Chapter 11
The Saturday morning rush hit like a wave Cara wasn't prepared for.
She'd been up since four-thirty, moving through the pre-dawn darkness on autopilot and two hours of sleep. Flour. Water. Yeast. Salt. The sourdough starter that needed feeding. Muffin batter that required her hands to work even when her brain felt wrapped in cotton.
When she'd come downstairs, key trembling in her hand and every shadow looking suspicious, she'd sworn she saw Gabe's black SUV pulling away.
But exhaustion––and guilt––played tricks. Made you see threats that weren't there.
You're paranoid. He's not watching you.
Except she'd felt watched all morning.
Through the mixing and kneading. Through shaping loaves and filling muffin tins. Through the first pale light creeping across the ocean and turning the bakery windows from black mirrors to gray squares showing Main Street coming alive.
She'd locked the front door twice before opening. Checked the back entrance three times. Jumped when the oven timer went off.
Now it was eight-thirty, and the place was packed with the usual Saturday crowd, and she still couldn't shake the feeling that eyes were tracking her movements.
Pearl wanted two loaves of sourdough, her tall frame draped in a hand-knit cardigan that smelled faintly of lavender.
The Hendersons needed a dozen muffins for their church potluck, their matching windbreakers rustling as they debated blueberry versus cranberry.
Three tourists wandered in looking for "something authentic" and left with cranberry scones they'd probably Instagram before eating.
Cara smiled. Wrapped orders in wax paper with hands that wanted to shake. Made change from the register that seemed too loud when it opened. Pretended the notebook wasn't sitting in the drawer behind the counter like a loaded gun.
She'd read through it twice last night. Ruiz had been thorough. Dates. Times. Meeting locations. Notes about boat schedules and shipping manifests. And David Sawyer's initials appearing over and over.
Nothing about her. Nothing about Carly Reid or securities fraud or witness protection deals gone wrong.
The relief had been overwhelming.
Until she realized what giving the notebook to Gabe would cost her. The questions he'd ask. The lies she'd have to tell. The risk that one slip would unravel everything.
The espresso machine hissed. Steam fogged the window behind the counter. The smell of fresh bread and coffee should have been comforting. Instead it made her stomach clench.
"You look terrible." Piper appeared at her elbow, arms loaded with dirty coffee mugs from the corner tables.
The seventeen-year-old had shown up twenty minutes ago wearing ripped jeans, a flannel shirt three sizes too big, and her signature rainbow beanie pulled low over dark hair still damp from a morning shower.
"Like, seriously. Have you been baking all night or something? "
"Long morning." Cara took the mugs and loaded them into the dishwasher. Her fingers fumbled with the rack. Metal clanged against ceramic. "Thanks for coming in."
"It's Saturday. What else am I gonna do?" Piper grabbed a rag and started wiping down tables. "Besides, the tips are good. Mrs. Henderson just gave me five bucks for bringing her extra napkins."
"That's because you're charming."
"I know." Piper grinned over her shoulder. "It's a gift."
The bell above the door chimed.
Cara looked up.
Her stomach dropped straight through the floor.
Gabe Sawyer stood in the doorway, backlit by morning sun that made him look like something out of a noir film. Dark jacket creased like he'd slept in it. Hair slightly mussed. Harder expression than yesterday, if that was even possible.
He looked exhausted. And furious.
Piper froze mid-wipe, her gaze swinging between Cara and Gabe with predatory teenage interest. "Oh my gosh. Is that him?"
"Piper." Cara's voice came out too sharp. "Back room. Now."
"But—"
"Please."
Something in Cara's tone must have registered. Piper's eyes went wide. She dropped the rag on the nearest table and disappeared through the door to the kitchen without another word.
The bakery's ambient noise seemed to drop. Conversations didn't actually stop, but they felt muted. Like the universe was holding its breath.
Gabe walked toward the counter.
Each step was measured. Controlled.
Cara's hand moved automatically to the drawer. The notebook was right there. Six inches from her fingertips. She could hand it over right now. End this.
Except ending this meant starting something else. Questions. Investigations. Gabe Sawyer digging into her background until he found the truth she'd buried under witness protection paperwork and a new name.
He reached the counter. Stopped. Put both hands flat on the scarred wood surface.
"We need to talk." His voice was quiet. Rough. The kind of quiet that was more threatening than shouting. "Now."
Pearl glanced over from where she was browsing the day-old rack. Mrs. Henderson had stopped mid-conversation with her husband. Even the tourists had paused their debate about scone flavors.
Small towns. Always watching.
Cara swallowed hard. Lifted her chin. Met his eyes with what she hoped looked like confusion instead of guilt.
"About what?"
His jaw worked. A muscle jumped beneath stubble he hadn't bothered shaving. "You know exactly what."
The espresso machine hissed again. Someone's phone buzzed. Outside, a seagull screamed over the marina.
Cara's heart hammered against her ribs hard enough to hurt.
She'd practiced responses all through the sleepless hours. Had prepared lies that would hold up under scrutiny.
But looking at Gabe Sawyer's exhausted, furious, desperate face, she realized something that made her chest tight.
She didn't want to lie to him anymore.
Too bad that wasn’t an option.
"Back room," she said. "Five minutes. Let me handle these customers."
