Page 89 of Riptide
"No more blackmail. The fifty thousand dollars is off the table."
Blaire was quiet for a long moment. Then she nodded. "Fine. I don’t need the money anyway. But Cara—" Her voice hardened. "If I find out you're behind any of this, I’ll end you."
"Understood."
They stood in the flickering light, bound by mutual suspicion and shared fear.
"I'll be in touch," Blaire said. She turned back toward her rental car. "Watch yourself. Whoever's doing this isn't done yet."
Cara watched her go. The rental's engine started, headlights sweeping across the lot as Blaire pulled out and disappeared into the fog.
She stood alone in the darkness, heart pounding.
Now she needed to get the woman to trust her, just enough to reveal the kind of info Tom could use to prove Blaire’s crimes.
She headed toward her Subaru, parked at the far end of the lot. The fog had thickened while they talked, turning the world into gray cotton. Her footsteps echoed strangely on the wet asphalt.
She was halfway to her car when she heard it.
Footsteps behind her. Coming fast.
Cara spun?—
A shape lunged out of the fog. Male. Dark hair. Eyes wild with something that looked like years of bottled fury.
She opened her mouth to scream, but his hand clamped over her face, shoving her backward. She hit the ground hard, asphalt biting into her palms, her hip, her shoulder.
He was on top of her before she could move. Hands around her throat. Squeezing.
Cara clawed at his face, his arms, anything she could reach. Prison had taught her to fight dirty. She jammed her thumb toward his eye, felt him flinch, and used the moment to twist sideways.
His grip loosened for half a second.
She screamed.
The sound tore through the fog, raw and desperate. She kicked out, connected with something solid, heard him grunt in pain.
But he was bigger. Stronger. And he wasn't stopping.
His hands found her throat again. Tighter this time. Stars exploded across her vision.
Lord, please?—
The prayer fragmented as darkness crept in from the edges.
29
The scream cutthrough the fog like broken glass.
Gabe was already moving—out of the truck, weapon drawn, running toward a sound he couldn't pinpoint. He'd pulled into the hardware store lot thirty seconds ago on instinct, spotted Cara's Subaru next to a rental sedan, felt that familiar prickle at the back of his neck.
He should have trusted it faster.
Somewhere ahead, muffled by the gray wall pressing in from all sides, he heard struggling. A choked gasp. Then a man's voice—urgent, commanding.
"CARA!"
Not the attacker. Someone else. Someone trying to help.
