Page 55 of Riptide
Tom finished. "Miranda Wells exists. Employment history, college degree, addresses, credit score, parking tickets. Everything."
Wade studied the whiteboard. "Detailed enough to be real. Complicated enough to be interesting."
Reagan pulled up Blaire's website. "She has a 'hire me' form. I'll fill it out as Lisa Ross."
She typed, reading aloud: "I need help locating my former business partner, Miranda Wells. She embezzled two million dollars and vanished. I've hired other investigators—they've come up empty. Your reputation is why I'm reaching out. Money is no object. Discretion essential."
"Professional but desperate," Cara said. "Exactly what Blaire responds to."
Tom checked his screens. "Everything's in place. Miranda Wells exists."
"Then send it." Cara's pulse quickened.
Reagan clicked submit.
They sat in silence. The trap was set.
"She probably won't respond until morning," Tom said, checking the timestamp. "It's almost midnight. Even narcissists sleep."
Wade stood. "I'm doing a perimeter check."
"Paranoid much?" Piper said affectionately.
"Thorough." Wade headed upstairs.
Tom stretched, shoving aside a cluster of empty energy drink cans. “I need actual food.”
"I'll make a run." Reagan looked at Cara. "You should rest. We'll monitor overnight, wake you when she responds."
Cara wanted to argue, but exhaustion pulled at her. "The second anything happens."
"Promise." Reagan smiled. "Now go."
In her apartment, Cara collapsed onto the bed fully clothed.
She should pray. Ask for guidance, beg for protection. But exhaustion pulled her under before she could form the words.
Please let this work. Please don't let anyone get hurt.
Sleep took her.
Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it, disoriented.
Reagan's text:She responded. Get down here. NOW.
Cara checked the time. 2:14 AM.
Her stomach dropped. That was fast. Too fast?
She stumbled down to the basement.
The team was gathered around the large monitor above Tom’s workstation. Even Wade looked unsettled.
"That's weird, right?" Piper asked. "Who responds to business emails at two in the morning?"
Wade's expression was grim. "Someone who's desperate for money. Or someone who never sleeps because they're hunting multiple targets."
"Or both," Reagan added quietly.
