Chapter 19
The dark sedan sat three spaces down from the church entrance, same make and tinted windows as the vehicle that had followed them from the overlook.
Cara's stomach clenched as Gabe pulled into the gravel lot. "You see it?"
"Yeah." Gabe's hands tightened on the wheel.
He parked facing the exit and left the engine running for three long seconds before cutting it. His eyes tracked the sedan in the rearview mirror.
No movement. No one visible inside.
Could be nothing. Could be someone visiting the church office. Could be a volunteer arriving early for the food pantry shift.
Or it could be the men who'd trashed her bakery.
Cara forced herself to breathe. "We don't have to do this now."
"We do." Gabe's jaw worked. "If they're watching us search, that means we're close to something they don't want found."
He was right. She hated that he was right.
They climbed out. Cold salt air mixed with the scent of wet cedar drifting from the church's open side door. Somewhere inside, a child laughed. A door closed. The sounds should have steadied her, these ordinary Saturday morning rhythms she'd grown to depend on.
They didn't.
Cara walked toward the entrance, hyperaware of the sedan behind them. The back of her neck prickled. Every instinct she'd spent six months trying to suppress roared back to life, screaming that she was exposed, vulnerable, being watched.
Gabe positioned himself between her and the parking lot. Not obvious about it, just a subtle shift that put his body in the line of sight.
The gesture shouldn't have affected her.
It did.
They slipped through the side entrance into the familiar corridor. Children's scripture art lined the walls. The smell of sugar cookies drifted from the preschool room. Light pooled golden through windows she'd helped wash last month during the spring-cleaning day.
Lord, I know I'm walking a thin line here. But if David Sawyer left something that could save lives, help us find it. Please.
The prayer felt more desperate than usual.
Annex B sat at the end of a short hallway past the kitchen. The metal door protested when Cara pushed it open. Cool, dusty air slipped past them, carrying the scent of cardboard and cedar.
Gabe pulled a small flashlight from his jacket. The beam cut through shadows, illuminating rows of metal shelving stacked with boxes labeled in thick marker: WINTER COATS, BIBLES, YOUTH MUSICAL, OUTREACH SUPPLIES.
Nothing looked special or suspicious, which was exactly why someone conducting a covert investigation would use it.
Cara stepped between the shelves, letting her eyes adjust. The space felt different than it should, wrong in a way she couldn't immediately identify.
Then she saw it.
Boxes stacked unevenly. Fresh scuff marks on the concrete floor. A donation bin pulled away from the wall at an odd angle. Dust patterns disrupted.
Her pulse spiked. "Gabe."
He moved beside her, following her gaze. His body went still in that way she recognized now, hyperalert and assessing.
"Someone's already been here."
"Yeah." She crouched by the nearest shelf and ran her fingers along the metal frame. "Recently. Look at the dust. These boxes were moved within the last day or two."
Gabe's jaw tightened. "They're searching everywhere."
The implications settled heavy in her chest. The bakery. Ruiz's motel room. Now the church. Whoever killed Marco Ruiz was systematically eliminating any place evidence might be hidden, which meant they were running out of time.
"We need to move fast." Gabe was already pulling boxes down, checking behind them, underneath them. "Whatever they were looking for, maybe they missed it."
Cara started on the opposite shelf. Her hands shook slightly as she lifted lids, checked tape seals, felt along edges for anything out of place. Winter coats yielded nothing. Old hymnals revealed only musty pages. Youth group props held no secrets.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.
Cara froze.
Gabe's hand went to his weapon. He jerked his head toward the back corner where overflow donation bags were piled high. She followed, squeezing into the narrow space between the bags and the wall.
He pressed in beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him through both their jackets. Could hear his controlled breathing. Could smell whatever soap he used mixed with coffee and something distinctly him.
Her heart hammered for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.
The door opened.
"I know I left that box of Easter decorations in here somewhere." Carol Ann's voice carried through the annex. "Pastor wants the lilies for tomorrow's service.
Cara heard two sets of light footsteps, then the scrape of cardboard followed by muttered commentary about organization systems.
Gabe's shoulder pressed against hers, his hand hovering near his Glock even though Carol Ann and her helper posed zero threat. Training and instinct that never fully shut off.
She understood that more than she wanted to.
Three minutes felt like thirty.
Finally, the secretary made a satisfied sound. "There you are."
The door closed. Footsteps faded into silence.
Gabe shifted slightly, putting space between them. The loss of warmth felt more significant than it should.
"We need to hurry." His voice was rough. "Before someone else comes."
They resumed searching with greater urgency now. Cara worked her way through the youth musical props—paint-stained fabric, foam swords, a plywood manger that had seen better days.
