Chapter 29
Ten minutes after Gabe left, Cara stood at her apartment window, watching Wade pace the bakery’s tight perimeter. He moved with the restless vigilance of someone trained to guard—to notice the smallest change, the wrong sound, the absence where something should be.
He was thorough.
Which meant her window was closing.
When Wade disappeared inside for another interior security sweep, Cara didn’t hesitate.
She changed quickly, pulling dark jeans and a black hoodie from the top of her laundry hamper.
Running shoes with soft soles. The black knit beanie went into her pocket—too suspicious to wear outright, too useful to leave behind.
The outfit felt uncomfortably familiar.
Muscle memory stirred—old habits rising to meet a familiar kind of night. She pushed the thought aside and focused on the task.
The burner phone hidden inside her flour canister felt heavier than it should as she slid it into her pocket.
Cash followed. Then the lock-pick set she’d sworn she was done with, tucked into the small of her back where it wouldn’t shift.
If she needed to bypass a lock, she wasn’t trusting flimsy tools.
All the pieces of Carly Reid she hadn’t quite managed to bury.
Lord, I know this is wrong, she prayed silently. But Gabe’s walking into danger alone. I can’t sit here and pretend I don’t know how this ends.
The prayer felt less like asking permission and more like admitting the truth.
She checked her phone. Tom had shared Gabe’s GPS with the team—standard safety protocol. The blue dot moved steadily north along the coastal highway, nearly to Granger Point.
She did the math automatically.
If she left now, she’d trail him by about fifteen minutes.
Cara cracked her apartment door and froze, listening. The bakery below was quiet. No footsteps. No voices. She slipped outside and pulled the door closed without a sound.
Her heart pounded as she descended the stairs, moving fast but controlled. Panic made mistakes. She couldn’t afford mistakes.
The alley behind the bakery was dark, cold, and empty. The fog hadn’t rolled in tonight, leaving the sky sharp and black above her. Her Subaru sat exactly where she’d left it—but starting the engine would bring Wade running in seconds.
She kept walking.
The church vans were parked where they always were, wedged into the back corner of the oversized lot. The middle one unlocked easily. If borrowing church property could be considered remotely righteous under the circumstances, she’d take it.
She slid behind the wheel and opened the pocketknife she’d slipped into her pocket, prying the ignition mechanism apart. Less than two minutes later, the engine turned over, muffled by the vans flanking her.
She pulled out slowly and headed north.
Gabe had a head start—twenty minutes, maybe. Plenty of time for things to go sideways. But it was the best she could do. She took the rutted dirt road along the beach rather than risk passing the bakery and catching Wade’s attention.
Once she reached the highway, she turned on the lights.
The road stretched ahead, dark and empty.
Twenty-five minutes later, Gabe’s GPS dot stopped moving.
Her pulse spiked.
The Rusty Anchor emerged from the darkness like a bad memory—weathered siding that might once have been red, now faded to rust. Neon beer signs glowed sickly through the windows.
The gravel parking lot was sparsely filled with diesel pickups and aging sedans, the kind of vehicles owned by people who worked hard and didn’t ask questions.
Gabe’s rental SUV sat near the far edge of the lot, clearly visible under the lone functioning security light.
Cara eased the van into shadow and killed the engine. Darkness swallowed her whole.
Through the front windows, she could see into the dim interior. The bar ran along the left wall, backlit by neon and bottles. Booths lined the right. A pool table occupied the back corner, surrounded by men in work jackets nursing beers.
And there—Gabe.
Even at a distance, she recognized his posture. Back protected. Clear line of sight to the door. Alert without looking it.
A woman worked behind the bar—fortyish, tired but competent. She set a drink in front of him and leaned in to talk. From here, it looked casual. Normal.
Cara let herself breathe.
Maybe this would be straightforward. Questions asked. Information gathered. Gabe gone before anything turned ugly.
Then she saw them.
Two men in a corner booth. Thick necks. Broad shoulders. The kind of build that came from years of hard labor—or deliberate strength training. They weren’t staring outright, but they’d been tracking Gabe’s movements since he walked in. She could see it now.
One of them pulled out a phone and made a short call.
The air inside the tavern shifted. The bartender straightened, tension replacing ease. The two men rose from their booth—not hurried, not casual.
Then a third man appeared from a doorway behind the bar. Older. Leaner. The way everyone’s attention bent toward him marked him as the one in charge.
He spoke to the bartender. Nodded toward Gabe.
The two men moved. One approached Gabe, posture friendly enough to pass at a glance. The other positioned himself between Gabe and the door.
Gabe’s hand drifted toward his hip—then stopped. Too many civilians. Too many witnesses. He couldn’t draw here.
The first man gestured toward the back. An invitation that wasn’t one.
Gabe rose slowly, tension visible now in the set of his shoulders as he allowed himself to be steered toward the back room.
Cara’s chest tightened.
She had maybe two minutes before that door closed.
Every lesson her father had ever taught her slammed into place. Every role. Every skill she’d sworn she was done with.
She couldn’t let the man she was falling for disappear because she was afraid of who she’d have to be to stop it.
I’m sorry, Lord, she prayed. I know this isn’t who You want me to be. But I won’t let him die.
Carly Reid surfaced fully formed. The actress. The con. The woman who survived dangerous men by becoming exactly what they expected—and then slipping the net.
She’d done this a million times before. On instinct. On nerve. On nothing but timing and confidence.
Cara checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, tousled her hair and smudged her makeup just enough to give herself the look of a woman who’d had a few drinks and terrible judgment.
One last steady breath and she stepped out of the van already in character.