The day had warmed enough to put some weight onto Camilla's shoulders as she and Ellie stepped out of the bookstore. Ellie had insisted on Camilla taking a small paper bag of leftover scones, claiming she'd just have to throw them out otherwise- a lie Camilla could see right through, but didn't bother to challenge.

The town felt different now that Camilla had a name to follow. Clay Harper. And a destination.

"So, this market's just a little farther down Main," Ellie said, adjusting the woven bag on her shoulder. "It wraps around the square- food on the east side, crafts and garden stuff on the west. Sheriff Mallory usually walks the booths in the morning, keeps an eye on things."

Camilla raised a brow. "He does market patrol?"

Ellie laughed. "Not exactly. He's just... well, he likes to be present. It's a small-town thing. He grew up here."

Camilla nodded, eyes narrowing. "Local hero type?"

"You could say that," Ellie said, her lips twitching with something unsaid.

As they turned the corner, the farmer's market unfurled before them like a living painting. Rows of white-canopied stalls lined the cobbled square, bursting with color and movement. Handwritten chalkboard signs advertised fresh eggs, honey, soaps, and jams. Children darted between stands with sticky fingers, and older couples ambled with canvas bags slung over their arms. The air smelled like ripe tomatoes, cut flowers, and something frying in oil, possibly funnel cakes.

Musicians played on a small, raised platform at the far end, their melody weaving through the chatter and laughter. Local artisans displayed wood carvings and jars of preserves beside bright produce piled high in rustic crates. It was idyllic. Too idyllic.

Camilla scanned the crowd, her journalistic instincts twitching beneath her skin.

They were halfway across the square when Ellie slowed. "Oh! There he is."

Camilla followed her gaze just in time to see a figure step away from a booth selling kettle corn, shaking hands with the vendor.

He was dressed in dark denim and a sturdy canvas jacket, a black baseball cap pulled low. His beard was neatly trimmed, and a badge glinted from his hip—not flashy, just visible enough. The lines of his body were familiar: relaxed posture, the kind that didn't need to prove anything.

Recognition slammed into her chest.

James.

Her breath caught.

"Sheriff Mallory!" Ellie called brightly, waving.

He turned toward them, and his face shifted from casual to alert, then softened into that same easy smile Camilla remembered from the bar.

He walked over slowly, sliding one hand casually into his pocket and clutching his newly bought bag of popcorn to his side with the other.

"Ellie," he greeted, voice like gravel and bourbon. Then his eyes landed on Camilla. "And here I thought I wouldn't see you again so soon."

Camilla stared. "You're the sheriff."

He smirked. "I get that a lot."

Ellie blinked between them. "Wait—you've met?"

"We shared a drink the other night," James said. "Didn't catch your full name then, though."

Camilla wet her lips and recovered with practiced ease. "Camilla Hart. Investigative journalist. Ellie thought you might be able to help me with something."

James's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes sharpened.

"Well," he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Why don't you two walk with me a bit. Let's talk."

They began walking in a loose triangle, James at the front with long, easy strides, Ellie slightly behind and to the side, clearly trying not to interrupt. Camilla matched pace beside him, her strides almost as relaxed as his as they made their way though the stalls.

"You didn't mention your day job the other night," she said evenly.

James glanced sideways, his smile dry. "Didn't come up."

"That's convenient."

"Not hiding it. Just don't like to lead with the badge. People start watching their words too closely." He flicked his gaze toward her. "You weren't exactly handing out your full résumé either."

Camilla smirked. "Touché."

The market bustled around them- venders rearranging produce, leashed dogs panting in the shade. One honey seller waved to someone he clearly knew across the street.

"So," he said casually, "Ellie tells me you're writing a piece. About the murders."

Camilla nodded slowly. "I've done investigative reporting on murder investigations before. Ellie thought you might be open to talking."

"And what kind of piece is this? Sensational exposé? Tearjerker human interest?"

"Neither," Camilla said, then paused. "I don't like stories that lie to people. I like to tell the kind that hurt a little."

James's smile didn't falter, but something in his jaw flexed.

"That's an interesting philosophy."

"I find people tell the truth more often when they know it might sting."

He nodded, thoughtful. "You got proof of your work?"

"I've got links to past articles. Old bylines. I can send them."

