Page 87 of Riptide
Wade straightened from the wall. "I'm coming with you."
"She said alone."
"I'll stay out of sight. But I'm not letting you walk into a dark parking lot by yourself."
Cara wanted to argue. Didn't have the energy. "Fine. But stay hidden."
She typed a reply to Blaire:
On my way.
No explanation. No protest. Just compliance. That's what an innocent person would do.
"Be careful," Piper said quietly. "She's not going to be nice."
Cara managed a thin smile. "She's never nice. That's what the emojis are for."
She headed up the stairs, Wade's footsteps silent behind her. At the top, she paused by the photo wall one more time. Tom and Piper through the years. A family built from whatever pieces were left.
She wanted that. A future. A family. A life that wasn't defined by running and hiding and fear.
Tonight, she'd find out if that was still possible.
28
The parking lotbehind Henderson's Hardware was empty, lit only by a single flickering streetlamp that cast more shadows than light. Cara pulled her Subaru into a spot near the back and killed the engine.
Somewhere in the darkness, Wade was finding his position. He'd peeled off two blocks back, disappearing into the night like he'd been trained to do. She couldn't see him. That was the point.
Fog rolled in from the ocean, thick and cold, turning the streetlamp into a hazy orb. Cara pulled up her hood against the damp chill and waited.
Headlights swept across the lot.
A green sedan pulled in—rental plates, generic model.
Blaire parked directly under the streetlamp. A power move, Cara recognized. Controlling the light. Making sure she could see anyone who approached while keeping herself visible. Confident, even now.
Or performing confidence. Hard to tell the difference with Blaire.
Cara got out of her car and walked toward the light.
Blaire emerged from the rental looking nothing like the polished influencer who'd walked into Sugar & Salt two weeks ago. No designer athleisure tonight. No perfect highlights catching the light. She wore dark jeans and a plain black jacket, her hair stuffed under a dark beanie. The bruises from the crash were still deep, lurid hues along her cheekbones and chin.
But her eyes were the same. Sharp. Calculating. Dangerous.
Blaire didn't bother with a greeting. "Someone destroyed my system tonight."
"What system? What are you talking about?"
"Don't." Blaire's voice was sharp as glass. "I'm not in the mood for games."
Cara let her genuine exhaustion show—that part wasn't hard. "You dragged me out of bed with cryptic texts demanding I meet you in a parking lot at ten o'clock at night. The least you could do is tell me why."
Blaire studied her, eyes narrowed. Looking for the lie.
Cara held her gaze and waited.
Blaire studied her for a long moment. The streetlamp buzzed and flickered overhead, casting strange shadows across her face.
