Page 111 of Riptide
"You believe her?" Wade's voice was sharp. "Just like that?"
"I believe all of you." Gabe looked around the room. "I saw Cara through the bakery window at five-forty-five this morning. She looked like she hadn't slept all night. Because she hadn't—she was here, with you, waiting for something that never happened."
The tension in the room shifted. Not gone, but different. An acknowledgment that Gabe was trying to protect them, even while doing his job.
"There's something else," Piper said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at her. She was staring at her phone, browfurrowed. "I've been going through Blaire's posts. Like, obsessively. And there's something weird."
"Weird how?" Tom moved toward her.
"The writing style changes at times. I was so mad before, I didn’t see it. Some posts use tons of emojis, others barely any. And the posting times are inconsistent—sometimes she posts at six AM, sometimes at midnight, but the patterns don't match up. And the captions..." Piper scrolled, frowning. "Some of them sound like her. That fake-bright influencer voice. But others are more... I don’t know…. Professional, maybe?"
"Like two different people were writing them," Cara said slowly.
"Or at least editing." Piper looked up. "It's like she had someone else running her account. At least part of the time."
"An assistant," Tom said. "That would make sense. Someone to handle the day-to-day posting while she focused on the blackmail operation."
Gabe was watching them with an expression Cara couldn't quite read. "You think this assistant might be relevant?"
"I don't know." Piper shrugged. "But if Blaire had someone that close to her operation, someone with access to her accounts, her files..."
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.
Someone close enough to know everything. Someone who might have their own reasons to want Blaire dead.
"I need to head back to the crime scene to meet Tyler," Gabe said. "Walk him through what we know. But I wanted you to hear it from me first." His eyes found Cara's again. "I'm doing this by the book. It's the only way to protect you in the long run."
"I know." Cara's voice was barely above a whisper. "Thank you."
He nodded once, then turned and climbed the stairs. The basement door closed behind him, and the team stood in silence.
Tom was the first to move. He opened his laptop, fingers already flying across the keyboard. "Piper, send me everything you have on those posting patterns. I want to dig deeper into this assistant angle."
"On it." Piper was already tapping at her phone.
"Wade." Reagan's voice had shifted—no longer the comforting friend, but the astute survivor with a case to work. "You still have contacts in Seattle, right? People who can run down leads quietly?"
"A few."
"Good. We're going to need them."
Cara looked around at her team—exhausted, shaken, but already pivoting. Already fighting. Not frozen by fear or guilt, but channeling it into action.
"Wait." She stood, steadier now. "What are we doing?"
Reagan met her eyes. "What we always do. Protecting our own."
"Blaire's dead. The threat is over."
"Is it?" Tom looked up from his laptop. "Someone killed her, Cara. The state police are going to be looking hard at you. At all of us."
"So we find them first," Wade said. "The real killer. Before Gabe's friend decides you're the convenient answer."
Piper crossed her arms, chin lifted with that stubborn determination Cara had come to recognize. "Besides, whoever did this might have Blaire's files now. All her blackmail material. All her leverage." She paused. "Including whatever she had on you."
The words hit like ice water.
Cara hadn't thought of that. Blaire was dead—but her files weren't. Somewhere out there, all that damning information still existed.
