Chapter 45
The Portland Airport looked the same as every other airport Gabe had passed through over the last twelve years.
Generic seating. Overpriced coffee. The particular smell of recycled air and anxiety.
His phone rang. Price.
Gabe answered. "Yeah?"
"You at the airport?" Price's voice carried background noise—traffic, voices, the bustle of law enforcement coordinating a major crime scene.
"Boarding in forty-five minutes."
"Before you go, we need to talk." Price paused. "Haven Cove needs an interim police chief. It needs someone clean. Someone the community can trust."
"You're offering me the job?"
Price's tone turned serious. "I know you've got a career in Philadelphia. A life. But you're the right person for this, Gabe. And you've got a personal stake in making sure this never happens again."
Gabe stared at his boarding pass. Philadelphia meant Morrison, the IA investigation, desk work, and an apartment with no life.
Or Haven Cove. Purpose. Community. His brother only a few hours up the coast, and the chance to finish what their father started.
And certain mysterious baker woman.
He gripped the phone harder. "That’s a big change. I need to think about it."
"Fair enough. Take your time. Handle things in Philadelphia. Figure out what you want." Price paused. "But Gabe? Haven Cove could use you. And I think you could use Haven Cove."
The call ended.
Gabe pocketed his phone just as someone approached with coffee in each hand.
"You look like you're heading to a funeral."
He glanced up. David stood there with two cups, bruises still darkening his face, moving carefully. But alive. Present. Real.
His brother handed him a cup. "Figured you needed this."
"Thanks." Gabe took it.
David settled into the seat beside him and winced. "Ribs are still mad about the whole hypothermia situation."
"Doctor said you need to rest."
"I'm sitting. That's basically resting." David sipped his coffee and studied Gabe over the rim. "You don't want to go back."
"It's my job."
"Wow, tone down the enthusiasm, bro.”
Gabe didn't have a good response. Because David was right.
Returning to Philadelphia meant Morrison's constant disapproval, desk work, Internal Affairs investigations that felt important but hollow. A life built around duty instead of purpose.
"It's my job."
"Stop saying that." David's tone sharpened. "You keep hiding behind 'it's my job' like that makes it okay to be miserable."
Gabe turned toward the windows where travelers hurried past—people heading out, people coming home, people caught between two lives.
"Price offered me the Haven Cove chief position," he said finally. "Interim. Rebuild what Hale destroyed."
"I know. He mentioned it when he called to check on me this morning." David's smile was bright despite his bruised face. "So why are you sitting here waiting to board a plane to a job you hate?"
"It's not that simple."
"It could be. Stay. Take the job. Be close to your favorite brother." David's smile widened, then
his tone turned serious. "I’m going to dig into this Neptune angle."
Gabe stared at the lid on his cup. "Price is running database searches but nothing's coming up."
"That's because they're looking in the wrong places.
" David's journalist instincts were clearly engaged.
"If this organization has been operating for twenty-plus years without detection, they won't be in official records.
I need to look at rumors. Whispers. Maritime industry gossip.
Old newspaper archives. Connect dots that law enforcement doesn't see or can’t follow. "
"That's dangerous."
"So is doing nothing." David's gaze was steady. "They killed Dad. Kidnapped me. Murdered Ruiz. Someone needs to figure this out."
"Just be careful," Gabe said.
David tilted his head back, finishing the last of his coffee before he spoke. "You've got it bad for Cara."
"I barely know her."
David scoffed. "Not true. You know the important things."
Gabe couldn't argue with that.
"So here's what I'm thinking," David continued. "You take the chief job. Stay in Haven Cove. I finish my article. You rebuild the police department. We work on figuring out who to go after next in this Neptune investigation."
"That's not a short-term project."
"Take as long as you need." David's expression was knowing. "Plus you'd be around the bakery. Maybe eventually she'd trust you enough to clue you in on her past."
"Or I could run her fingerprints in five minutes and find out myself."
"You could." David's voice went serious. "But you won't."
He was right. Again. For now.
His stomach clenched.
Philadelphia. Morrison. The IA investigation. Desk work. An apartment with no furniture and no life. Or Haven Cove. A town healing from corruption. A job that mattered. A brother he wanted to get to know again.
And Cara. With her walls and her secrets and the possibility that maybe, given time, she'd let him in.
He turned away from the boarding area. "I need to make a call."
David reached for Gabe’s cup. "Yeah, you do."
Price answered on the second ring. "So?"
"How long is interim exactly?"
Silence. Then laughter. "Six months at least. The city council needs time to recruit, run interviews, you know how long that stuff takes. They’re prepared to be flexible. Depends on what you want."
"I want to rebuild Haven Cove PD. Clean house. Make sure what Hale did never happens again."
"That's going to take time."
"I've got time."
More silence. Then Price's voice carried satisfaction. "When can you start?"
"Two weeks. I need to go back to Philadelphia. Pack up my apartment. Close out the IA case properly. Handle the transition."
"Fair enough. I'll have the paperwork ready for when you get back. Welcome back to Oregon, Chief Sawyer."
The call ended.
He found David waiting near the windows. "I'm taking the job."
David's expression was knowing. "Mom would be proud. Dad too."
The words landed warm in Gabe's chest. Their father had died trying to do the right thing. Had chosen duty over safety. Justice over survival.
Maybe this was how Gabe honored that. By choosing purpose over comfort. Community over career advancement. By finishing what his father had started.
Gabe pulled out his phone and started typing a text.
Taking the chief position. Coming back in two weeks.
His thumb hovered over Cara's name.
He stared at the message and thought about her in that hospital room. Exhausted. Vulnerable. The careful distance she'd maintained even while thanking him.
The way she'd looked when he'd said he was leaving. Like she was trying not to show relief and disappointment fighting for space in her chest.
He deleted the text.
Some things should be done in person.