"I'll take a look." He stopped at a booth selling locally bottled cider and nodded for the vendor to give Ellie a sample. She lit up, and for a moment the tension broke like light through clouds.

Camilla watched him interact. Warm, familiar, casual. This man who had seemed like just another face at the bar now held this whole town in the palm of his hand.

She leaned slightly toward him. "You knew who I was at the bar, didn't you?"

He didn't answer right away.

Then: "No. But I had a feeling you weren't just passing through."

"Why's that?"

"You watched the room. People who belong don't do that." He glanced down at her, his voice lower now. "You don't scare easy."

Camilla didn't blink. "Neither do you."

He smiled again, wolfish this time. "That's probably why we're talking now."

Ellie returned with her cider, clearly picking up on the charged air between them but saying nothing. She looked from one to the other, then gave a slightly awkward chuckle.

"Well," she said, "should I let you two hash this out?"

James turned to her, tone suddenly lighter. "Nah, stick around. Keeps it civil."

Ellie laughed, and Camilla only half-heard her response.

Her mind was already miles away, on the look in James's eye, the slow hum of danger beneath his calm.

This wasn't a man she could manipulate easily. He was smarter than that.

But that only made it more interesting.

The three of them moved deeper into the rows of stalls, past baskets of fresh peaches and crates of early summer corn. The band at the edge of the market started to play something folksy, and a woman with braided hair painted little watercolor bookmarks by hand.

Camilla drifted slightly behind James and Ellie, letting them chat about the cider. Ellie gushing about the notes of pear and clove, James quietly teasing her about her "sophisticated palate." Camilla, for her part, watched.

She'd seen men like him before. Leaders who didn't bark orders, didn't puff themselves up, but still controlled every room they stepped into. That same quiet confidence had unnerved her at the bar, but here in broad daylight, it had taken on a new form. James Mallory was well-liked. Admired. Maybe even loved.

But there was something underneath that veneer. Something slow and careful. A watcher.

James.

The name didn't sit right in her head.

Too soft. Too clean.

He didn't look like a James. Didn't feel like one either.

Mallory, though... that fit. She turned the word over in her mind, clipped the end.

Mal.

There it was. Stronger. A name with a little shadow on it.

It made her smile, just a little. He wouldn't know she'd renamed him. Not yet.

They stopped near a booth selling handmade knives and old coins. James reached for a small pocket blade. Something simple, bone-handled, elegant in a rough way.

"You ever carry one?" he asked, glancing at Camilla.

She shrugged. "When I need to."

He nodded, still inspecting the blade. "I always think people should. Especially around here. Just in case."

"In case of what?"

His eyes flicked to hers. "The usual. Coyotes. Men who forget their manners. Ghost stories."

Ellie laughed, nervously. "You're both so intense."

Camilla smiled faintly. "Only when necessary."

James handed the knife back to the vendor, then turned slightly toward her. "Ellie said you were looking into Clay Harper."

She didn't respond right away. "I'm looking into everything."

He considered that, then tilted his head. "Harper's not the type that plays well with others. Quiet, like she said. Smart enough to stay out of trouble, most days. But he's... off."

"Off how?"

James's jaw shifted again, subtle. "Ever since he was a kid he was a little too aggressive. He likes to play rough, in every way."

Camilla filed that away. "Have you questioned him?"

"I've spoken with him," Mal said, tone diplomatic. "Nothing I could make stick. Yet."

Yet.

He didn't say it with hope. He said it like he was biding his time.

Camilla felt a strange thrill rise in her chest. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to stand on the other end of that stare. Caught in the act with nowhere to go.

"You're not afraid of him," she said aloud.

Mal looked down at her again, amused. "Should I be?"

"No," Camilla said, almost to herself. "You're the kind of man people fear for better reasons."

He chuckled, low and rough. "That sounds almost like flattery."

Camilla's eyes gleamed. "Does it?"

Ellie, catching the tone again, cleared her throat and reached for a piece of silvery jewelery. "So, Sheriff, are you going to let Camilla help on the case?"

James didn't look away from Camilla. "That depends. Is she planning to help? Or just stir things up?"

Camilla's smile was small and sharp. "Can't it be both?"

Mal laughed quietly. "If you bring me those articles and some ID, I'll see what I can do. I can't promise much, but I'll listen."

Ellie looked delighted. Camilla just nodded.

