Page 54 of In the Shadows
Sarge's Sandbar was already filling up with the after-work crowd when Lila arrived.
She found a booth in the back corner, away from the bar where the bartender was mixing drinks and the tables where locals were settling in for happy hour. Jace Marriott waved at her from behind the bar—he'd owned the place for about three years now—but she just nodded and kept moving.
Ronan slid into the booth across from her five minutes later. He'd come in through the back, she noticed. Always watching exits, always thinking three moves ahead.
"The sedan followed you halfway here, then turned off toward the highway."
"So they know I didn't go home."
"They know you're being careful. That's actually useful." He leaned forward, keeping his voice low. "It means they're not sure what you have or where you keep it. If they were certain, they wouldn't be watching. They'd be acting."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"It's supposed to give us time." He pulled out his phone and showed her a grainy image—a man in dark clothes exiting a vehicle. "Caleb pulled this from the hotel security footage. The break-in at your office happened at 3:47 a.m. This guy spent eleven minutes inside, then left through the same side door you used this morning."
"You can't see his face."
"No. But the vehicle registration traces back to a shell company that traces back to another shell company that traces back to Coastal Property Services."
Warren Caldwell. Everything kept circling back to Warren.
"So what do we do?"
"First, we assume your office is compromised. Not just searched—bugged. They didn't just take your files, Lila. They wanted to know who you talk to, what you're planning, whether you're working alone."
She felt the blood drain from her face. "I called Delia from my office this afternoon. Told her I'd be late for dinner."
"That's fine. Normal conversation, normal life. That's what they expect to hear." He reached across the table and touched her hand briefly. "What matters is that you don't discuss anything sensitive in that building. Not on the phone, not in person. Act like someone's always listening, because they probably are."
"And my house?"
"That's the problem." His chin lifted. Not defiance. Preparation. "The files they took from your office were copies. Eventually, they're going to figure that out. When they do, your house becomes the next target."
"The originals are in my father's study. In a locked drawer."
"A lock won't stop these people."
"I know." She pulled her hand back and pressed her palms flat against the table. "So we move them. Tonight."
"Where?"
"I don't know yet. Somewhere they won't think to look." She met his eyes. "Somewhere that isn't connected to me."
Ronan was quiet for a moment. "My cottage. It's a rental under a cover name. No paper trail linking it to the real me, and no connection to you."
"If they find out?—"
"They won't. And even if they did, those files would be evidence of my investigation, not yours. It gives you deniability."
She didn't like it. Handing over everything her father had built, everything she'd spent two years compiling—it felt like giving up control. But control was an illusion right now. The only thing that mattered was keeping the evidence safe until they could use it.
"Okay. But I'm making copies first. Digital ones, stored somewhere they can't touch."
"Caleb can help with that. Encrypted cloud storage, multiple backups, nothing traceable." He checked his watch. "The centennial is two weeks out. That gives us time to build the case properly, document everything, make sure when this goes public, there's no way Caldwell can squirm out of it."
"Two weeks." She let out a breath. "Two weeks of pretending everything is normal. Two weeks of smiling at Warren Caldwell and acting like I don't know he had my father killed."
"Can you do it?"
