Chapter 14
Cara’s four-thirty alarm felt like it came earlier than usual.
After stumbling into her clothes, she shuffled down the stairs in fuzzy socks shoved into old clogs, already mentally running through the morning's baking schedule. Sourdough first. Then the cranberry scones. Cinnamon rolls if she had time.
She reached for the bakery door handle, but stopped, hand a breath away.
The smell hit her first. Not the usual warm yeast and lingering cinnamon. Something sharp. Chaotic. Spilled vanilla extract. Almond flavoring. The funk of over-proofed dough.
Hands shaking, she flicked on the lights.
Her stomach dropped straight through the floor.
The bakery was destroyed.
Cupboards hung crooked, some ripped completely off the wall.
Shelves overturned. Bulk flour bins smashed open, white powder coating everything like snow after an apocalypse.
Her industrial mixer knocked on its side.
Spices scattered. Coffee grounds everywhere, swirled through the maple syrup pooled across the prep counter.
Footprints tracked through the flour. Deep. Heavy. Clear.
Cara's knees threatened to buckle. She gripped the edge of a table, her fingers coming away gritty with flour and something sticky.
The basement.
She forced herself down the stairs. Each step crunched on broken plastic. The air was colder here. Damper. The smell of spilled baking soda mixed with wet cardboard and defrosting fruit.
Worse than upstairs.
Shelves toppled. Ingredient bags slashed cleanly open. Insulation pulled out of the walls. The emergency freezer unplugged, condensation pooling beneath it.
Cara climbed back upstairs, her hands shaking, and pulled out her phone.
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
Calling the police meant questions. Fingerprints. ID checks. If they dug deep enough, they might find Carly Reid. Find the fugitive con woman playing small-town baker.
Nope. She couldn't call them.
"Cara."
She jolted so hard the phone flew from her hand, landing in a pile of flour.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Gabe Sawyer stood in the doorway, breath fogging in the cold morning air, his sharp gaze on her. “You good?”
At her nod, he drew his weapon. "Stay here until I clear the scene."
She froze as he headed back up the stairs, boots crunching over broken glass.
He reappeared thirty seconds later, holstering his Glock. "You can come back up. It’s clear."
Cara couldn't make her voice work. Luckily her legs did. Just barely. Knees quaking, she followed him back up to the main level.
Gabe stepped over a broken container of cinnamon sticks and searched through the wreckage until he found an intact mug. Then an untouched box of tea bags. He boiled water in a salvaged saucepan and handed her the cup.
"Drink."
She wrapped both hands around it. The warmth helped. Her fingers were still trembling.
Gabe crouched beside the footprints in the flour. Touched the edge of one tread.
"Two men. Heavy boots." He looked up at her. "Same pattern as at the Sea Breeze."
Her chest constricted.
He stood, scanning the destruction with professional detachment. He gestured to the wall next to her ovens. Someone had even pried the covers off the outlet plates. “Whatever they’re searching for, they’re serious about it.”
Cara cringed. She didn’t even want to know what the tidy restroom must look like now. "I don't have anything." The words came out raw.
"They think you do." His voice stayed level. Certain. "They want Ruiz's notebook. And whatever else they think you took."
"I gave you the notebook."
"They don't know that."
The destruction felt like a punch in the face. Six months of work to get the bakery up and running again. The first legitimate thing she'd worked in her entire adult life. Reduced to sticky chaos and flour-coated wreckage.
"Were you working with Ruiz?" Gabe's question cut through her spiraling thoughts.
"What? No." She forced herself to meet his eyes. "I only met him that one time. And I never met your brother. If I had anything that could help you, I would tell you."
He studied her for a long moment. Not believing. Not disbelieving. Uncertain.
That was almost worse.
"Looks like you’re shut down for a while," he said finally.
Her throat closed. She looked at the industrial mixer, face plate ripped off and delicate electronics yanked out. The open refrigerator, contents spoiling. The ruined ingredients coating every surface.
"I'll tell Piper not to come in." Her voice cracked.
"You want me to call Chief Hale?"
Cara let out a bitter laugh. "Absolutely not."
Gabe nodded like he'd expected that. "Didn't think so."
He stepped closer. Not threatening. Just focused, with an intensity that made her want to back away. "You're not staying here alone."
"I can't just leave.” She answered automatically.
Had they searched her apartment, too? They’d been far more careful if they had.
“I’m guessing they hit your apartment, too.” Gabe echoed her thoughts.
“There weren’t any signs of a search.”
“Because they couldn’t be sure you weren’t down in the bakery.”
She swallowed hard. “But once they headed down here, they’d know the entire building was unoccupied.”
Gabe toed a broken cup. “And they were running out of time. No need to search quietly down here.” He shoved his hands on his hips and stared her down.
"If I think you know something, they think so too.
" His tone gentled slightly. "I'm not getting you killed because you're too stubborn to accept help. "
She could only wish it was stubborn pride. How had her brilliant plan to get him gone ASAP morphed into…this?
But no matter the cost, she couldn’t refuse his help now. She might be stubborn, but Gabe Sawyer was relentless.
Her hands tightened around the mug. "So what now?"
Gabe grabbed a broom from where it had fallen behind the counter. Handed it to her.
Not mocking. Not dismissive. Just practical.
"Now we clean up." He met her eyes. "Then we find my brother."