Page 119 of Riptide
"What?" Cara leaned toward the phone.
"Blaire's last post. The one that went up Friday morning—the sunset with that stupid quote about 'finding your truth.' I assumed Blaire scheduled it before she died. But the metadata..."
"What about the metadata?"
"The location tag. It's not from the hotel. It's not from Portland." Piper's voice dropped. "It pings to Haven Cove. To the cliffs."
Silence.
"The assistant posted it," Cara said slowly. "From the cliffs. Either right before or right after Blaire died."
"She was there," Reagan said. "Jessica was at those cliffs."
"And then she ran." Tom's voice was grim. "Smart. Get out of town before anyone finds the body. She's probably halfway to Canada."
Cara's mind raced. Jessica had left Portland five days ago. Drove south toward Haven Cove. Lured Blaire to the cliffs. Pushed her. Posted to her Instagram to maintain the illusion she was still alive.
And then vanished.
"Can we track her?" Reagan asked. "Credit cards, phone, anything?"
"I've been trying," Piper said. "Nothing since she left Portland. No card activity, no phone pings. She went completely dark."
"Because she was planning this," Cara said quietly. "She knew she'd need to disappear afterward."
Reagan exhaled slowly. "So we know who probably killed Blaire. We just can't find her."
"Tyler Price needs this information," Tom said. "Gabe too. They can put out a BOLO, alert the state police, check airports and bus stations?—"
"She's got a huge head start." Cara stared out at the darkening sky. "She could be anywhere by now."
Cara nodded. If Jessica gained access to Blaire’s database, it was possible the threat hadn't ended. It may have simply changed hands.
"Let's get back," Cara said wearily. "Brief Gabe. Give Tyler what we have. Maybe they'll find something we missed."
Reagan started the engine. "And if they don't?"
Cara didn't answer. She just stared out the window at the coastal highway, watching the last light fade from the sky.
Jessica Forsythe had won. She'd gotten her revenge on Blaire, and she'd gotten away clean.
So far.
41
Cara barely slept.
She'd tossed and turned on her bed, still in her clothes from the drive back from Portland, too exhausted to change but too wired to rest. When sleep finally came, it brought nightmares—Blaire's face morphing into Jessica's, both of them standing at the edge of a cliff, beckoning her forward.Come see what's at the bottom, Cara. Come see what happens to people like us.
She'd woken at five, gasping, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her teeth.
Now she sat in the basement, hands wrapped around a mug of tea Diane had pressed on her before she’d come downstairs. “Chamomile,” Diane told her. “For your nerves.” The tea had gone cold twenty minutes ago.
Reagan had driven them back from Portland last night, neither of them speaking much. They'd arrived after eleven to find Tom and Piper still monitoring, still searching, still coming up empty.
Wade had pulled in around six this morning, running on gas station coffee and grim determination. Seattle had been a dead end—Marcus Webb locked up tight with an airtight alibi.
And Jessica was gone.
