Chapter 30
Gabe had to force himself not to tense. The math wasn't complicated.
He was barely ten feet from the back room, flanked by two heavies who knew how to make people disappear, on his way to the start of a very bad night. At the best.
The boss waited in the doorway. Mid-fifties, hard eyes, the weathered face of someone who'd spent decades doing things that left scars. Gabe recognized his voice from the factory.
Gabe’s Glock was accessible but useless. Too many civilians. The bartender. The men at the pool table. Starting a firefight would get innocent people killed.
He’d have to badge them and talk his way out. Disappearing a special agent would not be high on this guy’s list of preferred activities.
But these men had called Chief Hale. They had official cover for whatever they were about to do. His FBI badge might just accelerate the timeline.
The bigger man on his left had a hand near the small of his back. The one on his right kept shifting position to block sight lines from the main bar.
This was going to get very bad, very fast.
Then the front door burst open with enough force to make everyone look.
A woman in dark clothing stumbled through the entrance, overcorrected, and crashed directly into a bearded guy holding a beer near the door. The glass tipped, spilling liquid down her front.
Beer splashed across her hoodie and jeans. "Oh no. I'm so sorry." She grabbed napkins from a nearby table, dabbing frantically at the mess, but making it worse. "I'm such a klutz, I'm so sorry—"
The bearded man grunted something and moved away. She was still apologizing when her eyes found him across the bar. "GABE! Th-there you are!"
Every muscle in Gabe's body locked.
Her hair was mussed, makeup smudged, eyes bright, grinning sloppily. Was she…drunk?
She wore the same clothes she'd had on earlier but somehow looked completely different. Younger. Reckless. Exactly like someone who'd made questionable decisions and was about to make more.
She weaved toward him through the bar, the stupid smile growing wider. "I've been looking EVERYWHERE for you!"
Gabe fought to process what his eyes were seeing. She was supposed to be at the bakery. With Wade. Safe. Not here. Not stumbling toward him while these men—the same men who'd searched the warehouse last night—watched her approach. His stomach dropped. They might recognize her.
They'd been hunting through that warehouse less than twenty-four hours ago.
If they'd gotten a clear look at her face— But they hadn't.
The warehouse had been dark. They'd been on the third floor behind machinery.
The searchers had never gotten close enough for clear identification.
And Cara looked completely different now soaked in beer, playing drunk, radiating chaotic energy instead of the controlled energy she'd shown in the warehouse.
Different context. Different presentation. Different person entirely.
The muscle flanking him watched her with the wary assessment of men dealing with an unpredictable drunk woman, not the recognition of men identifying a threat from the previous night.
She was counting on that. Had to be.
Squeezing straight between the goons flanking him as if they didn't exist, she lurched into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing hard. The yeasty smell of beer enveloped them like a cloud.
Gripping his biceps, she pushed herself back, giving her hair a big toss and zooming in on the man in charge. "Is he bothering you? He does that sometimes when he's had a few drinks. Gets all intense and whatever."
Her hand on his arm felt warm through his sleeve. Grounding. Real.
"I met him at O'Malley's, you know? In Ferndale?” She swiveled her head, taking in the room, then grabbed Gabe tighter.
“Whoa. Spinning. Anyway," she continued, the story tumbling out with the kind of detail that made lies believable.
"It’s a total dive. Not like this place.
So Gabe here was asking around about some guy.
Missing person or something, right babe?
" She looked at Gabe with exaggerated affection.
"I thought he was cute, we got to talking, had a few drinks. .."
The boss's eyes narrowed, assessing this new variable.
Cara kept talking, filling the silence with exactly the kind of chattiness that drunk people used to make friends.
"He said he had to check one more place, and I maybe had a few more drinks after he left and thought.
.." She giggled, upper body swaying. "I know, I know, it's lame, but he's just so. .."
She looked at Gabe like he was the most fascinating man she'd ever met. The performance was so good it almost made him forget she was lying.
The bigger man on Gabe's left relaxed slightly.
The boss wasn't convinced yet. His eyes moved between Cara and Gabe, calculating. Weighing the story against the threat.
