we can do is our best.” She pulled her car keys from her pocket. “I’ll find someone to babysit the sign.” Her department was stretched too thin already, but she refused to allow a repeat performance.
“We could put up a couple of motion-activated cameras,” Gadsden offered.
“With this circus watching?” She shook her head. “I like the idea but the vandals would only come back and hit those first.” She scanned the faces on the other side of the road again. It was a valid idea, if they could find a window when no one else was around. Too late to contain the media, she knew Belclare residents would be upset with her all over again. “Let’s talk about it at the station when we have more than the nothing we have now.”
Gadsden agreed and Abby headed back to her car, giving appropriate sound bites to the media on the way. She wanted the quiet of her office and some heat for her freezing feet. Unfortunately, she was blocked in by a dark blue pickup truck she didn’t recognize.
It had to belong to one of the temporary workers or vendors. She stifled the urge to look back at the death threat on the sign. She would not let some silly stunt likely staged by a teenager with too much idle time and a bad sense of humor get under her skin. Paranoia was neither professional nor helpful.
“Excuse me, Chief Jensen.”
A car door slammed with a bang and, despite her best effort, her body jerked, braced for an attack.
“Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Abby surveyed the tall stranger who seemed determined to show up in her life today. And he had startled her. Denying it would be foolish. “No problem. Mr. O’Brien, isn’t it?”
“That would be my father,” he said with a softer smile that did strange things to her pulse. “I’m just Riley, remember?” He leaned against the pickup’s door. “I heard the breaking news on the way out.” His brown eyes were taking in the ugly scene behind her. “Any leads?”
She tucked her hands back into her pockets. “I could have sworn you told me you had steady work. Why are you insinuating yourself into mine?”
“I’ll take that as a no. And I’d be working if my next job wasn’t taped off.”
She gave in and rubbed at the tension in her neck. Hadn’t there been a time when Belclare folks had just done their own thing without professional design teams and small armies of temporary workers? She missed those days. Of course, with the way the Christmas Village had grown it was impossible to set up without help. While everyone liked how December brought a wealth of tourists into town, the police department maintained a higher alert for petty crimes.
Since she’d taken over, the worst they’d dealt with had been a string of burglaries and one car theft. The burglaries had been teenagers looking for trouble and all of the stolen items had been recovered and returned. The car theft had been a pair of temporary workers operating under the influence of alcohol and stupidity.
Yeah, those were the days.
This year, she had legitimate concerns about how to protect Belclare effectively. There wasn’t enough time or manpower to run background checks on every new person in town. Her meetings with business owners hadn’t gone well, most of them siding with the mayor that the additional threats were her problem to solve since she’d brought it on them.
At some point in Belclare’s past, the police chief would have been hailed as a hero for that bust for more than a few hours. But despite the public resentment and doubt, she understood the financial importance of the upcoming days and she was doing her best to make sure it all came together without any further tragedy.
The ugly vandalism didn’t bode well.
“Until Mr. Filmore decides how to proceed with the cleanup, this area is off-limits.”
“I’ll let my boss know.” He pulled a cell phone out of the pocket of his dark red vest.
She frowned. “Don’t you own a real coat?”
“Sure.” He gave her a strange look. “It gets in the way when I’m working.”
“I see.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t die of frostbite on you.”
Based on the way her body reacted to him, frostbite wasn’t a concern for her, either, if he was nearby. She’d nearly forgotten about her freezing feet during this unexpected conversation. She glared back at the sign. “No one is going to die of anything around here.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said, his attention on his phone.
“Could you move your truck, please? I have things to do and you’re blocking me in.”
“Sure.” With the phone to his ear, he settled into the driver’s seat. His voice was a low rumble as he explained the problem to his boss.
Then the engine masked his conversation as he rolled out of the way, giving her a small wave.
In her own car, she cranked up the heat and hit shuffle on her iPod, letting the blast of AC/DC fill the car on her way through town. She needed the loud, demanding beat to blot out her thoughts. There was no point in doubting her course of action. She wouldn’t take back the words even if she could. As her thoughts cycled, she spotted Riley’s truck about a block behind her.
He wasn’t following her. That would be paranoid, fearful thinking and she wouldn’t give in to it. She wouldn’t sink to the level that gave some rumored local terrorists the advantage. He was headed for one of the warehouses down by the docks and this was the most direct route through town. But he turned when she did, heading north away from Main Street, directly opposite the route to the docks.
She practiced it in her mind, running through her defensive options as he continued to tail her. Preparation wasn’t paranoia, she assured herself.
Abby nearly cracked when he was practically on her bumper as she turned onto her street. She debated driving right by her house, but decided her address was no secret and it was time to make a stand. With that thought echoing in her brain, she pulled into her driveway.
But Riley didn’t pull in behind her; he pulled into the driveway right beside hers. In fact, the way the two homes were situated, they were now parked side by side.
What the hell? All concept of her attraction to the man vanished instantly. He was like a bad penny turning up everywhere today. The house next door had been vacant for several weeks, since Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton had gone to Florida to visit their grandchildren. He had no business being on her street or in their driveway.
She yanked her purse from the passenger seat and got out of the car. “What do you think you’re doing, Mr. O’Brien?”
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