Page 45 of Crosscurrent

Then she remembered the pastry tray waiting upstairs.

Right. Real life.

People still needed to eat while Neptune circled the town like sharks offshore.

Upstairs, Diane was boxing lemon bars behind the counter while Piper tied on her half-apron with the kind of glowing energy usually associated with Olympic medalists and lottery winners.

“Reagan’s going to lose her mind,” Piper announced the second Cara appeared. “I need to text her. She wanted to be here but Manny’s slammed⁠—”

“I’m taking the pastry tray over,” Cara said, lifting it from the back counter. “I’ll tell her in person.”

Piper’s expression turned soft and hopeful all at once. “Tell her I scored high enough to make it into all three of my dream schools. Oh, and tell Manny if he doesn’t save me a mango street taco, he’s a dead man.”

“I’ll tell him that too.”

Without turning from the display case, Diane said, “I added extra bear claws. Wade doesn’t need to polish them off.”

“I heard that,” Wade called from the basement stairs.

“And? Someone needs to watch out for your health,” Diane replied.

Cara laughed under her breath, picked up the pastry tray, and headed for the front door.

The black SUV was gone from the Marina Inn overflow lot.

Not reassuring.

Worse.

Because predators moved when they finished observing.

Cara stepped into the bright harbor sunlight carrying cinnamon rolls and bear claws toward the people she loved most in the world.

Let Neptune keep watching.

The mistake they were making was assuming Team Sweet and Sawyer intended to stay prey.

16

The Grill was packed with the Saturday lunch rush, fishermen in ball caps at the counter, tourists near the windows, somebody arguing cheerfully about the Mariners near the fry station.

The noise hit Cara the moment she stepped inside. Normal noise. Good noise. The kind Haven Cove generated when people felt safe.

Manny spotted her immediately and waved her toward the back counter where Reagan was refilling coffees with the speed and precision of a combat medic under fire, then ducked back into the kitchen.

Reagan looked up, read Cara’s expression from halfway across the room, and lit up. “She got it?”

Cara lifted the pastry tray. “Fifteen-thirty.”

Reagan set the coffeepot down with both hands. “Oh, wow.” Her face opened, bright and soft and suddenly wobbly. “Wow.”

Cara walked around the counter and set the tray on the prep table against the kitchen wall. “Tom nearly came apart at the seams.”

Reagan laughed, short and real. “That man.” She pressed both palms flat on the counter like she needed one second to absorb the news before lunch rush swallowed her whole again. “That absolute man.”

“She said to tell you everything, which I just did. She also said to tell Manny that if he doesn’t save her a mango taco⁠—”

Reagan was already turning toward the kitchen. “MANNY.”