Page 4 of Riptide
"That's nice," she managed.
"Yeah. Super nice." Blaire's smile was still bright, but her eyes were calculating. Sharp. "Funny thing, though. Mom always said Margaret never had kids. Neither did her only sister. So, like no next generation. She was really sad about it, actually."
The words landed like physical blows.
"But here you are." Blaire tilted her head, studying Cara like a specimen. "The grandniece nobody knew existed. Inheriting everything. Living the dream in thisadorablecoastal town."
Cara couldn't breathe. Dom Adler, Cara’s NYPD handler, and guardian angel…and Margaret Sweet’s real nephew and heir, had told her erasing Margaret’s lineage would be the best way to make Cara less traceable.
How wrong he had been.
Blaire picked up her pastry bag, smile back to full wattage. "Anyway, think about that interview! I'd love to hear all about how you and Margaret reconnected. Must be such a special story." She headed for the door, then paused, looked back. "Oh, and Cara? Love the name. Very convincing."
The bell chimed cheerfully as she left.
Cara stood frozen behind the counter, staring at the business card.
Blaire Mitchell.
The name felt as fake as Cara Sweet.
Less than a minute later, her phone buzzed.
Unknown number:Great meeting you! Let's chat soon. Let me check my schedule and I’ll tell you when. Don’t even think about ghosting me, or I start asking questions. Starting with that VERY handsome police chief. Former FBI, right? I bet he's great at background checks.–B
Cara stared at the text, her carefully constructed life crumbling around her.
Outside, Haven Cove looked exactly the same. Morning sun glinting off the ocean. Fishing boats heading out. Pearl Henderson probably already gossiping about book club at the post office.
But for Cara, everything had just changed.
The fear she'd been living with—the constant low-level terror that someone would discover the truth—had just walked into her bakery wearing designer athleisure and a perfect smile.
She should run. Pack a bag, drain her small savings, disappear again.
But three weeks ago, she'd helped save a man's life. She'd found a team. A purpose. Something that felt like family for the first time in her adult life.
And Gabe.
Gabe, who looked at her like she might be worth something. Who made her want things she couldn't have. Who made her want to be the person she was pretending to be.
She couldn't leave.
But she couldn't tell anyone either.
Because the moment she did, they'd ask questions. They'd want details. They'd investigate.
And her new team had a rule: Don't dig into each other's pasts.
If she broke that rule, what else would unravel?
Cara’s fingers shook so hard she could barely get the card into her pocket.
She'd built a life here on borrowed time and lies.
Now someone was calling in the debt.
Someone who looked like an Instagram influencer but moved like a predator.
