Page 48 of Riptide
Cara closed her eyes. All her preparation, all her careful planning of what to say—it crumbled.
"You're right."
Silence on the line. The admission seemed to catch Jessica off guard.
"You're absolutely right," Cara continued, and this time the words weren't calculated. They were just true. "I do want something from you. I want to know how to survive what you've already been through. Mostly, though, I want to know if there's any way to stop her from doing this to someone else."
"There isn't." Jessica's voice went flat. Dead. "You can't stop her. Nobody can."
"Maybe not. But I have to try."
"Why? What makes you special? What makes you think you can succeed where everyone else has failed?"
"Nothing. I'm not special." Cara looked at Shawn's photo on the table, and something in her chest cracked. "I'm just desperate. And I have help. Friends with special… skills. I've already talked to one of her other victims. He's managing a fast-food restaurant now after she destroyed his career. Lost everything. And he told me the same thing you're telling me—that fighting her doesn't work."
"He's right."
Cara waited, and it wasn't strategy anymore. It was just pain recognizing pain.
"You want to know what happened?" Jessica finally said. "You want the full story so you can feel justified in whatever stupid plan you're cooking up?"
"Only if you want to tell me."
"I don't WANT to tell you anything. But maybe if you understand—really understand—what she's capable of, you'll be smart enough to do what I'm telling you. Pay her and disappear."
Jessica took a shuddering breath. "My brother was a good man. A GOOD man. Do you understand? He coached his daughters' soccer team. He volunteered at the food bank. He was the kind of person who stopped to help stranded drivers change tires."
Cara pressed her hand over her mouth, already feeling tears start.
"His ex-wife made up the domestic violence charges during their custody fight. Completely fabricated. She admitted it later—ADMITTED she lied—but by then it was too late."
"Shawn couldn't afford bail. Couldn't afford a real lawyer. The public defender told him to plead guilty, take a deal. But he HADN'T DONE ANYTHING."
The story poured out now, years of grief and anger finally finding a target.
"So he ran. He got a job working construction under the table. Rented a room in a boarding house. Kept his head down. Just trying to survive until he could afford to clear his name. Until he could see his daughters again."
Cara's throat tightened. She'd been running too. Still was. The parallels felt too close.
"And then Blaire found him."
Jessica's voice turned cold. "She showed up at his construction site. Smiled that perfect Instagram smile and told him she'd been hired to locate him. Which was a LIE. We found out later—no client. Nobody hired her. She just... found him somehow."
Cara's chest tightened. No client. Just like with her. Blaire had hunted Shawn independently. Hunted him and destroyed him.
"She told Shawn she understood his situation," Jessica continued. "Said she felt sorry for him. Said maybe they could work something out where she wouldn't have to report his location to anyone."
"She wanted fifteen thousand dollars. Everything he had. Every penny he'd scraped together for a lawyer to clear his name."
"He paid her, and he thought it was over."
Jessica's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Two days later, she posted about him. 'Successfully reunited a family'—with photos of his old neighborhood. She TAGGED THE LOCATION."
"His ex-wife's brothers found him. They informed the police, of course. It’s not like they sent out cops immediately, but Shawn knew it was only a matter of time."
Cara was crying now, tears streaming down her face. This wasn't the calculated empathy she'd planned to show. This was real. Raw. Because she could see herself in Shawn's story. Could see her own future if she failed.
"I told him to come home. Told him we'd figure it out together. That we'd fight the charges. Fight Blaire. Fight everyone."