Cara leaned closer to Gabe, near enough that he could smell her shampoo beneath the faint scent of bourbon she must have splashed on her clothes. Creating intimacy. Selling the relationship.
"I saw your car outside," she said, touching his chest. "The rental. Figured you'd be here."
Then her expression shifted. Hand to mouth. Eyes widening with realization and horror. "Oh no." She lurched slightly, grabbed the back of a nearby chair. "I think I'm gonna—"
The woman behind the bar moved immediately. "Take it outside if you're gonna puke, honey. Not in my bar."
Cara played it perfectly. Embarrassed. Apologetic. Trying desperately to hold it together while alcohol and bad decisions caught up with her. "I'm so sorry. Where's the bathroom? I just need—"
She was giving them an out. Gabe saw it with the clarity of someone who'd run similar operations. Take the drunk girlfriend story. Let them both leave. Walk away and everyone survives the night.
The performance was brilliant. Every detail crafted to make her seem harmless. Every movement designed to give the boss a reason to believe the cover story instead of the threat.
Whoever had trained her had trained her well.
“There were two of them at the warehouse,” the boss said, staring at them with his cold, dead eyes.
The hulk on Gabe’s right snorted. “Sure. Yeah. But not a chick. Not this one. No way.”
“For sure not,” the second muscle agreed. “That was two dudes.”
The boss fingered a thick set of keys on his belt. “Maybe.” His gaze swept the bar. The patrons looked away, ducking their heads as if trying to make themselves invisible.
The boss's face hardened. Decision made, and not the one Cara had obviously hoped for. "Bring her too," he said. "Back room. Both of them."
The bigger man's hand moved toward Cara.
Gabe raced through options. Take the guy on his right first—hard elbow to the solar plexus, follow with the Glock before he could recover. Might drop him. Probably wouldn't. The one on his left would be moving simultaneously.
Or he could go low. Kick out the right guy's knee, use the chaos to put Cara behind him and create enough space for her to run. He'd take the beating if it helped her make it to the door.
If he moved fast enough, committed completely, he might buy her ten seconds. Maybe fifteen.
It probably wouldn't work. Almost certainly wouldn't work.
But it might give Cara a chance to survive the night.
Then the world exploded.
BOOM.
The sound hit like a physical force. Every window rattled. Someone screamed.
"FIRE!"
Orange light flooded through the front windows. Flames outside in the parking lot casting wild shadows across the tavern's interior.
Chaos erupted immediately. Patrons rushed toward windows and doors. The bartender grabbed a phone. Someone was shouting about calling 911.
The boss and his muscle turned toward the commotion, forgetting them.
Cara's hand found Gabe's. Her grip was iron-strong and completely sober.
"NOW," she said, all pretense of drunk gone from her voice.
They moved with the crowd toward the exit. Not running. Not obvious. Just two more people evacuating because there was a vehicle burning in the parking lot and maybe the whole place was about to go up.
Outside, flames consumed one of the jacked-up diesel pickups.
People scattered. Some ran toward the fire to help. Others ran away from potential explosion. Someone was on a phone with emergency services.
Wade materialized from the shadows near the tree line. "Go," he said, the single word carrying complete understanding of the situation.
Gabe started toward his SUV, but Cara's hand tightened on his.
"There," she said, looking past the chaos.
Gabe followed her gaze.
The bartender sidled along the edge of the building, toward the darkness behind the tavern.
Not the behavior of someone evacuating. The behavior of someone fleeing.
"She knows something," Cara said.
Gabe made the decision in a split second. The bartender had watched him since he crossed the threshold. Had tensed when he'd asked his questions.
She knew something about his brother. The thought hit hard and clear.
"Follow her," he said.
They ran.
Behind them, the tavern descended further into chaos. Ahead, the bartender's figure disappeared into dark trees.
And somewhere in those woods, answers waited about where David had gone and what had happened three days ago when he'd walked back into danger.
Gabe's heart pounded as they hit the tree line. The forest swallowed them in darkness. Somewhere ahead, branches cracked as the bartender fled.
They gave chase.