Page 39 of In the Shadows
"Cross. Thanks for coming."
"Thanks for the invite." Ronan took the stool beside him and signaled the bartender. "Beer. Whatever's local."
They sat in comfortable silence while the drinks were poured. Mitch had a folder on the bar beside him—probably the security plan he'd mentioned.
"I met your wife today," Ronan said.
"Izzy mentioned." Mitch's tone was neutral. "She said you were asking questions."
"I ask a lot of questions. Occupational hazard."
"She also said you seemed more interested in Lila Bennett than in flowers."
Ronan took a slow drink of his beer. "I'm working closely with Ms. Bennett on the centennial. Makes sense, I'd want to understand the people around her."
"Does it?"
"In my experience, security isn't just about physical threats. It's about relationships. Networks. Who trusts whom, who has grudges, who might have reasons to cause problems."
Mitch studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded, something in his posture relaxing slightly.
"Fair enough. I do the same thing." He opened the folder and spread out several pages of diagrams and notes. "Here's what I've got for the parade route. Officer positions, crowd barriers, emergency exits. I'd like your input on a few of the chokepoints."
They spent the next hour going through the security plan. Mitch was thorough—more thorough than Ronan had expected. Every venue had been assessed. Every potential vulnerability had been noted and addressed. The man knew his job.
"This is solid work," Ronan said, meaning it.
"I take it seriously. This town matters to me." Mitch gathered the papers back into the folder. "Izzy's family has been here for generations. We're building a life here. A future." He paused. "Whatever problems Blossom Springs has, I'd rather fix them than run from them."
"What problems?"
Mitch tilted his bottle, studying the label like it contained the answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet. "You've been here, what, a week? You notice things. I know you do—I can see it in the way you watch people. So don't pretend you haven't noticed that something's off about this place."
Ronan said nothing. Waited.
"I've been doing security work for a long time," Mitch continued. "Private sector, government contracts, everything in between. I know what normal looks like. And this town—" He shook his head. "On the surface, it's perfect. Too perfect. Underneath, there are currents. Money moving in ways that don't quite add up. People who have more influence than their positions should give them. Questions that nobody wants to answer."
"You've looked into it?"
"I've noticed. That's different from looking into it." Mitch finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the bar. "I'm not a cop. I'm not a federal agent. I'm a guy who runs a security company and wants to keep his community safe. So I notice things, and I file them away, and I wait to see if they matter."
"And if they matter?"
"Then I figure out who to tell." Mitch met his eyes. "You strike me as someone who knows things. Someone who might be here for more than a security assessment. I'm not asking you to confirm or deny that. I'm just telling you—if there's something going on that affects this town, I want to help. Even if I can't know the details."
It was as close to an offer of alliance as Ronan was likely to get. And it was dangerous—bringing a civilian into an active operation, even peripherally, created vulnerabilities.
But Mitch DeMario wasn't a typical civilian. He was trained. He was local. He had access and credibility that Ronan didn't.
"If something comes up that affects your security work," Ronan said carefully, "I'll let you know. Anything beyond that?—"
"Isn't my business. I understand." Mitch extended his hand. "But the offer stands. If you need local eyes and ears, you've got them."
Ronan shook his hand. "I appreciate that."
They parted outside the bar, Mitch heading toward Main Square and Ronan turning toward Beach Road. The night was warm, humid, thick with the salt smell of the Gulf.
His phone buzzed. Caleb.
