Chapter 15
He needed to tell Cara about his conversation with David. About the Neptune Brotherhood—or rather, about how nobody would talk about it. About how that kind of silence meant serious reach, and serious fear.
But mostly, he just needed to see her. To make sure she was okay.
The bakery was dark, closed for the evening. But light glowed from Cara's apartment window above. He was debating whether to go up when the door opened.
Cara emerged from the stairwell.
Even from thirty feet away, even in the dim light, he could see she'd been crying. Her face was pale, shoulders hunched like she was trying to hold herself together.
She headed down the stairs, heading for the basement entrance at the back of the building.
"Cara?"
She raised her head, raw pain flashing across her face before she could hide it.
"Gabe." She quickly wiped her eyes. "Hi. What are you doing here?"
He approached carefully. "I was coming to check on you. But—" He took in her appearance. "What happened?"
She glanced at the basement door in front of her. "The guys are meeting. We're working on something."
"The Blaire Mitchell problem?"
When she didn't deny it: "Let me help."
"You can't. It's complicated. And you're—" She stopped.
"I'm what? A cop?" He kept his voice gentle. "Cara, I'm also someone who cares about you."
They stood in the mist, looking at each other. Everything they weren't saying hung heavy in the damp air.
Finally, Cara nodded. "Okay. But Gabe—there are things we're doing that you might not approve of."
"Then don't tell me the parts I can't know." He gestured toward the door, letting her move ahead first.
The basement fell silent when they walked in.
The team was gathered around Tom's workstation—Reagan behind him, Wade leaning against the wall, Piper on the floor with her laptop. Everyone froze.
Wade's hand moved subtly toward his hip. Tom's fingers hovered over his keyboard. Reagan's expression went carefully neutral.
"I know," Cara said quietly. "But he wants to help."
Reagan studied Gabe. "This is unexpected."
Gabe could feel the shift in the room. Tom's screens had definitely changed—less information visible now.
"I know you're investigating Blaire Mitchell," he said.
"And I know some of your methods might be creative.
" He looked around at them. "I'm not here as Haven Cove's Police Chief.
I'm here as someone who wants to stop a predator, the way you helped me stop Hale and Brewer and the others from killing David. "
Wade's challenge came flat: "And if our methods cross legal lines?"
“I’m not with the Bureau anymore. Whatever you might or might not be doing? If it's not happening in Haven Cove, it's not my jurisdiction."
Reagan and Wade exchanged glances. Tom looked at Cara, who nodded.
"Okay," Reagan said finally. "But ground rules. You don't ask where we got our information. We don't tell you anything that would force you to take action. Deal?"
"Deal."
Cara sank into a chair heavily. "I talked to Jessica Forsythe. She’s the sister of one of Blaire's victims,” she added, clearly for his benefit.
Her voice caught. "Blaire ‘found’ her brother and extorted money from him.
He killed himself. She won't help us. She's too scared. Too broken by what happened."
Gabe's jaw tightened. "Did Blaire have a client?"
Cara shook her head. "Nobody hired her. She just found him. On her own. Jessica has no idea how Blaire even knew to look for Shawn. He was careful. Used cash. No social media."
Tom raised his hand like a kid in class. Piper snorted.
"Actually, I might have an idea about that."
Everyone turned to him. He spun his chair, monitors glowing behind him.
"I've been analyzing publicly available information about Blaire's known victims. These people are incredibly diverse." He pulled up a chart. "Different ages, backgrounds, reasons for hiding. No pattern a human investigator would spot."
Gabe leaned forward, his investigator’s senses tingling. “An interesting angle of attack. Smart.”
Tom nodded. "I wrote a program to analyze the data. The sample size is small, but the diversity is the tell. There's no way anyone could know where to look in massive amounts of data—government databases, corporate HR files—unless they had a program searching."
"What kind of program?" Reagan asked.
"Pattern recognition. Data scraping. Machine learning, possibly.
" Tom's hands moved as he explained. "It would search accessible databases—and some that maybe shouldn't be accessible—looking for markers. Data points that don’t match, like Cara’s….” He stopped, swallowing hard.
