Page 11 of Riptide
"Why not?"
Because you'd all be accessories. Because you'd lose everything helping me. Because I'm not worth that.
"Because it's complicated."
"We do complicated. That's literally what we do." Reagan leaned forward. "You trusted us to help you save David. Trust us now."
"This is different."
"How?"
"Because David was innocent. This..." Cara stopped. "This is about me. My past. Things I did before Haven Cove."
"We all have things we did before Haven Cove." Reagan's voice was gentle. "That's why we're here. That's why we don't ask questions."
"Exactly. We don't ask questions. We don't dig. We protect each other by not knowing." Cara met her eyes. "If I tell you about this, if I bring you into it, you lose that protection."
Reagan was quiet for a moment. "Is someone threatening you?"
Cara nodded.
"Threatening to expose something about your past?"
Another nod.
"Something that would put you in danger?"
"Yes," Cara said finally. Legal danger and danger-danger. Whoever had that witness, killed in a New York City jail cell would probably still want her dead.
"Okay." Reagan's expression hardened. "Then we handle it. We find leverage and we shut this down."
"It's not that simple."
"It never is." Reagan's smile was grim. "You don't have to tell me all your secrets. But you need to tell me enough to help. Can you do that?"
Could she? Could she ask for help without revealing she was exactly what the blackmailer claimed—a fraud living under a stolen identity?
The words stuck in her throat. Half a year of lies, t of careful distance, of making sure no one got close enough to ask the questions she couldn't answer.
But Reagan was already close. They all were. And the alternative was drowning alone.
"The inheritance," Cara said slowly. "Margaret Sweet's will. The one that left me the bakery."
Reagan waited, her expression patient. Open.
"It's not... I wasn't..." Cara pressed her palms flat against the table, steadying herself. "Margaret Sweet wasn't my great aunt. I never even met her."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Reagan's face remained carefully neutral, but Cara could see her processing—that sharp mind clicking through implications, connections, questions.
"Did you steal the business?" Reagan's voice was quiet. Not accusing. Just... asking.
"No." The word came out fierce, immediate. "No. Definitely not. But it's..." Cara exhaled. "Complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"I can't explain." Cara met Reagan's eyes, pleading for understanding she didn't deserve. "Maybe ever. I just—I need you to trust that I didn't hurt anyone to get here. I didn't steal from anyone."
