Page 30 of Riptide
Gabe walked through to the small room that led out onto the expansive deck with a great view of the ocean—six tables, a coffee station, and that view the inn was so proud of. And there, at a corner table with perfect lighting, was Blaire Mitchell.
She had her phone propped up, filming herself. Speaking in that bright, bubbly voice that set his teeth on edge.
"—and that's why it's so important to trust your instincts when you're investigating someone. The truth comes out eventually. You just have to be patient. " She tapped her phone, stopped recording, looked up.
Saw him.
Her smile widened. "Chief Sawyer! What a surprise. Are you here to arrest me for something?" She laughed like it was a joke.
"Actually, I'm here to talk." Gabe pulled out the chair across from her. "Mind if I sit?"
"By all means." She gestured graciously, like she was granting him a favor. "Can I get you coffee? The stuff here is terrible, but it's all they have."
"I'm fine."
Blaire studied him with those sharp eyes. "You look very serious. Is this official police business?"
"Let's call it a conversation between professionals."
"Ooh, mysterious." She leaned back, crossed her legs. "I'm intrigued."
Gabe pulled out his phone and opened his notes. "Marcus Webb. Tanner White. Samantha Pike. Should I keep going?"
Something flickered in Blaire's expression. Just for a moment.
"I'm sorry, who?"
"These are all people you were hired to find. People who, months later, filed harassment complaints or suddenly declaredbankruptcy or disappeared entirely." He set his phone on the table between them. "Interesting pattern."
"I don't know what you're implying?—"
"I'm not implying anything. I'm stating facts." Gabe kept his voice level. Conversational. "You get hired to find people. You do excellent work—completely legal, well-documented, perfect for your Instagram. So far, so good."
He leaned forward slightly. "But then something changes. Your targets start having problems. Financial pressure. Anonymous harassment. Cyberstalking. And you? You post vague things about how 'the universe' handles justice. How 'secrets always come out.' How 'interesting people make good stories.'"
Blaire's smile never wavered, but her eyes went cold. "That's an fascinating theory, Chief. Very creative. But I'm just a private investigator doing legitimate work. If people have problems after I find them, that's not my responsibility."
"Except I’m willing to bet sometimes, when the situation presents itself, you approach them after you find them. Offer to 'help' with whatever they're hiding. For a price."
"Do I?"
"Yeah. You do. Marcus Webb told Portland PD you approached him. Told him you knew he was hiding from his business partner for good reason. Offered to lose the files for twenty-five thousand."
"He lied."
"Maybe. But it's interesting how many of your targets tell similar lies." Gabe closed his phone. "Here's what I think. I think you've built a business model around blackmail. You get hired legitimately, which gives you cover. You find people who can't go to the authorities because they're hiding something. And then you squeeze them."
Blaire's smile sharpened. "And what are you going to do about it, Chief? Arrest me? For what? Having conversations? Doing my job? Posting on social media?"
Gabe met her eyes. "Here's the thing. I don't need to arrest you. I just need to make you understand something."
"And what's that?"
"That Cara Sweet is under my protection. Whatever you think you know about her, whatever leverage you think you have, it won't work here."
Blaire laughed. "Oh, that is so adorable. The protective police chief." She leaned forward, mirroring his posture. "But Chief, I bet you don't know what I know about her. You don't know what she's hiding. You're protecting someone you don't understand."
He waited, calm and quiet, unwilling to give her even a hint to suggest she was right.
