thrilled with your efficiency.”
“Probably so.” He gave her a grin that reminded her of the young men she’d pulled over in the past who tried to get off with a warning. “Today’s project list filled two pages.”
“That’s...” Why did he think she cared? “Ambitious,” she finished. “If you’ll excuse me I have an appointment.”
“Oh, sure.” He stepped out of the doorway but hovered while she locked up. It was a new procedure and no reflection on her department but—
“Can’t be too careful these days,” he said, echoing her thoughts.
“Precisely.” She maneuvered around him, unable to ignore the enticing scent of evergreen and cinnamon clinging to his clothing. “The garland is scented this year? I didn’t approve that.”
“I’m not sure it’s possible to un-scent fresh pine, ma’am.”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“The ma’am thing. I don’t like it much.” It made her feel old and right now the increased pressure following the drug bust was more than enough to cope with.
“Right.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Danny mentioned that.”
She was definitely having a talk with Danny. He needed a reminder about basic security around strangers. “Enjoy your stay in Belclare, Mr. O’Brien.”
“Call me Riley.”
Abby had no intention of calling him anything at all. While it wouldn’t be a problem under normal circumstances, this wasn’t the best time to make new friends. Except when she looked up, his expression was open and there was a humor lurking in his brown eyes. Her earlier thoughts about a stress relief outlet flooded back.
“I’d like that.”
“Pardon?” In her fantasy, she’d apparently lost the thread of the conversation. Reaching into her pocket, she gripped her car keys and strode toward the back of the station. He followed her.
“I’d like to enjoy my stay. If you’re not doing anything tonight, maybe you could show me around?”
Startled, she stopped, gathered her foolishly scattered wits. “I’m the chief of police, Mr.—” she made the correction before he could “—Riley. If you need a map or a tour guide, check with the Visitor’s Center.”
“I don’t get it.” He shook his head.
She shouldn’t ask. If she let him stall her much longer, she’d be late. “What’s the matter?”
He grinned again. “I thought we sort of, well, connected earlier.”
“You’re joking.” The idea was absurd.
“Only a little.” His eyes twinkled. “Call it instant hero worship instead of a connection. I didn’t think anything could make Mr. Filmore stop talking.”
The urge to laugh startled her and she smothered it quickly. “That was more luck than skill.” A distaste for Filmore’s voice was a connection shared by 90 percent of Belclare’s population. “I really need to go.”
“Okay.” He pushed open the door and held it for her. “If you change your mind or need anything decorated, I’ll be around.”
His slow smile and the warmth of his body as she brushed by him created a stir low in her belly. Simple lust. A tempting distraction she couldn’t risk at the moment, no matter how genuine he seemed or how efficiently he tacked up decorations. The cold air slipped around her legs and up her knee-length skirt. She was rather grateful for the assist from Mother Nature as parts of her had turned inappropriately warm during this bizarre conversation. “You’ll be around? For the month?”
“Longer, I think. I like the views,” he added, his gaze holding hers. “Better get going before you catch a chill.”
Right. If only her feet weren’t rooted to the spot.
As he pulled the door closed, she brought out her key to lock it. “Don’t worry. I’ll get it from this side. Danny told me all doors had to be locked at all times.”
She clamped her lips together. No sense hollering at the new guy for the mistakes of the rookie cop at the desk. “Thank you,” she murmured when the door latch clicked. She counted to ten, then tugged the handle, pleased when the lock held.
She hurried to her car. At least the new guy in town kept his word about the little things. Even that small assurance immediately put her in a better frame of mind as she drove out to her meeting with Belclare’s most reluctant celebrity, Deke Maynard.
Quiet, reserved and a gifted artist, Deke had become a true friend. Aside from his assistant, she was probably the only person in town he trusted. She appreciated that and after all the recent criticism, she valued the few people like Deke who supported her. Keeping to their weekly routine of coffee and conversation in his elegant home gave her hope things would soon return to normal in Belclare and made her feel like more than just the chief.
Nothing wrong with wanting to feel like a woman now and again. Didn’t have to mean anything. She thought of the handsome new stranger in town and shook her head. The dead last thing she needed was another complication in her life.
Maybe she’d better stick with just being the chief.
Chapter Three
Standing at the wall of windows on the east side of the room he’d converted into a painting studio, Deke Maynard stared out over the sleepy town of Belclare. Three years ago he’d visited during their annual Christmas Village and declared himself enamored with the charm, views and people.
He’d purchased this house and established himself as a recluse during the remodeling. Oh, he wandered out occasionally and spoke with people, but it was all he could do not to laugh in the eager faces of the ignorant citizens of Belclare as they gladly accommodated his every whim and eccentricity.
He should have asked for hazard pay when he’d agreed to create his base of operations here. The day-to-day tedium of Belclare might kill him. Yet there were certain perks, he admitted to himself as the police chief’s car turned into his long driveway.
The woman was beautiful and intelligent. If he bothered with regrets, he might have second thoughts about the things he’d set in motion. As it was, he scolded himself for entertaining the idea of keeping her as a trophy. It was a risk the operation could not afford.
“Chief Jensen has arrived, sir,” his assistant reported after a quick rap on the studio door.
“Thank you,” he said, as though he wasn’t watching her approach.
The reports from town annoyed him. She’d doubled patrols everywhere. Quite a feat considering the limits of her staff, but if nothing else, they were a determined and loyal flock of sheep.
He was reluctantly impressed that she’d managed to make the drug bust at all. That had been pure police work. There had been no leaks in the chain of information. When he’d arrived and become acquainted with her, he’d considered her more of a decorative figurehead than a real cop. He’d mistakenly assumed she’d been named police chief out of some misguided attempt to appeal to those who clamored for equality.
Looking back, he was grateful he’d been diligent about his manufactured background or today’s meeting might be taking an entirely different and unpleasant turn.
The doorbell rang and Deke smiled to himself. His assistant would manage the door and get
her settled with coffee. Then Deke could make his entrance as the eccentric artist she expected.
Appreciating her strengths didn’t change the fact that Chief Jensen had become enemy number one. As the town dressed itself for their penultimate tourist season, Deke had been making his own preparations. He weighed the pros and cons of his limited choices.
In a matter of weeks, Chief Jensen had single-handedly wrecked a strategy years in the making. If he didn’t act swiftly to rectify the situation, his reputation would be ruined beyond repair.
He examined the landscape on the canvas in front of him. His raw artistic talent would never carry him as far as his other skills. Skills powerful men and organizations paid handsomely for.
Wiping the paint from his hands, he checked his appearance in the mirror at the top of the stairs before he descended to meet the police chief. This would be one of his most critical performances to date. And with all good performances, it would be better for tapping into the truth.
Her drug bust might have cut off a vital money supply line, but that didn’t change his base, physical attraction to her. It would be that truth he monopolized today for the greater good of his real career.
Pausing at the landing, he took one last deep breath before rushing the rest of the way down the stairs. “Ah, Abby, hello,” he said as he entered the sitting room just off the foyer. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting.”
Chief Jensen smiled brightly as she stood to greet him. “You could’ve rescheduled if you’re working.”
“Nonsense. Coffee with you is the highlight of my week.” That put a rosy glow in her cheeks. He stepped back to admire her. “You are looking as lovely as ever.”
“Thank you.”
He motioned for her to resume her seat, then he poured a cup of coffee for himself. “So how are the preparations going? From my vantage point it seems everything is on schedule.”
