Page 62 of Riptide
"The email's spoofed but functional," Tom explained. "If she calls Portland FBI asking about Agent Martinez, they'll give standard response—can't confirm or deny ongoing investigations."
"Those case names are real victims?" Wade asked.
"Yup."
"Won't she verify? Get a lawyer?" Cara asked.
"Probably. Any lawyer will tell her to preserve records, avoid questionable activities. Exactly what we want—her scared and distracted." Tom's fingers hovered over send. "But once this goes out, no taking it back. We're officially poking the bear."
"When do we send it?" Reagan asked.
"Now." Tom looked at Cara. "While she's deep in Miranda Wells. Maximum psychological impact."
Wade stepped closer. "Everyone sure? This escalates things. She'll panic. Could do something unpredictable."
"That's the point," Reagan said. "Panicked people make mistakes."
Cara thought about Shawn Forsythe. About Jessica's broken voice. About all the other victims documented like trophies.
"Do it," she said.
Tom clicked send.
They sat in silence.
"Now we wait," Wade said.
Tom set up monitoring. "I've got alerts set. I can’t access her phone data. Getting past her security would clue her in, but her email is a different animal. The second she opens it, we'll know."
Reagan pushed off the wall, closing in on the monitors. "What do we think she'll do?"
"Lawyer up immediately," Wade said. "That's the smart play."
"But she's also arrogant," Cara added. "She thinks she's untouchable. The email might make her angry more than scared."
"Either way, she'll want to know who turned her in," Tom said. "And Cara's the most obvious suspect."
The words hung heavy.
"You think she'll come after me?" Cara asked.
"I think she'll want answers," Wade said. "Whether that means confronting you or?—"
Tom's computer beeped.
"She opened it." His voice was tense. "Reading now."
They watched the monitoring screen.
Cara's phone buzzed, startling everyone. A call, not a text.
Blaire Mitchell - Incoming Call
Cara's hands shook as she answered. "Hello?"
"Cara." Blaire's voice was sharp. Frightened. "We need to talk. In person."
"What's wrong?—"
