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He stepped back. “Night, Ruth. I’m … sorry I can’t offer more. You’re a good woman. Easy to be around.”
She gave a faint smile. “Just no spark.”
His thoughts flicked, unbidden, to the deputy — to the way his blood roared when she was anywhere in his orbit.
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
5
Eavesdropping
Felicity grabbed her order from the pickup counter and slipped into the closest available seat — a small, single table on the edge of the café veranda. From there, she had an unobstructed view of the lake, sunlight shimmering across the surface beyond the stretch of freshly mowed grass. She pulled the bagel apart and smeared a thick layer of cream cheese across one half. The familiar taste drew a small sigh from her — one of life’s uncomplicated pleasures. There weren’t many of those moments, and she’d learned to take them when they appeared.
She was no closer to finding the mailbox vandal. She’d gone over the previous three incidents — they had been handled by various deputies, and none of them were even vaguely similar. The first had been doused with gas and set alight. The second broken off at the base. The third simply run down.
Incidents three and four contained the same tire tracks. The tread had been identified — common all-terrain, the kind half the trucks in the county used. Her Bronco included. There was a slight wear bias on the outer edge, which could point to poor alignment. But even that wasn’t enough to narrow the field in a county full of trucks.
And lastly, there was no connection, no similarity between the victims.
Other than living in Clearbrook.
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Ronan Murphy.
To the fact that he was here.
In this town.
In her orbit, whether she liked it or not.
She’d dropped by Galena’s place to give her an update, only to find Ronan Murphy — in a Fischer Construction shirt — and a second contractor replacing the fence.
It had been a short visit.
She didn’t dwell on why he drew her the way he did. Only on the unsettling truth that he did. That something about him cut straight through her hard-earned equilibrium, stirred a response she’d learned to keep tightly leashed.
Around him, her pulse pounded. Skin buzzed.
Every instinct urged her to let go. To just … be.
“Ronan…”
For a heartbeat, she thought her mind had conjured his name.
But there it was again — spoken casually, threading its way into her quiet Sunday morning like it belonged there.
She hadn’t clocked who sat beyond the cluster of potted plants until the voice carried over the chatter of other patrons.
Ruth Barrow.
Why the woman grated on her nerves was something Felicity didn’t care to examine too closely.
Bella Fischer’s voice followed. “Are you upset?”
“Not sure,” Ruth said.
A pause. Silverware clinked.
Felicity risked a furtive glance between the greenery.
