Page 19 of Riptide
"That's how I read it." Gabe straightened. "She wants you scared. Isolated. Convinced that even the police chief is already suspicious of you because of whatever story she's spinning."
"Are you?" The question came out barely a whisper. "Suspicious of me?"
"I'm suspicious of her." He held Cara's gaze. "I'm not investigating you, Cara. I haven't dug into your background. I haven't run searches or pulled records. That's not who I want to be with you."
Her eyes glistened.
"But this woman is dangerous." His voice hardened. "I don't like being played. And I really don't like watching someone I care about get hunted."
"What are you going to do?"
"That depends on you." He moved closer, keeping his hands visible, non-threatening. "I want to help. If you'll let me."
"I can't tell you what this is about." She finally looked at him, tears threatening to spill. "Because if I do, you'll have to choose between helping me and doing your job. And I already know which one you'll choose."
"Cara—"
"Please. Just trust me. I'm handling it. But I need you to stay out of it."
Gabe stared at her, frustration warring with concern. "If Blaire contacts you again, if she threatens you?—"
"I'll call you."
She was lying.
He headed for the door, paused. "For what it's worth? I don't know what she thinks she has on you. I don't know what you're running from. But I know who you are now. The woman who took in a teenager who needed a job. Who brought soup to Mrs. Patterson when she was sick. The woman who jumped into the ocean without a thought to save my brother." He stopped. "That's the Cara I know. You’re a good person. And I wish you'd let me help."
He left before she could respond.
Outside, he stepped into the afternoon sun and stopped.
Blaire Mitchell leaned against a car across the street, phone up, pointed directly at the bakery. At him.
She lowered it when she saw him watching, gave that bright, empty smile. Waved.
Then she got in her car and drove away.
Gabe stood on Main Street, jaw clenched.
Blaire hadn't just been establishing her cover story. She'd been making sure Cara knew she was talking to the police chief. Documenting it. Probably had photos of him walking into the bakery, walking out looking frustrated.
More ammunition. More pressure.
She thought she was untouchable because she had an Instagram following and a cute smile.
She was about to learn otherwise.
When he got back to the station, he walked straight past Maggie’s desk before the poor woman could even start in on all the un-returned calls. He sat at his desk, pulled up his computer, and started a new search.
Blaire Mitchell. Employment history. Client list. Previous cases. Financial records. Everything.
If she was hunting Cara, she had vulnerabilities. Everyone did.
He'd taken down espionage rings, protected assets, neutralized threats.
Cara might not want his help.
But she was going to get it anyway.
