Page 80 of Riptide
"I’m leaving soon, actually." Something flickered in the woman's expression—sadness, maybe. Or exhaustion. "Backto real life. But I'll miss this place. The morning light here is perfect for painting. I’ll be back."
"Well, we'll miss having you."
"Thanks." The woman turned back to the case. "One more almond croissant for the road. And a large coffee."
Cara left Diane to handle the order and followed Wade down the stairs.
Just another tourist. Haven Cove got plenty of them—artists and writers and city people looking for somewhere quiet to think. This one would leave tomorrow and Cara would probably never see her again.
She had bigger things to worry about.
The basement was already full when she arrived.
Tom sat hunched over his workstation, multiple monitors glowing with data. Reagan leaned against the wall, coffee in hand, dark circles under her eyes. Piper was cross-legged on her bean bag, laptop balanced on her knees.
Wade had already unwrapped his croissant and was eating it with the focused intensity he brought to everything.
"How's Blaire?" Cara asked, settling into a chair.
"Still at the inn. Discharged from the hospital this morning." Tom didn't look up from his screens.
"Panicking?"
"Oh yeah." Tom's smile was grim. "We've been hitting her from multiple angles. Fake threats, tech glitches, a copycat blackmailer who contacted three of her past clients claiming to have taken over her operation."
"Copycat blackmailer?" Cara raised an eyebrow.
"My idea." Piper looked up from her laptop. "If someone else is claiming to run her business, she can't trust anyone. Doesn't know who's real and who's fake."
Cara’s jaw dropped. “That’s brilliant!”
Piper’s thin shoulder rose in acknowledgement. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
Wade shook his head, chewing on a bit of croissant. “More like terrifying,” he said after he swallowed.
Tom snorted from the back corner. “Tell me.”
"It's working," Reagan added. "Blaire’s been trying to verify the copycat. Can't figure out if it's a real threat or a hoax."
"Meanwhile," Tom continued, "her email's been acting up. Messages disappearing. Attachments corrupting. Nothing she can prove is sabotage, but enough to make her paranoid."
Cara felt a twinge of something that might have been guilt. They were systematically dismantling Blaire's sense of security, making her question everything. It was exactly what Blaire had done to her victims for years.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
Cara's phone buzzed.
Everyone turned to look at her.
She pulled it out, read the message, and felt the blood drain from her face.
"Cara?" Reagan moved closer. "What is it?"
Cara turned the phone so they could all see.
I know someone's playing games with me, Cara. The FBI investigation was FAKE. Someone's been harassing me, cutting my brakes, trying to destroy my business. And you're the only one within a hundred miles with a reason to do all of that.
I don't know how you're doing it. I don't know who's helping you. But I'm done being patient.
