Page 104 of Riptide
The door closed in his face.
Gabe stood there for a long moment, fists clenched at his sides. Six hours until Blaire blew up Cara's life, and there wasn't a single legal thing he could do to stop it.
He'd thought about it all afternoon. Arresting Blaire for blackmail—but Cara would have to press charges, and that meant exposing whatever Blaire had on her. Seizing her devices—but he had no probable cause, and any evidence would be thrown out. Warning her off—but threats from a small-town police chief meant nothing to a woman who'd built an empire on other people's secrets.
He was outgunned. Outmaneuvered. And Cara was going to pay the price.
35
The bakery basementhad never felt so small.
Cara sat at the table, phone in front of her, watching the minutes tick by on the screen.
Around her, the team waited. Tom hunched over his laptop, refreshing Blaire's Instagram feed every thirty seconds like it might change something. Reagan stood by the stairs, arms crossed, watching everyone with that quiet alertness she brought to everything. Wade sat in the corner, cleaning a knife he'd already cleaned twice, the repetitive motion the only sign of his nerves.
And Piper. Tom had tried to send her home, but she'd refused.
"I'm part of this team," she'd said, jaw set in a way that reminded Cara painfully of her father. "I'm not going to hide upstairs while you all wait for the bomb to drop."
Tom had looked like he wanted to argue. Instead, he'd just nodded and pulled up a chair for her.
Now Piper sat cross-legged on the floor, her own phone out, scrolling through Blaire's social media history like she might find some clue everyone else had missed. The determination on her young face made Cara's chest ache.
These people. This family she'd stumbled into. They were all here, waiting with her, even though there was nothing any of them could do.
Her phone buzzed. Gabe's text from earlier, the one she'd been reading and rereading all evening:
Thorne's in custody. Confessed to the assault but denies the brake lines—claims he wasn't in town yet. We're verifying. I went to warn Blaire in person. She's packing, planning to leave tomorrow. She mentioned your midnight deadline. I'm sorry, Cara. I tried.
She'd typed and deleted a dozen responses. What was there to say?Thanks for trying?It doesn't matter?By tomorrow you'll know everything anyway?
In the end, she'd just sent back:Thank you.
Two words. Completely inadequate.
"Does Thorne being arrested change anything?" Piper asked quietly, breaking the silence.
Tom shook his head. "She's still got her files. Still got her deadline. Thorne was just collateral chaos. He was never the real threat."
"Blaire's the real threat," Reagan said.
"I still think we should melt her hard drives," Piper muttered, scrolling viciously through Blaire's feed. "And maybe her face."
"Piper." Tom's voice held a warning.
"What? I'm just saying. She's got like forty-seven thousand followers and all she posts is fake smiles and ruined lives. Someone should?—"
"Someone should let the justice system handle it," Tom said firmly.
Piper snorted. "Yeah, because that's worked out great so far."
Tom opened his mouth to respond, but Reagan crossed the room and squeezed his shoulder. A gentle pressure, there and gone.Let it go. She's scared.
Tom exhaled slowly and turned back to his laptop.
The waiting was the worst part.
Forty-five minutes to go: Tom refreshed Instagram. Nothing new.