“Like People who've disappeared. Changed identities.
Moved suddenly. Any red flag suggesting someone's hiding. "
Gabe's FBI background kicked in. "That would require illegal access to protected databases."
Wade's dry response: "There’s a shocker."
"It's like she's got a search engine, but to hunt people," Piper added excitedly. "Instead of searching for cat videos, she's searching for people trying to hide."
"Can we find this program?" Gabe asked. "Shut it down?"
Tom hesitated, looked at the others. "Finding it would require accessing Blaire's systems. Which would require methods I can't—"
"Methods I can't officially sanction," Gabe finished. "Good thing what happens outside Haven Cove isn't my jurisdiction. And what I don't know about, I can't act on."
The tension eased slightly.
"So our target shifts," Reagan said. "We're not just stopping Blaire from blackmailing Cara. We're shutting down her entire operation."
"Which makes her more dangerous," Wade said quietly. "If she realizes we're investigating her methods..."
Gabe noticed the dynamics—Piper glancing between him and Cara with a slight smile. Cara carefully not looking at him. Wade getting quieter, more serious.
"I need to keep Blaire thinking I'm under her thumb," Cara said. "She wants daily check-ins starting tomorrow. I need to play along while you work."
"That puts you directly in her sights," Gabe said. "If she suspects—"
"Then I need to be convincing." Something in her tone suggested depths he didn't understand. "I've played roles before."
"You two are very intense right now," Piper observed. Reagan shot her a look, but Piper just grinned.
Tom refocused them. "I sure would like access to Blaire's computer or cloud storage. Legally, I mean,” he added quickly. “If someone could locate the program, we could identify other victims. Build a case."
"And if we prove she's illegally accessing protected databases," Wade said, eying at Gabe, "that's federal crime territory. FBI jurisdiction."
Gabe groaned silently. If they could prove it. Legally. Taking this woman down might be justified in the Big J sense of that word, but his world ran on legal justice. "If we could prove it without using tainted evidence."
The catch-22 hung in the air.
Gabe's radio crackled. "Chief, sorry to bother you off-duty, but we've got a situation at the Sampson residence."
He sighed. "What kind of situation?"
"Mrs. Sampson called 911. Says her neighbor's building some kind of surveillance tower in his backyard aimed at her windows."
Tom and Reagan exchanged a look, trying not to laugh. Piper actually giggled. Wade rolled his eyes.
Gabe sighed. "Is it actually a surveillance tower?"
"It appears to be a treehouse for his grandkids. But Mrs. Sampson insists you come personally."
Gabe closed his eyes. "Ten four. I'll be there in ten minutes."
He looked at the team. "Find that program. Whatever it takes." His eyes landed on Cara last. "Be careful."
"I'll walk you out," she said.
They walked through the dim bakery in silence. The emergency exit signs glowed green, giving the space a strange feel. Only the fading scents of yeast and sugar and spices seemed familiar.
At the front door, Gabe turned to face her. The streetlights cast them in shadow, mist creating a cocoon of privacy.
He reached out, touched her arm gently. "Cara, be careful. Please."
She didn't pull away. "I will."
"And whatever you're planning... try to keep it legal."
"I promise."
"Which part?"
Cara looked away. "I should get back."
Gabe wanted to ask what she wasn't telling him. But he couldn't. If he pushed too hard too fast, she’d pull even farther away.
He spotted the day-old pastries on the counter, grabbed a scone. "Breakfast tomorrow."
The normal gesture broke some tension. Made Cara almost smile.
"Cara—" She looked at him. "I meant what I said downstairs. I want to help. However I can."
"I know. Thank you." Something vulnerable in her voice.
He stepped out into the mist, turned back once to see her standing in the doorway, light behind her making her look small and alone.
Then she closed the door and he heard the lock click.
He stood in the fog for a moment, scone in hand, thinking about a woman with too many secrets and a predator closing in.
And wondering which would destroy them first—Blaire Mitchell or the truth.