by Debra Webb
“Just think it through,” she answered. “You’ve said you want to stay in Belclare.”
He nodded. “Right. I showed you the signed lease.”
“That’s my point, Riley. Having dinner with me could create long-term problems for you.”
His thoughts turned dark at the implication. A woman with her stellar record and dedication shouldn’t have to put up with this kind of crap. Not from the community and not from the lowlifes who wanted to exploit her concern for that community. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes,” she said, her mouth curving into a soft smile. “But I have plenty of food at home.”
He wondered what she’d do if he just kissed her the way he wanted to. His feelings were unexpected and unprofessional, but that didn’t lessen the desire. Thinking about the way she’d looked at him earlier, he considered capitalizing on a relationship to stay close to her, but if she ever discovered his real identity and purpose it would hurt her. He didn’t know her well, but he could tell she put stock in honesty and even his secrets were lies.
Tell her the truth, a voice echoed in the back of his mind. He wished it were that simple.
She didn’t deserve the shock and pain of discovering what he was. Or rather, what he wasn’t. He didn’t want to give her any more reasons to second-guess her instincts. He didn’t want to be one more source of anxiety and disappointment.
“Well, too bad,” he said resolutely. “We’re here now. It’s not my business what other people think any more than it’s theirs what I think or do.”
“It’s not just what they think—”
“It’s what the people behind the threats will do. I get it.”
“And you don’t care?”
“Oh, I care.” It surprised him how much he cared. About his job, her, even Belclare as a whole. “I’ve been in stressful situations before.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Not out here.” He shot her another grin, the one he’d learned distracted her. It worked again, as her eyes landed like a caress on his lips. “I’ll be fine, Abby, no matter the fallout.”
She was right. Heads turned as they entered the pub and found a small table near the scarred oak bar. “That thing could use some attention,” he said.
“I think they call it character.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes people forget the ‘care’ part of character.”
A smile bloomed on her face. “Are you set on remodeling the whole town?” she asked after the waitress took their drink order.
“Of course not. Fixing things is just in my blood.”
She seemed to mull over that statement for a moment before firing the next question. “Will your parents visit? I’m sure they’d be thrilled with what you’ve done.”
He was granted a short reprieve as their drinks and a basket of the pub’s hand-cut potato chips arrived. Lying was critical to his success here. It was absolutely essential to keeping her safe and finding the culprits behind the threats. So why was he fighting it so hard?
He steered the conversation to simpler topics while he stewed over his predictable nature. This need for attachment and approval had been a problem for as long as he could remember.
He understood it was a product of being an orphan with no clear understanding of his real past. Making up his history had been amusing and no one knew enough to correct his theories. Some days he’d been the son of humble farmers, other days he had superhero blood in his veins.
In no small measure, he’d found a working solution as one of Director Casey’s Specialists. He’d become part of a professional family where the past didn’t matter. Together, learning from the best operatives and support techs, they’d been able to accomplish tasks other law enforcement teams couldn’t.
Now he was out here on his own. An island once more. Casey had asked him to think this through. Riley wondered if his mentor had anticipated this sort of emotional blowback.
“What’s bothering you?”
He looked up from his plate into Abby’s concerned face. “Just thinking about my parents,” he said. It was true enough. Being an adult didn’t change his curiosity about where he’d come from. “You’re right. They would be proud of the work I’ve done here.”
She smiled. “Will you invite them?”
“You just want more tourist traffic,” he teased. “I’ve sent pictures. They don’t travel much this time of year.” Riley didn’t want to think about the kind of failure that would bring his professional parent, Thomas Casey, to Belclare.
“You’ll have to let me know what they think.”
“Sure.”
From her purse, he heard her phone chime. “Do you have them send those 24/7?”
“Right now I do. Just a traffic dispatch.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I’m worried about this weekend. We received threats against specific targets today.”
“They damn well better not mess with our display in the park. I worked hard on that.”
Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The park. The police station. The docks. Homeland Security called me again, but I don’t have anything new to tell them.”
“If they’re so worried, they should send you some manpower.”
Her eyes went wide and her head bobbed up and down. “That’s what I said. Belclare citizens check out. I know it has to be someone close, but I’ve turned over every stone and double-checked every rumor. We aren’t getting closer.”
“You will.”
“After what happened to Calder...well, I can’t help but think of worst-case scenarios.”
“That’s natural.”
“I know. Deke’s publicity efforts likely saved opening weekend, but I don’t want some sick group turning the happy crowds into victims and ruining everything.”
He reached over and caught her hand. “People are resilient. Even if the worst happens, the town will rally behind you.”
“More likely they’ll rally with cheers and confetti at my going-away party.”
“I don’t believe that. Everyone I talk to likes you.”
She narrowed her gaze, assessed him. “You’re lying.”
He cleared his throat. “I didn’t say they liked your victory speech.”
