Page 29 of Riptide
"I'm fine. Just figuring some things out."
They talked for a few more minutes—David's physical therapy progress, whether Haven Cove had any decent restaurants yet.
Normal conversation. Normal life.
While Gabe planned to confront a blackmailer in direct violation of everything his training said about letting situations develop without interference.
After he hung up, Gabe sat in silence.
He could call Tyler Price with the Oregon State Police to look into Blaire through official channels. Or if Tyler didn’t feel comfortable with that, he could reach out to the contacts he still had at the Bureau.
But that would take time. Weeks, maybe months. And it would involve explaining why he was interested in Blaire Mitchell. To do that, he’d have to put Cara in the crosshairs.
No. This needed to be handled quietly. Quickly. Before Blaire could do irreparable damage.
Gabe closed his files, locked his computer, grabbed his jacket.
Maggie Lowell, his desk sergeant, looked up from her monitor. "Heading out, Chief?"
"Following up on something. Call if anything urgent comes in."
"Will do. Oh, and the town council moved Friday's meeting to Monday. Something about the treasurer being out of town."
"Great. Thanks."
Gabe walked out into the afternoon sun, got in his truck, sat for a moment with his hands on the wheel.
This was a bad idea. Possibly a career-ending idea if it went wrong.
But the alternative—watching Blaire destroy Cara while he did nothing because his hands were officially tied—felt worse.
He'd spent fifteen years with the FBI learning how to read people. How to apply pressure. How to make someone understand they'd miscalculated.
Blaire Mitchell thought she was untouchable because she operated in legal gray areas and had a social media platform as protection.
She was about to learn that some people didn't care about platforms.
Gabe started the truck and headed toward the Haven Cove Inn. He’d seen the woman’s silver SUV parked outside for a couple days now.
Time to have a conversation.
Not as Police Chief Sawyer making official threats.
But as someone who understood exactly what Blaire was doing. And who had no intention of letting it continue.
The drive took two minutes. Small town geography meant everything was close. Gabe parked in the inn's lot, took a breath, got out.
The Haven Cove Inn was the kind of place that called itself "charming" and "rustic" but really meant "old and hasn't been updated since 1987." Floral wallpaper in the lobby. Ancient carpet that had probably been nice once. A front desk staffed by someone who looked barely old enough to drive.
"Can I help you, Chief Sawyer?" The kid—maybe eighteen?—straightened up when he saw the uniform.
"I'm looking for a guest. Blaire Mitchell. She checked in a few days ago."
"Oh, yeah. Room 212. She's actually out on the deck having coffee."
Of course she was. Probably filming it for Instagram.
"Thanks."
