Page 95 of Riptide
She wasn't the only one running on fumes. Across from her, Tom hunched over his laptop, dark circles under his eyes suggesting he'd spent the night chasing digital ghosts instead of rest. Reagan leaned against the wall near the stairs, arms crossed, watching everyone with that quiet intensity she brought to everything—though even her sharp edges seemed dulled by exhaustion. Wade stood by the monitors, scrolling through data Cara couldn't make sense of from this distance. He moved stiffly, favoring his left side. The tackle in the parking lot had cost him more than he'd admitted.
No Piper. School day. Tom had insisted, and for once his daughter hadn't argued.
The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Diane's footsteps descended—careful, measured, balancing a tray.
"Fresh coffee. And those cheese Danish you all pretend you don't like." She eyed Wade as she set the tray on the table, her warm smile cutting through the tension like sunlight through fog. "Anything else before I open up?"
"We're good." Cara managed a smile. "Thank you, Diane."
"Of course." Diane's hand brushed Cara's shoulder as she passed—a brief touch, there and gone. Comfort without intrusion.
Wade watched her climb the stairs, something soft crossing his face before he caught himself and looked away. Reagan noticed. Said nothing. But the corner of her mouth twitched.
The door closed. The basement fell silent again.
"Okay." Tom straightened, turning his laptop so they could all see the screen. "Here's what we know. Michael Thorne is still out there. Gabe's got his people searching, but the guy's gone to ground. Could be anywhere."
"So we've got a would-be killer on the loose and Blaire planning who knows what." Reagan's voice was flat. "Perfect."
"Thorne's not our biggest problem." Wade turned from the monitors. "He wanted Blaire dead, not Cara. Last night was a case of wrong place, wrong time."
"Easy for you to say." Cara's hand drifted to her throat. The bruises had darkened overnight—she'd seen them in the mirror this morning, a necklace of purple and blue she couldn't hide. "He seemed pretty committed to killing whoever was in front of him."
"Fair point." Wade's expression softened. "But Blaire's the one ready to detonate your life. Thorne's just... collateral chaos."
"What do we know about him?" Reagan asked. "Beyond 'crazy guy who tried to strangle Cara'?"
Tom pulled up another screen. "Not much yet. Michael Thorne, mid-forties, lives in Portland. No criminal record. Keeps a low profile. But here's the interesting part—I found payments from his bank account to one of Blaire's shell companies. Going back three years."
Reagan let out a low whistle. "That's a long time to be under someone's thumb."
"So he's another victim." Cara stared at the screen.
"Can't exactly blame him for wanting her dead." Wade's voice was grim.
Reagan pushed off the wall. "The question is, does Blaire know he's here? If she knows one of her victims came to Haven Cove to kill her, that changes things."
"Gabe warned her last night," Cara said. "She knows someone's hunting her, probably Thorne."
"Which means she's scared and angry." Tom shook his head. "Not a great combination."
Wade crossed his arms. "What matters is Blaire. What's her next move?"
The question hung in the air. Before anyone could answer, Tom continued.
"Her cloud backups are gone. Her local system is fried. But..." He pulled up another screen. "She's been in this business a long time. There's no way she doesn't have offline copies somewhere. Hard drives, safety deposit boxes, a storage unit full of blackmail material."
"So she can still expose me."
"Bingo."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Reagan pushed off the wall. "Then we need to find another angle. Something that takes her down before she can?—"
Cara's phone buzzed.
Everyone went still.
