Page 68 of Riptide
"I'll think about it," Cara said.
Blaire nodded and walked out into the fog.
Cara stood alone in the cottage for a long moment, listening to Blaire's footsteps crunch across the gravel. The Mercedes door opened. Closed. The engine started.
She let out a shaky breath, then moved toward the door herself. Time to get to her own car, debrief with the team, figure out what Blaire's sudden change of tactics actually meant.
I'm not a monster. I'm just trying to survive.
Right. And Cara was the Queen of England.
Blaire Mitchell didn't do anything that didn't benefit Blaire Mitchell. This offer to "rethink" their arrangement wasn't mercy. It was a pivot. The FBI scare had rattled her, and now she needed allies more than she needed Cara's money.
Cara stepped out into the fog, pulling the cottage door shut behind her. The cold, damp air hit her face as she started walking toward her car, parked on the gravel shoulder fifty yards away.
Still, maybe they could use this somehow. Blaire was scared. Vulnerable. Looking for someone to trust. If Cara could get closer to her, gain access to more information about the hunting program, the victim files, the financial records...
That was how they'd take her down. Not through blackmail or threats, but by getting inside her operation. Finding the evidence they needed. Destroying the program that let her hunt vulnerable people.
Cara's mind was racing with possibilities as she walked, gravel crunching under her feet. The fog was thick enough that she could barely see her own car ahead, just the faint gleam of its outline in the darkness.
Behind her, Blaire's Mercedes rumbled.
Headlights cut through the fog, sweeping across the parking area as the car began to move.
Cara kept walking, not looking back. Ten more feet to her car. She'd call Wade first, let him know she was safe. Then they'd regroup at the bakery and figure out?—
The engine note changed.
Louder. Revving.
Cara turned.
Blaire's Mercedes shot straight toward her, accelerating.
For one frozen moment, Cara's mind couldn't process what she was seeing. The headlights grew brighter, closer. The engine screamed. The car wasn't turning. Wasn't following the curve of the drive toward the road.
It was aimed directly at her.
Cara threw herself sideways?—
21
Gravel bitinto Cara’s palms, her knees, her hip as she hit the ground and rolled. The Mercedes roared past, close enough that she felt the rush of displaced air, smelled exhaust and hot metal.
She scrambled to her feet, heart slamming against her ribs, ready to run?—
But the car didn't turn. Didn't circle back. Didn't come for her again.
It kept going. Straight toward the low rock wall at the edge of the parking area.
Through the fog, Cara heard Blaire scream. Then the sickening crunch of metal on stone.
Breathing hard, she pulled herself to her feet.
She tried to kill me.
But that scream. That wasn't the sound of a predator closing in on prey. That was terror. Pure, helpless terror.
