mirror, wondering who let that pale, sweaty woman with the under-eye luggage into the driver’s seat.
She was due to meet her community liaison in just a few minutes and she was a mess. Maybe she could duck into the back of the van to freshen up before she met Mayor Berend? That was something legitimate scientists did, right? Change their clothes in vans?
The town quickly came into view in that “suddenly there are buildings and if you blink you will miss them all” way unique to tiny rural towns. Main Street was pretty much the only street from what Jillian could see, with the occasional short side street branching out into clusters of two to three small homes. Dr. Montes had written that few families lived in town, preferring to keep almost clannish compounds in the outlying areas of the county and only venturing into town limits for errands.
Main Street led to a town square centered on a gazebo, and, behind that, a large white-washed building topped with a golden shape she couldn’t quite make out. The street boasted a freshly painted collection of businesses with flower baskets hanging from every surface, giving the town a cheerful, neatly kept air. Aside from the inordinate number of them that seemed to involve taxidermy, there was a bank, a boat dealership, a grocery, an “apothecary,” a beauty salon, a book shop, a newspaper called the Mystic Messenger, and finally, Bathtilda’s Pie Shop, which boasted the world's best chocolate rhubarb pie. Jillian had never heard of chocolate rhubarb pie, but frankly it sounded a bit gross. Each business had a little addition under the shop name stating, “Owned and Operated by Bonner Boone” or “Owned and Operated by Branwyn Boone,” or in the sweet shop’s case, “Bathtilda Boone.” Was every business in town owned by a Boone?
Dr. Montes’s instructions were to go to City Hall, which appeared to be the tall, white building at the end of the street. With a gold spire rising from a bell tower-like structure on the roof, it was the tallest building in town. As she drove closer, she spotted a gold-and-green SUV marked “Sheriff” parked out front, next to a rather large Harley Davidson with custom-painted claw marks raking down the body.
She parked the cursed van in an empty spot, near the fountain that stood across from Mystic Bayou City Hall’s door. She glanced down the street at the sweet shop and wondered if she could duck in unnoticed and change clothes in the restroom. It would probably cause a bit of a stir. She couldn’t imagine a town like this got a lot of tourists hauling luggage into public restrooms with them. But it would be better than—
Jillian shrieked. “What the hell!”
A huge man in an extremely tight black t-shirt and even tighter jeans was staring at her through her driver side window. He stood several inches taller than the van, and his hands were the size of picnic hams. He had thick, wildly curling black hair tied back in a ponytail and a matching beard that spread across his barrel chest. His smoke gray eyes seemed to penetrate through the window glass, making her shiver despite the muggy heat.
He raised a hand, and it was all she could do not to flinch. “Hi, there.”
A friendly grin spread across his face, warming his features as he waggled a massive hand.
Should she roll down the window? Was it safe? At this point, it would be rude not to, but she’d always read that a woman traveling alone should ignore their instincts to be polite and err on the side of not letting an enormous man pull her through a van window and onto the human trafficking market.
OK, yes, this was becoming terribly awkward. She rolled down the window. “Can I help you?”
“Dr. Ramsay?” his voice boomed, practically shaking her van windows. “I saw you from the sweet shop window, thought I should come over and introduce myself proper.”
Jillian sagged against her seat in relief. “Oh, thank you, but I’m just here to meet the mayor. Mayor Zed Berend?”
“Yeah, you right!” The man grinned again, showing perfectly white, razor-sharp canines. “You must be the League doctor. Bienvenue!”
Without an invitation, he yanked the van door open and pulled Jillian to her feet. He gripped her much smaller fingers in his very warm, very rough hand. Jillian stared up at him, mouth slightly agape. This was the mayor of Mystic Bayou? He looked more likely to be driving a long-haul