Page 42 of Crosscurrent

A man had stopped outside the bait shop.

Dark fleece. Ball cap. Hands in pockets.

Gabe’s heartbeat spiked.

Karl’s voice stayed almost conversational. “That one of them?”

Gabe kept his own voice even. “Yeah.”

For three seconds, nobody moved.

Then the man outside turned and walked away.

Just done. Like he had confirmed what he came to confirm.

Gabe stepped toward the door.

Karl’s hand shot out and caught his forearm with surprising strength. “Not yet, cowboy.”

The older man’s eyes were sharp now. Serious in a way that stripped twenty years off his weathered face. “You chase, he learns what makes you move.”

He wasn’t wrong. Gabe held still.

Outside, Wade shifted from the corner. He’d seen the man too.

The fleece disappeared behind a passing delivery truck. By the time the truck cleared, he was gone.

Karl released Gabe’s arm. The bait tank pump gurgled on. The bell above the door trembled faintly in the draft.

Gabe looked down at the folded paper in his hand. Three plate numbers. Five days. Rotating vehicles.

An observer who never got out.

And now the man from the bakery had followed them to Karl’s.

No. Not followed. Tracked.

Gabe looked at Karl. “Tell Pastor Ben we all need to stay inside the lines.”

Karl snorted softly. “Good luck telling Pastor Ben anything.”

Despite everything, Gabe almost smiled.

Then Karl’s expression shifted again. “Tell that honey at the bakery something for me.”

Gabe waited.

Karl looked toward Marina Street, toward Sugar & Salt beyond the curve of the block, toward the town they were all trying not to lose. “Tell her nobody’s taking this place from her. No matter what.”

Gabe stuffed the note into his hip pocket. “I’ll tell her.”

He stepped outside. Wade headed straight for him, face grim.

They started back toward the bakery without rushing.

The harbor still glittered. Tourists still laughed.

The gull still screamed overhead like the world had not changed.