Camilla watched as Mal turned to speak with another vendor, the crowd folding around him like water reshaping around a stone. Ellie had wandered a few paces off to admire a stand of handmade soaps, chatting brightly with a woman about essential oils and goat milk.

For the first time since stepping into the market, Camilla was alone.

She slipped between two booths and found a shaded spot beneath the overhang of an old stone building. The chatter of the market dimmed just slightly, muffled by distance and the rustling of linen canopies in the breeze. She leaned a shoulder against the wall, let her bag rest against her hip, and exhaled slowly.

Her pulse hadn't slowed since that moment of recognition—James. Mal. The man from the bar, the one who'd calmly intercepted a drunk kid, had now revealed himself as the town's guardian. The realization still hummed beneath her skin.

He blended in so well. She could see now how easily he did it: beard trimmed, clothes worn but clean, posture open, demeanor measured. He looked like them. But he wasn't.

She tilted her head, watching him from a distance. He stood easily, chatting with an older man behind a stall of antique tools, nodding, laughing. A sheriff.

Not a reckless one. A practiced one. One who knew how to play the game, and play it well.

Camilla's fingers curled lightly around the paper bag of scones still tucked beneath her arm, grounding her. She felt the air shift as someone passed close behind her, and she instinctively straightened.

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone. With practiced ease, she typed in James Mallory. Then added Bitterroot Sheriff. Nothing unusual. A few local news blurbs—awards, community events, a charity chili cookoff. Smiling pictures. Always smiling.

She flipped to her notes app and opened a new file:

MAL

- Sheriff. Alias: James. No badge at the bar. Blends easily.

-Bar demeanor: controlled, observant. Commanded attention without effort.

- Market: public face. Respected. Well-liked. Unshakable.

- Response to Clay: cautious. Knows something. Waiting.

- Instinct: Not a fool. Possibly dangerous. Possibly useful.

Then she switched to another note and typed:

Clay

-Handy man: does odd jobs around town.

-Quiet, does not garner respect from others.

-Suspicion: Seen with Marleen in her last days.

-Instinct: Possibly dangerous. Possibly useful.

She tucked the phone away and looked up just in time to see Ellie waving at her from the soap booth.

Camilla offered a quick, tight smile and stepped forward, rejoining the flow of the market. Mal was finally finished with his own shopping by the time she reached Ellie's side again. He smiled warmly at the smaller woman and apologized, he had to get back to work. With a respectful nod to Camilla and a request for her to send all of her information to him via email, he turned and left, disappearing into the bustle of the market.

Walking back down sidewalk to the bookstore, Ellie could not keep herself contained.

"James grew up here, too! He has always been like a big brother to me. He is just so cool, and so sweet." Her eyes slid back to Camilla and she smiled impishly. "As you seem to have already noticed." Her cheeks flushed a lovely pink and she giggled like a little girl.

Camilla smirked and huffed out a lackluster laugh. "He certainly seems like something. When I met him I never thought he could be the town sheriff. Do you know what drew him to that sort of work? Especially in a tiny town he grew up in?" She reached back to gather her hair in her hands, lifting it off of her sweaty neck. The air had grown uncomfortably warm, a big change from the bone chill she got in the early mornings and late nights. The weather here was certainly something she would have to get used to.

"Oh his dad was the last sheriff. As was his dad before him. Big family tradition. He was practically born with a badge! That is probably why he takes such good care of us. It's just devastating that such harsh times came to us under his watch. I just know it eats him up inside." Ellie looked sorrowfully through the windows of her family bookstore. Seemingly another inherited career.

Camilla shifted uncomfortably. Some inherited family matters really could not be outrun.

"What does your grandmother think of him?"

Ellie huffs a little laugh "Ah you noticed. Don't take it to heart, she is overly suspicious of everybody she meets. She likes him, treats him like a grandson. She practically raised his dad, too."

Hmm. Perhaps family troubles? Interesting for a family of sheriffs in a town this size. Where everyone knows everything. Especially for a family that public.

"Well I need to get going to the grocery store. I have a fridge to fill."

Stirred from her thoughts, Ellie turned back around and reached out to grasp Camilla's hand.

"Please just promise me that you will be careful. If James lets you in on this let him take the lead and stay back. That's why I introduced you. Don't let my hard work go to waste!" She smiles sweetly, squeezes Camilla's arm, and turns to enter the shop.