Page 116 of Riptide
"What about me?" Tom asked.
"Stay here. Keep digging into the digital trail—the assistant angle Piper flagged. If Blaire really did have someone else running her accounts, that person might know something." Cara paused. "And dig into Webb and Forsythe some more. Maybe there’s a way to pinpoint their whereabouts at the time of the murder."
Tom grinned. “There’s always a way. But you’re not gonna want me to describe it.”
"One more thing." Wade's voice was quiet but serious. "We need to move fast. Tyler Price seems fair, but fair doesn't mean slow. If he decides Cara's alibi isn't solid enough, or if he starts digging into backgrounds..."
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
"Then we'd better find the real killer first," Cara said.
Reagan headed for the stairs. "We can be in Portland before dark if we leave now."
Cara followed, then paused and looked back at Tom and Wade.
"Be careful. Both of you. Whoever killed Blaire, they're not playing games. They pushed a woman off a cliff and walked away."
"Same goes for you," Wade said. "Watch your back out there."
Cara nodded and climbed the stairs into the bakery. Diane was behind the counter, handling the late afternoon trickle of customers with her usual warm efficiency. She caught Cara's eye, a question in her gaze.
"I'll be back tonight," Cara said quietly. "Maybe late."
Diane didn't ask where she was going. Just nodded and squeezed her hand. "I'll handle the early proof."
Outside, Reagan was already unlocking her truck. The afternoon sun was starting its descent toward the ocean, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink.
Cara climbed into the passenger seat, her mind still on that phone call with Jessica. The grief. The rage. The hollow certainty that fighting back was pointless.
You can't stop her. Nobody can.
But someone had.
"You okay?" Reagan asked, starting the engine.
"No." Cara stared out the windshield. "I listened to that woman pour out her heart about her brother. I heard how broken she was. And now we're driving to Portland to find out if she's a murderer."
Reagan pulled out onto the coast road. “Sweetie, if you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears.”
Cara groaned and slid down in her seat. “I’m gonna have to get back to you on that.”
“You do that.” Reagan rolled her eyes. “In the meantime, this vehicle’s heading for Stumptown.”
40
Jessica Forsythe'scondo complex looked exactly as Cara remembered it—sleek lines, modern construction, upper middle class. The comfortable life Jessica had built before Blaire destroyed it.
"Nice place," Reagan said, scanning the parking lot as they climbed out of the truck. "Or it was, anyway."
"Her car's not here." Cara searched for the silver Prius the neighbor had mentioned last time.
"Could be at work."
"On a Saturday evening?" Cara shook her head. "Tom said she took personal leave. Family emergency."
Family emergency. She thought about Shawn, about the brother Jessica had lost. What family did she have left to have an emergency about?
"I came here with Wade a few weeks ago," Cara said as they approached the entrance. "Her neighbor saw us, told Jessica we'd been snooping around. That's part of why she was so angry when I called."
