Page 44 of Riptide
The lies came back easily. Like muscle memory. Like putting on clothes that still fit perfectly even though she'd sworn she'd outgrown them.
Finally, she settled on:I wasn't running. I was meeting with someone about a loan. Trying to get your money together. It's harder than I thought. The bakery doesn't have that kind of cash flow. I'm working on it. Please.
Her thumb hovered over the send button.
That last word—Please—tasted like ash. But it was the kind of detail that would sell the performance. The kind of vulnerability that would make Blaire feel powerful.
She hit send.
The wait was excruciating.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Fifteen.
Cara paced her small apartment, checking her phone every thirty seconds. Had she overplayed it? Been too obvious? Not convincing enough?
This was the worst part of any con—the moment after the hook was set but before you knew if the mark had taken the bait. The moment when you were committed but helpless, waiting to see if your read had been accurate.
She'd spent twenty-three months in federal prison analyzing where she'd gone wrong. Now she was using those same skills to manipulate a manipulator.
And hating how naturally it came.
Her phone buzzed.
A loan? That's smart thinking! See? You're learning. Who'd you meet with? Just curious. I like to know these things.
Cara's hands shook as she read the message.
There it was—the test. Blaire wanted to verify. If Cara refused to share, it would look suspicious. But if she gave Blaire real information...
She needed to give Blaire something. But what?
Her mind raced through options. A real person would be too easy to check. A completely fictional one might not hold up if Blaire dug deep enough. She needed something in between—plausible but unverifiable.
She typed:A friend from my old life. Someone who knew me before Haven Cove. He's thinking about it. Said he needs a few days to move some money around.
The lie was vague enough to be hard to verify but specific enough to sound real. "Old life" suggested someone from her past—which Blaire was already digging into anyway. "He" made it sound like a specific person without giving a name. "Thinking about it" bought time without committing to anything.
She sent it before she could second-guess herself.
This time, Blaire's response came immediately:
Old life, huh? That sounds VERY interesting! What did you do in your old life, Cara? Before the bakery? I'm SO curious now!
Cara's blood turned cold.
Stupid. Sloppy. She'd just handed Blaire a new thread to pull.
Before she could figure out how to respond, another message came through:
But okay, I can be patient. For now. Keep me updated though! Daily check-ins starting tomorrow would be GREAT. Just a quick text so I know you're making progress. Nothing crazy!
Daily check-ins.
Blaire was tightening the leash. Making sure Cara stayed on the hook, stayed compliant, stayed scared.
Cara forced herself to type:Okay. I'll check in. Thank you for being patient.
The words made her want to throw her phone across the room. But that's what a desperate, grateful mark would say.