“Nice,” she said, pulling her hand away as if she just realized they were touching. In public.
“I don’t know much about your line of work, but if you ever need someone to bounce theories off, I can listen.”
“Thanks.”
He heard the sincerity in that single word and wished he could offer her more assurances. His own searches into the backgrounds of those who were most outspoken hadn’t turned up any clear connection to known terrorists.
Everyone at the top said this was a sleeper cell. If it was true, whoever they’d planted here in Belclare had been provided with a rock-solid cover. He didn’t care for the grim parallel that made to his situation. The food arrived and he decided to forget work long enough for them to actually enjoy what they’d come here for—dinner.
“Great.” She stared at her phone, looking like someone had sucker punched her.
“More trouble?” His senses went on alert.
“You could say that. They found a match for the DNA on my snow shovel.”
“Can you talk about it?”
“I probably shouldn’t.” She swiped at her phone, then raised her blue eyes to meet his. “It appears to have been used against a guy with a long and impressive rap sheet.”
“Someone in Belclare has an impressive rap sheet?”
“No.” She scowled at her phone another minute or two while he wolfed down more of his burger. “This guy’s current address is a morgue in Baltimore. Preliminary cause of death is head trauma.”
Alarms went off in Riley’s mind. The implications of that were pretty dangerous for her.
“I should get to the office.” She looked longingly at her plate, clearly irritated by the idea of leaving her dinner unfinished. “I love these burgers, but my appetite
is gone.” She grimaced and tossed her phone back into her purse.
“It won’t wait until morning?”
She shook her head. “I need to head this off with the Baltimore P.D.”
He agreed 100 percent. Someone was trying to set her up for murder. The why was an easy guess. If she was in legal trouble it would get her out of the way. But who needed her out of the way and what did they have planned when they succeeded? Planting evidence of a crime was a potential goal of its own. Make the chief look guilty and muddy her reputation, lessen the good and the impact of her big takedown.
That effort would prove impotent. Abby was one of the most recognized and respected people in town. Unless time of death was the middle of the night, it was likely someone in Belclare could offer her an alibi. As her neighbor, he could easily vouch for the times that her car came and went from the driveway between their houses.
“Are you worried?”
Her blue eyes narrowed at him. “Are you asking if I did it?”
He snorted. “I know you didn’t do it.”
She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Care to explain how it is you’re so certain? I haven’t even given you any details.”
“I don’t need them. You live next door and I’m a light sleeper.” He leaned closer. “I’m using the bedroom on that side of the house. Your car didn’t go anywhere last night.”
“You didn’t happen to hear anyone busting open my garage and stealing my shovel, did you?”
“No,” he confessed with a shake of his head. “They managed that sometime after I left for work.”
“You think they wanted me to find it.”
He shrugged. “Sure. It was a hassle for you, this morning, right?”
“It was a violation,” she said, her voice hard. “Something like this could cost me my job, whether or not I’m innocent.”
“Just proves my point. Whoever did it got to you, threw a wrench in your schedule, and now that you have a body to go along with the bloody shovel you have a serious, ongoing distraction from your responsibilities in Belclare.”
“For a guy who’s just passing through you seem to have your finger on the pulse around here.”
He grinned at her. “I keep telling you I like your town. When will you believe me?”
She winced. “It may not be my town much longer.”
“That’s doubtful. You don’t strike me as the type to go down without a fight.” He winked at her. “I’ve seen the video that proves it.”
Those bright blue eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “If I could go back in time and tell myself to shut up, I would.”
He laughed. “And miss all this fun?”
A fire truck went roaring past the pub and her phone rang again.
She pulled it out of her bag, but when she read the message, all the blood drained from her face. “The police station’s on fire.”
He caught the waitress’s attention and signaled for the check. “Let’s get you over there.”
“I can walk.”
“Absolutely not.” It might be the opening her enemies were looking for. Tossing cash onto the table, he escorted her through the pub with a hand at the small of her back.
Her poise and self-control impressed him. She carried her head high, her stride easy, but he felt the tension in her rigid posture and the tight muscles under his fingertips. Any more stressful surprises would break another person, but he didn’t think Abby would snap. Not now, not ever. While he admired her fortitude, he worried that her unyielding nature would only push the culprits behind this threat to up the ante. His concerns were justified as they reached the police station and found the end of the building closest to the employee parking area engulfed in flames.
“Some days I long for a world without YouTube,” she said as he parked across the street, well away from the responding firefighters.
“If the problem is a terrorist cell within Belclare, YouTube is irrelevant,” he pointed out. He turned, feeling her intense gaze on him. “What?”
“Again, not sounding like a typical construction worker.”
He shrugged that off. “I can read and I listen to the news. Besides, between the sign, the internet and your mention of Homeland Security, I’d have to be an ostrich not to come to that conclusion.”
“Of course.”
