Page 77 of Riptide
She met his eyes, and he saw the calculation there. She didn't trust him. Didn't like him. And she certainly wasn't goingto hand over anything that might invite questions about her methods.
He pressed for names anyway—anyone who might hold a grudge. Sighing deeply, she reached for her phone, reading off a short list, some offered freely, others glossed over with vague mentions of "misunderstandings" and "difficult situations." Former clients who'd disputed fees. Subjects of investigations who'd made threats. People whose lives had clearly intersected with hers in ways she refused to explain.
Gabe wrote them all down. He'd cross-reference later, see which ones had the means and opportunity to be in Haven Cove last night.
"What about Cara Sweet?" he asked, keeping his voice casual.
Blaire's eyes sharpened. Wariness and something else flickered there—interest, maybe. Like she was curious how much he already knew.
"What about her?"
"She was at the scene. Could she have tampered with your car?"
"Cara?" A short laugh, but it didn't reach her eyes. "She was inside with me the entire time. She couldn't have done it." Blaire paused, choosing her next words carefully. "No way. She doesn't have the... skill set."
Clearly, Blaire didn’t know Cara like he did. Not that he suspected her. But yeah, she had the skill set. Just not the lack of morals.
He closed his notebook and stood. "I'll be in touch if I have more questions. Don't leave town."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Her smile was cold. "I want whoever did this caught, Chief. Even if you don't believe that."
At the door, her voice stopped him.
"Gabe?"
He turned.
She studied him for a long moment, that calculating look back in her swollen eyes. He could see her weighing options, deciding how much to risk.
"Cara," she said finally. "You two seem... close."
"Is that a question?"
"An observation." She tilted her head, wincing slightly at the movement. "I saw the way you looked at her at the crash site. Very protective. Very... personal."
Gabe kept his expression neutral, but his gut tightened. She was probing. Looking for leverage.
"Ms. Sweet is a member of this community. I'd respond the same way to any citizen in distress."
"Right." Her smile sharpened. "I'm just saying... be careful. People aren't always what they seem. Especially people with secrets."
"Is there something specific you want to tell me about Miss Sweet?"
The question hung between them. He watched her calculate again—the risk of saying too much versus the opportunity to plant suspicion.
"Nothing specific," she said finally. "Just friendly advice from someone who finds people for a living. Little Miss Sweet is hiding something big." She shrugged, then winced again. "But you already know that. The question is whether you care more about the truth or about protecting her."
She let that land, then waved a dismissive hand. "That's all, Chief. I'm tired. The pain medication is making me fuzzy."
It wasn't. Her eyes were sharp as ever. But the conversation was over, and they both knew it.
Gabe left without another word. Cara would be at his office soon.
Another interview he wasn’t looking forward to.
Cara arrived at his office at ten o'clock exactly.
The cut on her forehead had been cleaned and bandaged, and she'd clearly managed some sleep. But the shadows under her eyes told a different story. So did the tension in her shoulders, the careful way she moved as she sat across from his desk.