Behind the manger, wedged into the gap between the shelf and the wall, something caught the light.
Her breath stopped.
A small fireproof metal box designed to protect important documents. Strange that it was so dust-free. She reached for it. The box felt light, as if it were almost empty.
She held it out. "Gabe."
He crossed to her in two strides, taking it gently, examining every inch before finally opening it.
Inside, nestled in foam padding, sat a bright blue flash drive barely bigger than her thumb. Taped to the inside of the lid was a note in cramped handwriting.
Gabe smoothed it out.
Gabe - if Ruiz didn't make it to you, something went wrong. This has everything. Recordings, photos, shipping manifests, names. Enough to prove what's happening here and who's involved.
Dad was onto something twenty years ago. And it looks like the outfit is still active. Same operation, same players or their successors. I can prove it now. Everything he tried to expose before they killed him is on this drive. I'm sure of it now.
Password is something only you would know. The thing I asked you when we were kids and you gave the worst answer possible. You'll remember.
Trust no one else with this. Not local cops. Not even the Coast Guard. Someone high up is involved.
I'm sorry I couldn't tell you more. But if you're reading this, I'm either dead or deep enough in hiding that I can't risk contact.
Find them, Gabe. Finish what Dad started.
- D
The note was dated three days before Gabe last heard from his brother.
Cara watched his face go through a dozen emotions in the space of seconds—relief shifting to shock, grief layering over determination, and beneath it all, something raw and broken.
His hand shook when he lifted the flash drive from the foam.
"What if David's right? What if my dad was innocent?" The words came out strangled. "All this time, I believed he was a crooked cop."
"Gabe—"
"I believed the lies." His jaw worked.
He stared at the drive like it contained ghosts. It probably did.
"We should go." Cara touched his arm lightly. "Get somewhere safe to access that."
He nodded and pocketed the drive, tucking the note into his jacket with hands that still trembled slightly. "Ruiz died because someone knew he was working David's investigation."
The weight of that settled between them. A private investigator murdered for asking the wrong questions. A journalist dead, or in hiding. A twenty-year-old cover-up still claiming victims.
Hand on the butt of his weapon, Gabe led the way out of the old annex. From across the property, she could see the church buzzing with ordinary Saturday activity. Volunteers set up for the food pantry. Children raced through the fellowship hall.
They stepped into the parking lot. Cold air hit her face. She scanned the area automatically.
The dark sedan was gone. "That’s a good thing, right?"
"Maybe." Gabe's tone carried zero relief. His eyes swept the lot, the street, the tree line. "Or they're repositioning. Waiting to see where we go next."
"Or they already know what we found." The words came out quieter than she intended.
The possibility hung between them as they climbed into his SUV.
Gabe started the engine but didn't move. Just sat there staring at the flash drive now resting in the cup holder.
"I need to access this." His voice was steady now, controlled, the federal agent reasserting dominance over the grieving son and terrified brother. "But if it's encrypted beyond the password, I'll need help."
"Tom." The name came to her automatically. "Tom Nakamura. Piper's dad. He used to be some kind of tech genius. Freelance cybersecurity consultant."
Gabe's eyes sharpened. "You trust him?"
Did she? Tom had shown up at her bakery before dawn with his toolbelt and quiet competence. He helped without asking questions, and she caught the look he and Wade exchanged, the kind of recognition that suggested shared history neither acknowledged.
"I don't trust anyone completely." The honesty felt dangerous. "But Tom's solid. If anyone can help you access that drive securely, it's him."
Gabe studied her for a long moment, reading things she tried not to show.
"All right." He pulled out of the parking lot. "Let's see what my father, and probably my brother, died to hide."
The words landed like a punch.
"David's not dead." Cara meant it, needed it to be true. "He went dark to stay alive. This proves he's careful and smart."
Gabe's hands tightened on the wheel. "You don't know that."
"No. But I believe it."
Something shifted in his expression. Not quite hope. Not quite belief. But maybe the willingness to consider the possibility.
They drove back toward town in silence. Cara watched the trees blur past and tried not to think about what might be on the drive, about how accessing it would pull her deeper into an investigation she should be running from, about how every step closer to the truth brought her one step closer to losing everything she'd built here.
Lord, I don't know what's on that drive. But whatever it is, please let it lead us to David. Please let Gabe find his brother alive. And please, somehow, let the truth about his father finally come to light.
The prayer felt more fervent than any she'd offered in months.
Because somewhere between the overlook and the church annex, between the destroyed bakery and the flash drive hidden in a metal box, Cara had stopped wanting Gabe Sawyer to leave Haven Cove.
She'd started wanting to help him find the answers that had haunted his family for two decades.
Started wanting things she had no right to want from a man who would destroy her the moment he learned the truth.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.