Page 8 of Riptide
Piper:Mais oui. (please note perfect French. And like, who even needs French? Seriously? Talking to Mr. Nakamura here, if it’s not already obs.)
Reagan:Cara?
Cara stared at the messages. She should respond. Should be part of the team. Should pretend everything was normal.
But sitting in the bakery’s repurposed basement, lying to their faces while they tried to plan a future she might not be part of...
She couldn't do it.
Can't tonight. Bakery stuff. Sorry.
The response was immediate.
Reagan:Cara. Come on.
Wade:What bakery stuff?
Piper looked up from wiping tables, phone in hand, expression concerned.
Cara typed fast:Just tired. Need to catch up on paperwork. We'll talk soon.
She put her phone on silent before anyone could respond.
Piper returned to cleaning tables, and Cara stood behind the counter, watching the afternoon fade to evening.
Fifty thousand dollars. It might as well have been fifty million.
3
Cara's apartmentfelt too small at nine PM.
She'd skipped the team meeting, texting her excuses, choosing isolation over facing them.
Now she sat at her tiny kitchen table with Margaret Sweet's inheritance paperwork spread before her, studying documents she'd memorized six months ago.
Looking for cracks. For weaknesses. For the thing Blaire Mitchell had found that would unravel everything.
The lawyer's signature looked legitimate. The notary stamp was real—Dom had connections, had made sure of that. The will itself was expertly forged, down to Margaret's spidery handwriting and her habit of crossing her sevens European-style.
Dom had thought of everything.
Except, apparently, a thirty-something identity hunter with an Instagram following and no conscience. Who had put the woman on Margaret Sweet’s case?
Her phone sat beside the paperwork. Seven missed calls from Reagan. Three texts from Wade. Two from Tom.
She couldn’t answer any of them.
Because answering meant lying more, and she was so tired of lying.
Her phone buzzed again.
Hope you're having a good evening! Mine's been super productive. Did some great research today. Found SO many interesting connections. Can't wait to share! Hope you're making progress on our little arrangement! –B
Cara threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and bounced onto the couch, the screen thankfully intact.
She pressed her palms against her eyes, breathing hard.
She had maybe three thousand in savings. The bakery itself generated decent revenue, but not fifty-thousand-in-two-weeks decent.
