Chapter 13
Reagan's SUV bounced over a pothole hard enough to make Cara's teeth click together. The headlights carved through the gathering dusk as they headed toward the beach.
"Tell me you're glad I dragged you out." Reagan grinned, one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing wildly enough t.
Cara forced a smile. "Thanks for the ride."
"Please. You needed this more than oxygen." Reagan shot her a look. "You were about three minutes from spiral mode when I showed up."
More like thirty seconds.
Cara's stomach knotted at the memory of Gabe's face when he'd left the bakery. That quiet certainty in his voice. The way he'd seen straight through her lie.
She breathed deep, trying to force her heart rate down. "It's been a long day."
"That's why we're doing this." Reagan swung into the parking lot with her usual disregard for painted lines. "Bonfire. S'mores. Youth fundraiser. Zero stress allowed."
Cara nodded like she believed it.
The bonfire came into view as they climbed out of the SUV. Warm flickering light against the twilight. Driftwood stacked high and burning bright. The smell of woodsmoke and charred marshmallows drifted up on the ocean breeze.
Teenagers clustered in groups, waving glow sticks and laughing.
Piper’s dad, Tom stood at a makeshift grill, prodding something that might have been a hotdog once.
Pastor Ben stirred a massive pot of chili over a camp stove.
Music played from someone's portable speaker.
Not loud. Just enough to fill the spaces between conversations.
Wade Patterson lurked at the edge of the firelight, hands in his pockets, looking like he'd rather be checking his crab pots.
This was Haven Cove. Safe. Normal. The kind of community she'd been desperately trying to become part of for six months.
"Cara!" Piper materialized out of the darkness like a sugar-fueled missile. "I saved you a s'more. It's structurally unsound but spiritually uplifting."
The laugh that escaped was involuntary. Real. The first genuine one all day.
Piper thrust a paper plate at her. The s'more in question had collapsed into a sticky mess of chocolate, marshmallow, and graham cracker pieces. It looked terrible.
"Thank you?"
"You're welcome." Piper linked arms with her and started walking toward the fire.
"Dad says his hotdogs are artisan charred.
I think he means burned. Pastor Ben made hot chocolate but I'm ninety percent sure he used instant, which is basically a crime.
And Reagan told me you were doom-spiraling, so I'm glad you're here. "
Cara swatted her gently with a fundraiser flyer someone had pressed into her free hand. "I was not doom-spiraling."
"You absolutely were." Piper's grin was unrepentant. "It's okay. We all do it. Last week I spiraled about college applications for like four hours straight until dad made me eat pizza and watch trashy television."
"Did it help?"
"The pizza did. The television was questionable." Piper released her arm to grab another flyer off a nearby table. "But the point is, community is the antidote. That's what Pastor Ben says. Something about not being designed to carry burdens alone."
The words hit deeper than Piper probably intended.
Cara had been carrying burdens alone her entire life. Being a fugitive only upped the pressure. The weight of secrets and lies and constantly looking over her shoulder had become so familiar she barely noticed it anymore.
Except she did notice. Every single day.
"Cara." Pastor Ben's voice cut through her thoughts. Warm. Gentle.
She turned.
He stood beside the chili pot, wooden spoon in one hand, his weathered face creased in a smile. "Got a minute?"
Piper gave her a little push. "Go. I need to boss some freshmen around anyway."
Cara crossed to where the pastor was ladling chili into bowls for a line of teenagers. He handed off the spoon to a volunteer and gestured toward a piece of driftwood set back from the main chaos.
They sat.
He didn't speak right away. Just watched the fire crackle and the kids laugh and the waves roll in beyond the light.
Cara's hands twisted together in her lap. She forced them still.
"Sometimes," he said finally, "God gives us a little light at the end of a heavy day."
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
This man had no idea how heavy her day had been. Yet somehow his words still hit the cracked places anyway.
He nodded toward the teenagers clustered around the fire. "Joy is contagious if you stand near enough. I think that's part of the design. We're supposed to catch it from each other when we can't find it on our own."
Cara swallowed hard. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For this." She gestured vaguely at the bonfire. The community. The normalcy. "For letting me be part of it."
His expression shifted to something softer. Understanding without prying. "You're always part of it, Cara. It’s what it means to be family."
Family.
The word lodged somewhere behind her ribs.
She hadn't had real family since…ever. Dom felt like a father figure, but she wasn’t sure he’d be eager to claim a woman with her sketchy background… or her equally, sketchy future.
Adulting she could do. Had since she was in grade school. But being part of a family, however loosely defined? Not in her skillset.
