Page 75 of Riptide
"Isn't she?" Cara met Reagan's eyes. "She lies for a living. Manipulates people. Uses their secrets against them. That's exactly what I used to do."
"Used to," Reagan emphasized. "Past tense. You're not that person anymore."
"Am I not?" Cara gestured at the room. "We're running a con as we speak. Fake FBI investigation. Fake threats. Manipulation and deception. How is that different from what she does?"
Reagan was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Intent."
"What?"
"Intent matters." Reagan sat back down, facing Cara directly. "Blaire destroys people for money. For power. For the thrill of it. She doesn't care who gets hurt. She drove a man to suicide and documented it like a business transaction."
"And us?"
"We're trying to stop her." Reagan's voice was firm. "The methods might look similar. But the reasons are completely different. And that matters. That matters a lot."
Cara wanted to believe that. But late at night, when the justifications got quiet, she wasn't always sure.
"Get some sleep," Reagan said, standing. "I'll come by in the morning. We can prep for your interview with Gabe together."
"Thanks."
Reagan headed for the stairs, then paused. "Cara? For what it's worth? I've known a lot of bad people in my life. People who took and destroyed and never looked back." She met Cara's eyes. "You're not one of them. The fact that you're even asking these questions proves that."
She left before Cara could respond.
Cara sat alone in the basement, surrounded by monitors and silence.
Tomorrow, she'd face Gabe. Would look into his eyes and tell him half-truths that felt like whole lies. Would watch him not push, not question, not demand the answers he deserved. Because he was protecting her. Even though he didn't know why. Even though she'd given him no reason to trust her.
She picked up her phone, stared at his message.
9 AM. My office. Need your formal statement about tonight.
Professional. Careful. No hint of the moment they'd shared at the crash site, when he'd touched her chin and told her to go, when he'd crossed lines he shouldn't have crossed to keep her safe.
I'll be there,she typed back.
Three words. Simple. Meaningless.
And yet they felt like a promise she wasn't sure she could keep.
Cara climbed the stairs slowly, turned off the lights, locked the basement door behind her.
All too soon, she'd sit across from the man she was falling for and lie to his face.
Again.
Lord, please help me find another way. Please help me find a way to tell the truth without destroying everything.
The prayer echoed in the empty bakery.
No answer came.
But then, Cara thought as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, maybe that was the answer. Maybe some messes you had to clean up yourself.
Maybe some lies you had to live with until you found the courage to stop telling them.
She just hoped that day came before she lost everything.