He’d made her wary again. Damn it. She was a smart woman and she must be picking up on more than his ability to connect a few dots between the details she had started to confide. “If you have questions for me I’ll answer them.” With the cover story, of course. This entire operation was about keeping her safe. To do that, he had to gain her trust.
She tore her gaze from the fire to study him. “I believe you would.” She opened the door. “But those questions will have to wait.”
He tagged along as she marched toward the fire chief supervising the process of dousing the flames. The fire chief kept her at a safe distance and, after a brief exchange, urged her toward the other cops who’d been unwillingly evicted from the police station. But she didn’t move, remaining apart and scowling at the blaze lapping along the roof.
“Did he tell you anything?”
“Only that they’ll have it contained shortly.”
“Good to know.”
Her fury was obvious. What she intended to do about it, not so much. She didn’t need speculation or suggestions from the new guy in town. He couldn’t decide what to do, other than his job. “I’ll take you home when you’re ready.”
“I’m not going anywhere until the building is secure.”
“I figured as much.”
She finally pulled her gaze away from the fire. “You don’t have to wait. One of the officers can take me home.”
“Waiting isn’t a problem.”
After another minute or two, she stalked over to the officers who’d been ousted from their building. Riley stayed put, having a pretty good idea of how that conversation would go. Instead of following her, which felt a little clingy and intrusive, he scanned the bystanders, looking for anything remotely suspicious. Spotting Mr. Filmore standing on the other side of the fire trucks, he headed that way.
“Hello, Mr. Filmore,” he said, hand extended.
The man squinted at him from behind his glasses. “Who—? Oh. You’re that decorator fellow.”
“That’s me.” Riley pushed his hands into his pockets, not surprised that Mr. Filmore refused to shake hands. People didn’t come wound any tighter than the man who obsessed about the historic accuracy of every snowflake in Belclare.
“Why are you here?”
Riley wanted to ask him the same question. “I was grabbing dinner at the pub and heard the commotion.” No sense giving him any ammunition to use against Abby later.
“Were you in the building?”
“Yes, of course,” Filmore said, wringing his hands. “I had another issue to discuss with Chief Jensen.”
“Is everything settled with the welcome sign?” It had been on the project board for this afternoon, but Riley had been with a different team at the park.
“As much as can be expected,” Filmore groused. “She has to do something!” He turned abruptly, the fire and emergency lights casting grim shadows across his pinched features. “This eyesore is intolerable.”
Exactly what did the man think Abby should do? Apologize to the criminals and terrorists? Grab a fire hose? “You’ll be surprised how fast we can clean things up. I’ll pitch in. Will you?”
Filmore ignored him. “This season is doomed to fail. Belclare may never recover.”
“The rest of the town looks fantastic,” Riley said. “I bet Chief Jensen is already planning how to keep everyone safe for Saturday’s opening.”
“I know your type,” Filmore said, shifting to put himself toe-to-toe with Riley. “Every year it takes more of you than last year. You say the right things, but you don’t care.”
Riley opened his mouth, but Filmore was on a roll.
“That b
uilding is eighty years old. I’ve personally overseen every so-called improvement of the past twenty-some years.” The garish lights emphasized Filmore’s wild eyes. “This is an unmitigated disaster all because of her!” He flung his arm in Abby’s direction. “She talks safety but she’s a hypocrite. That building does not deserve to suffer.”
The man was starting to sound a little warped to Riley. “Take it easy, Mr. Filmore.”
“Take it easy? She is single-handedly destroying this town.”
Riley fought the urge to put the man out of everyone’s misery. Two quiet punches and Mr. Filmore could rethink his priorities while his body learned how to function again.
Moving Filmore up on his list of potential suspects, Riley muttered some soothing nonsense in an attempt to calm the man down. Just when he thought he was making progress, Filmore launched into another tirade.
Before Riley could steer her away, Abby walked right into Filmore’s outburst. He pushed Riley aside and starting shouting at her.
“This is your fault!”
“Mr. Filmore—” she put a hand on his shoulder “—are you okay?”
He shrugged her off. “Absolutely not!”
“Would you like me to call over a paramedic?” She gave Riley a look to do it anyway.
Incensed, Mr. Filmore put himself right in her face and it took all of Riley’s self-control to abide by Abby’s signal to step back and let the man blow. He didn’t know how Abby put up with Filmore’s increasingly outrageous accusations.
“Mr. Filmore,” she said when he paused for air. “I am sorry for your distress. I know how much Belclare means to you.”
“You are a failure! This city has never been more unsafe. Opening weekend is ruined! The people of this town deserve better than you.”
Riley moved to intervene, ready to protect either Filmore or Abby. He wasn’t sure which one would need him more. The last thing he expected was for Abby to slip her arm through Mr. Filmore’s as if they were the best of friends. “I understand your concern. Have you seen the park yet?”
“Of course.”
“I think the decorating crew outdid themselves. Were you pleased?”