But sitting here on a driftwood log with woodsmoke in her hair and teenagers arguing about the correct marshmallow-to-chocolate ratio, something in her chest loosened.
Enough to remember why she'd wanted this new life so desperately.
The next hour passed in a blur of activity.
Piper recruited her to hand out dessert squares.
Tom burned another round of hotdogs and tried to pass it off as intentional.
Reagan caught her eye from across the fire and smiled.
Wade actually cracked a joke about the structural integrity of marshmallow architecture.
Cara listened to teenagers talk about soccer tournaments and English papers and whether the new Marvel movie was any good. Normal things. Safe things. The kind of conversations that had nothing to do with murder or missing journalists or FBI agents who saw through lies.
She watched the fire crackle and send sparks up into the darkening sky. The tiniest sliver of peace snuck into the ache inside her chest.
She wasn't okay. Not really. Gabe Sawyer would be reading through Marco Ruiz's notebook and planning his next move. The men who'd searched that motel room were looking for whatever they thought Ruiz had.
And David Sawyer was still missing.
But right now, standing by this fire with people who actually cared whether she was spiraling, Cara remembered why she'd fought so hard to get away from her old life.
Why she couldn't let it all fall apart.
"Ready to head out?" Reagan appeared at her elbow as the bonfire started winding down. "You look like a sneeze could knock you over."
Cara didn't argue.
They said goodbyes. Piper extracted a promise to let her experiment with new muffin flavors next week. Pastor Ben squeezed her shoulder in a way that felt like blessing, and Tom waved with a spatula still in hand.
The drive back to town was quiet. Comfortable. Reagan hummed along with the radio and didn't push for conversation.
As they pulled up outside the bakery, Reagan turned off the engine but didn't move to get out. "So. What’s up with Agent Moody Hot-and-Broody."
Cara nearly choked on the last sip of her hot chocolate. "What?"
"That's what Piper's calling him. I think it's catching on." Reagan's grin was wicked. "She's not wrong though. He is very intense in that whole smoldering FBI way."
"He's searching for his brother and investigating a murder. Kind of."
"And he cannot stop looking at you like you're the most interesting puzzle he's ever encountered." Reagan's expression softened. "Be careful, okay? I don't know what's going on, but I know that look. And I know you've got secrets."
Cara's stomach dropped. "Reagan—"
"I'm not asking." She squeezed Cara's hand. "I'm just saying, whatever it is, you've got people here. You're not alone. You hear me?"
The words settled heavy in Cara's chest. Warm and terrifying at the same time.
"Get some sleep," Reagan said. "Tomorrow's a new start."
Cara forced a smile. "Thanks for tonight."
"Anytime."
She climbed out of the SUV and headed for the exterior stairs that led to her apartment. Reagan's headlights stayed on, illuminating the way.
The stairs creaked under her feet. Familiar. Safe. She'd climbed them hundreds of times.
Tonight felt different.
Cara reached the landing and fumbled with her keys. Her hands were shaking. From exhaustion, probably. Or stress. Or the fact that she'd barely slept in two days.
She got the key in the lock.
Paused.
Something crawled up her spine. Not quite fear. Not quite certainty. Just a strange twinge that made her skin prickle.
Like she was being watched.
Like something was wrong.
She scanned the alley below. Reagan's SUV, engine idling as Reagan waited for her to wave goodbye. The dumpster by the back entrance. Shadows that could hide a dozen threats or nothing at all.
No movement. No sound except waves hitting the beach two blocks over.
It's nothing. Just stress. Just Gabe. Just everything catching up.
She shook it off and unlocked the door, then turned and waved to Reagan, giving her a forced thumbs-up that she hoped looked more confident than it felt.
Reagan waved back and pulled away, taillights disappearing around the corner.
Cara stepped inside her apartment, shut the door, and threw the deadbolt.
Everything looked normal. Her hoodie lay over the back of couch, exactly where she'd left it. The kitchen counter was clean, her coffee mug from this morning still sitting by the sink.
Only it felt…wrong. There was nothing she could put her finger on, but the space felt odd. Changed.
She exhaled slowly, trying to calm her nerves. She’d been on overdrive for days now, even since Ruiz’s body washed up on the beach. And that didn’t count the months she’d been on the run.
The twinge was still there. Faint. Persistent. Like white noise she couldn't quite tune out: not specific enough to identify, or strong enough to act on.
Just strong enough to follow her into the bedroom as she changed into pajamas and brushed her teeth and tried to convince herself that tomorrow would be better.
Just strong enough to haunt the edges of her sleep when she finally crawled into bed and closed her eyes.