Page 64 of Riptide
And his thoughts.
He rubbed his eyes, leaned back in his chair. The headache that had started at noon was now a persistent throb behind his eyes.
Cara.
He kept coming back to her. To the fear in her eyes when he'd mentioned Blaire Mitchell. To the walls she'd thrown up. To the way she'd asked him to stay out of it, like she was protecting him from something.
Or protecting herself.
What are you hiding?
Her inheritance paperwork was clean. But the woman herself was a ghost before Haven Cove. No employment history. No previous addresses. No digital footprint of any kind.
That didn't happen by accident.
Someone had built Cara Sweet from scratch. But it was a rush job.
And now Blaire Mitchell—professional predator, Instagram-perfect hunter of desperate people—had found whatever crack existed in that careful construction.
Gabe stood, paced to the window. Main Street was dark, most shops closed for the night. A few lights glowed in apartments above the storefronts. The fog was rolling in from the ocean, turning the streetlights into fuzzy halos.
He should go home. Get some sleep. Let Cara handle her own problems, like she'd asked.
But that's not why he'd really taken this job, was it?
He thought about what David had said on the phone last week.
"It's the baker, isn't it?"
"It's complicated."
"It's always complicated with you, big brother. But you've never left a job for a woman before."
Gabe had denied it. Had told David it was about the politics, the bureaucracy, the endless frustration of watching cases stall because of interdepartmental turf wars. About wanting something simpler. Something that mattered in a direct, tangible way.
All of which was true.
But David had laughed."Keep telling yourself that. I saw how you looked at her when we were there. She's gotten under your skin."
She had. Cara Sweet was an itch he had no business scratching. A mystery wrapped in warmth and fear and secrets he shouldn't want to unravel.
And she was in trouble.
Gabe turned from the window, sat back down at his desk. Pulled the incident reports closer like they might actually hold his attention this time.
They didn't.
Lord, I don't know what to do here.
The prayer came unbidden, surprising him. He wasn't particularly religious—not like his mother had been, or like David was becoming. But lately, since Haven Cove, since Cara, he'd found himself reaching for something beyond his own capabilities.
She's scared of something. Someone's hunting her. And she won't let me help.
Show me what to do. Please.
The silence of the empty station offered no answers.
Gabe checked the time. Nine forty-five.
