Page 43 of Riptide
"Is she legit?"
"The Instagram stuff? Yeah, as far as I can tell. The reunions check out. Her methods are aggressive but legal."
"But?"
"How do you know there's a but?"
"You've got that tone."
David laughed. "Here's what's interesting—her whole brand is documenting reunions. Tearful families, dramatic reveals, everyone on camera. I can’t figure out how blackmail would fit… Unless…"
Gabe’s stomach sank. “She’s also finding people who don’t want to be found. She’s doing that, too. Aggressively.”
His brother whistled. “Could be innocent—privacy concerns, whatever. But combined with what you're telling me about potential blackmail?" David's voice turned analytical. "That's quite a business model. Sounds like she’s using the Instagram success as cover while running a parallel operation with the people who'll pay to stay off camera."
"Can you dig deeper? Any complaints, accusations of extortion?"
"I can try. But Gabe? If she's doing this, she's smart enough to make sure victims are too scared to talk. Be careful."
He laughed. “Pot? Kettle? Black? I’m just saying."
“Ha. Ha." David hung up.
Gabe stared at his desk. Neptune Brotherhood. A ghost organization with real fear attached. Blaire Mitchell. An influencer with a hidden business model. And Cara Sweet. A woman with secrets and a blackmailer who'd found something worth exploiting.
Tomorrow, he'd have coffee with Cara.
And he'd decide whether to protect her or interrogate her.
Or figure out if there was a way to do both.
13
Cara stoodin her apartment above the shop, staring at her phone. The scent of caramel and spices drifting up through the floorboards felt like a mockery. Like everything good in her life—fragile, temporary, about to be ripped away.
Blaire's text sat at the top of her screen, sent while Cara had been driving back from Portland with Wade.
Saw you heading out of town this morning. Hope you weren't thinking of running! That would be SO disappointing. Road trip with the military dude? Interesting choice of companion. Tick tock, sweetie. 9 days left. --B
Ice settled in Cara's stomach.
The casual mention of Wade—identifying him as military with that same bright cheerfulness—sent a different kind of chill through her. How much did Blaire know about the others?
Cara moved to her bathroom mirror and studied her reflection.
Two versions of herself stared back: Carly Reid, convicted con artist who'd spent years manipulating wealthy collectors into buying fake masterpieces. And Cara Sweet, small-town baker trying desperately to be someone honest.
Tonight, she needed to be Carly again.
The thought made her stomach turn, but survival had never been about comfort. It had been about reading the room, playing the part, giving marks exactly what they expected to see.
Blaire expected to see a scared, desperate woman scrambling to meet an impossible deadline.
So that's what Cara would give her.
She sat at her small kitchen table, phone in hand, and started crafting her response. Wrote it. Deleted it. Wrote it again.
Every word mattered. Too desperate and Blaire would smell manipulation. Not desperate enough and she'd escalate the pressure.
