Page 18 of Riptide
How many of those people actually wanted to be found?
One comment from eight months ago:Worth every penny. You're amazing at this.
This wasn't charity. This was business.
And Blaire Mitchell was circling Cara.
Gabe grabbed his keys and headed for the door.
Sugar & Salt was moderately busy when he arrived. Cara stood behind the counter, and even from across the room, he could see the exhaustion in her face.
She looked up when the bell chimed. Something flickered across her expression when she saw him—relief and fear in equal measure.
"Hey." He approached the counter. "You got a minute?"
She glanced at the customers. Walls slamming into place. "What's up?"
"Could we talk in your office?"
Her expression shuttered completely. "Piper, can you handle the front?"
The teen looked between the two of them, eyebrows raised, and nodded.
Cara led him to the back office, closed the door then stood behind her desk like she needed the barrier between them.
"What's going on?"
Gabe pulled out his phone, showed her Blaire's Instagram. "You know this woman? Blaire Mitchell?"
Cara's face went pale. "Why?"
"She came to see me at lunch. Said she was your old college friend. That she's worried about you." He watched her carefully. "Claimed you seemed stressed. In over your head with the bakery. Asked me to let her know if I notice anything 'concerning' about you."
Cara's hand gripped the edge of her desk. "She talked to you about me?"
"She did. And something about the whole conversation felt wrong, so I looked her up." He gestured to the phone. "She's not a lifestyle blogger, Cara. She's a professional skip tracer. She finds people who don't want to be found—and charges a lot of money for it."
Cara said nothing. But her knuckles had gone white.
"You're not old college friends, are you?"
"No."
"So why is a professional investigator pretending to be your friend and asking the police chief questions about you?"
Cara looked away. "I can't—I don't?—"
"Here's what I can't figure out." Gabe leaned against the doorframe, keeping his voice calm. Thinking out loud. "She didn't have to talk to me. If she's investigating you, approaching the local cops is risky. I could start asking questions. I could warn you. I could make her job harder."
Cara's eyes met his, wary. "So why did she?"
"That's what I've been asking myself." He paused. "I think she wanted me to tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"That she talked to me. That she's circling you. That she can get to the police chief any time she wants." Gabe's jaw tightened. "She made sure to mention you 'talk about me.' Made sure I knew you two were 'close.' She's sending you a message, Cara. She wants you to know that if you go to the cops, she's already there, planting seeds."
Cara's face had gone from pale to ashen. "She's cutting off my options."
