the size of her personal presence. She might be a petite little thing, but without saying a word she had full command of the room.
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.
“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,