For a moment she thought he'd refuse. Force the confrontation right here in front of Pearl and the Hendersons and three tourists who'd come for authentic baked goods and gotten front-row seats to a federal investigation.
Then he stepped back. Nodded once. Sharp. Final.
He moved to a corner table. Sat with his back to the wall. Positioned where he could see both exits and everyone in the room.
Cara forced herself to breathe. To smile at Pearl. To wrap the sourdough in paper that crinkled too loud in her shaking hands.
"That'll be twelve-fifty."
Pearl handed over exact change. Her weathered face showed concern, but she didn't ask. Small-town courtesy. Mind your business until someone asks for help.
Cara appreciated it more than she could say.
The Hendersons took longer. Debating. Discussing. Finally settling on six blueberry and six cranberry because they couldn't agree. Cara boxed up their purchases with numb fingers.
The tourists left without buying anything. Probably sensing the tension radiating off her like heat waves.
The bakery emptied until it was just her and Gabe and the hum of the refrigerator case.
"Piper," Cara called toward the kitchen. "Can you watch the front for a few minutes?"
Piper's head appeared around the doorframe. Her eyes went wide when she saw Gabe still sitting there. "Yeah. Sure. Absolutely."
Cara moved to the back room. Gabe followed.
The space was small. Cluttered with supplies. Bags of flour stacked against one wall. Industrial mixer in the corner. Shelving units holding baking sheets and pans. The smell of yeast and cinnamon.
No windows. One door. Nowhere to run.
Cara turned to face him.
Gabe closed the door. The click sounded final.
"Give me whatever you took from that nightstand."
Her throat went dry, the lie she’d prepared sticking to the roof of her mouth.
"Why were you there?" He took a step closer. "A PI is murdered. His room gets tossed, and you show up in the middle of the night with lockpicks. Not a great look."
The room felt too small. Too warm. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
"I was trying to help."
His laugh was bitter. "You broke into a crime scene. Stole evidence I need to find my brother. Ran from a federal agent. That's obstruction."
"I didn't know what was in the notebook when I took it."
"Then why take it at all?" His voice was hard. Unforgiving. "Why risk federal charges? Why were you even there?"
Here it was. The moment she'd been dreading.
Cara forced herself to meet his gaze. "I have a bad ex.
Controlling. Dangerous. The kind who tracks me down every time I think I've gotten away.
" Her voice shook. Not hard to fake when the alternative was so much worse.
"That’s how I ended up all the way out here in Have Cove.
When I heard a PI had been asking questions around town, I panicked.
I thought he was working for my ex. Thought he'd found me again. "
Gabe's expression didn't change. "So you broke into his room."
"I needed to know if there was anything about me in his files.
Any evidence my ex had hired him to find me.
" She wrapped her arms around herself. "I know it was wrong.
I know it was illegal. But I was scared.
And when I got there and found the notebook, I took it because I didn't know what was in it.
I thought it might have information about me. "
"And does it?"
"No. I read it last night. It's all about your brother's investigation. Meeting times. Locations. Everything Ruiz documented for David."
The silence stretched.
Gabe stared at her like he was trying to see through her skin to the truth underneath. Reading her face for tells she'd learned to hide years ago.
"You ran from me."
"Hello? You grabbed me in the dark! Plus, I didn't know if I could trust you. You're FBI. For all I know, my ex has connections in law enforcement. He always finds me. How do I know you're not working with him?"
Something flickered in his eyes. Not quite belief. Not quite dismissal either.
"If your ex is that dangerous, why stay in a small town? Why make yourself visible with a business on Main Street?"
"My great aunt left me the bakery. I figured it was an opportunity to stop running. I thought Haven Cove was far enough away. Small enough that I could disappear." Her voice cracked on the last word. Real emotion bleeding through the fiction. "I just want to be left alone."
Another pause. Longer this time.
Gabe's jaw worked like he was chewing over her story. Testing it for holes. Looking for the places where it didn't quite fit.
Finally, he spoke. "The notebook. Now."
Cara moved to the door. Pushed it open. Walked to the counter with Gabe right behind her.
She pulled open the drawer and grabbed the notebook. Turned. Shoved it against his chest.
"There. Take it. Maybe it'll help you find your brother."
Gabe caught it automatically. Stared at her for a long moment.
"If I find out you're lying about this. If I discover you're involved in whatever got Ruiz killed—"
"I'm not."
"Then you have nothing to worry about." But his eyes said he didn't believe her. Not completely. "Stay in Haven Cove. Don't leave town. I may have more questions."
"Okay."
He moved toward the exit. Stopped with his hand on the door.
"And Cara? Get better locks. If your ex is really that dangerous, those windows are a liability. Any amateur could get through them."
The words carried a double meaning they both understood.
I know you picked that lock. I know you're trained. I know you're lying.
Then he was gone.
Piper burst through the kitchen door before the front bell stopped ringing. "Oh my gosh. That was so intense. What did he say? Are you in trouble? Did you see how he looked at you?"
"Piper." Cara forced a smile that felt like it might crack her face. "Not now."
"But—"
"Please."
Something in her voice must have gotten through. Piper's expression shifted from curiosity to concern. "Okay. Yeah. I'll just... clean the pastry case."
She disappeared back toward the front.
Cara followed, heading to the window and watching Gabe cross Main Street.
He wasn't fooled by her story.
Lord, I tried. I really tried. What am I supposed to do now?