Chapter 16
Cara headed back down the basement stairs, the door clicking shut behind her.
The team looked up when she walked in. Tom at his monitors, Wade at the whiteboard, Reagan leaning against the table, Piper cross-legged on the floor.
Tom spun his chair. "We need to talk strategy. We can't just gather evidence on Blaire—we need to shut her down completely."
Somehow, all eyes shifted to Cara. The decision wasn't hard. "Whatever it takes," she agreed.
"Cool." Piper shot her a look both serious and worshipful. "So Dad, can you hack her?"
Tom leaned back and clasped his hands behind his neck. "Any system can be hacked. Doing it without the mark noticing is the problem. If someone like Blaire detects the intrusion, she'll burn everything and disappear."
"So what's the alternative?" Wade asked.
Something shifted in Cara's brain, like an old car struggling to change gears. "We don't hack in. We make her let us in."
Everyone turned to look at her.
Cara moved to the whiteboard. "Blaire's weakness is confidence. We create an irresistible target—someone she can't resist investigating. While she's distracted, Tom builds a backdoor into her systems."
Reagan grinned. "I like it."
"Exactly. We give her a puzzle only she can solve." Cara grabbed a marker. "Piper—social media. Complete digital footprint, years back."
Piper's fingers were already moving. "Name?"
"Miranda Wells. Tech executive, late thirties. Embezzled money and disappeared."
Reagan caught on immediately. "I'll be the client. Miranda's furious ex-business partner."
"Big money, high stakes, and a challenge." Cara wrote on the whiteboard. "She won't be able to resist."
"Then we make Miranda complicated enough to keep her busy." Reagan's smile was sharp.
Tom pointed at his daughter. “You, young lady, need to get to bed.”
Piper groaned and flipped her dark hair over her shoulder in a way only a teenage girl could do. “Dad. Seriously?”
“You have school tomorrow.”
She grinned hard. “Hello? Saturday?”
That drew a collective laugh.
For the next couple hours, they worked.
Piper created social media—LinkedIn, Facebook, Instagram. "Making her a narcissist who can't help showing off even when hiding. That's why the trail exists."
Reagan smiled. "You learn quick, young one."
Piper blushed and ducked her head. The compliment obviously pleased her.
But it made Cara think twice. What were they teaching this teen?
Tom caught her watching his daughter. He shook his head. "I'd rather she knew what's out there in the world, and how to fight it."
Cara let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Okay." And it would be okay. Maybe not for her, but for Piper it would be.
Tom built financial records. Bank accounts, wire transfers showing embezzlement, then everything going dark three months ago. "Planting breadcrumbs. ATM in Sacramento. Hotel in Portland. Just enough to suggest Pacific Northwest."
Reagan crafted news coverage. Fake articles from Seattle Times, Portland Tribune. "Tech Executive Vanishes Amid Embezzlement Allegations." Properly indexed, backdated, increasingly desperate.
Cara watched them work, feeling that old familiar thrill. The trap being set. The difference was, this time she was stopping a predator instead of becoming one.
Reagan looked up. "Psychology—what's Miranda feeling?"
Cara closed her eyes. She'd been running too. "Terrified but arrogant. Made one mistake staying on social media, showing off. Won't make another. Isolated, paranoid, desperately lonely. That's her weakness."
"So I make it personal," Reagan said slowly. "We were friends. Partners. She betrayed me. Not just angry about money—hurt. Want closure."
"Exactly. Blaire will buy it."
Tom finished. "Miranda Wells exists. Employment history, college degree, addresses, credit score, parking tickets. Everything."
Wade studied the whiteboard. "Detailed enough to be real. Complicated enough to be interesting."
Reagan pulled up Blaire's website. "She has a 'hire me' form. I'll fill it out as Lisa Ross."
She typed, reading aloud: "I need help locating my former business partner, Miranda Wells. She embezzled two million dollars and vanished. I've hired other investigators—they've come up empty. Your reputation is why I'm reaching out. Money is no object. Discretion essential."
"Professional but desperate," Cara said. "Exactly what Blaire responds to."
Tom checked his screens. "Everything's in place. Miranda Wells exists."
"Then send it." Cara's pulse quickened.
Reagan clicked submit.
They sat in silence. The trap was set.
"She probably won't respond until morning," Tom said, checking the timestamp. "It's almost midnight. Even narcissists sleep."
Wade stood. "I'm doing a perimeter check."
"Paranoid much?" Piper said affectionately.
"Thorough." Wade headed upstairs.
Tom stretched, shoving aside a cluster of empty energy drink cans. “I need actual food.”
"I'll make a run." Reagan looked at Cara. "You should rest. We'll monitor overnight, wake you when she responds."
Cara wanted to argue, but exhaustion pulled at her. "The second anything happens."
"Promise." Reagan smiled. "Now go."
In her apartment, Cara collapsed onto the bed fully clothed.
She should pray. Ask for guidance, beg for protection. But exhaustion pulled her under before she could form the words.
Please let this work. Please don't let anyone get hurt.
Sleep took her.
Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it, disoriented.
Reagan's text: She responded. Get down here. NOW.
Cara checked the time. 2:14 AM.
Her stomach dropped. That was fast. Too fast?
She stumbled down to the basement.
The team was gathered around the large monitor above Tom’s workstation. Even Wade looked unsettled.
"That's weird, right?" Piper asked. "Who responds to business emails at two in the morning?"
Wade's expression was grim. "Someone who's desperate for money. Or someone who never sleeps because they're hunting multiple targets."
"Or both," Reagan added quietly.
Cara felt a chill. They'd been thinking of Blaire as confident, cocky, in control. But responding to a potential client at 2 AM suggested something else—obsession. Compulsion. Someone who couldn't stop hunting even when they should be sleeping.
"Show me," Cara said.
Tom pulled up the email.
Lisa,
Thank you for reaching out. Your case sounds challenging and I appreciate your candor about previous investigators. I specialize in locating individuals who employ sophisticated methods to avoid detection.
My fee for a case of this complexity is $50,000, paid in two installments. Half upfront, half upon successful location. Given the federal interest in Ms. Wells, discretion will be paramount.
I've done preliminary research and believe I can help. Can we schedule a call tomorrow to discuss details?
Best regards,
Blaire Mitchell
Cara read it twice. "She's in."
"Hook, line, and sinker." Reagan's smile was fierce.
"She started digging right after we went the inquiry," Tom said, showing them the search history. "She’s fast, and thorough. Checked everything we planted."
"And bought it completely," Piper said. "Even sent feelers to her network."
"Now the hard part," Tom said. "Keeping her distracted. Reagan, when she calls, give her just enough to keep investigating but not enough to find Miranda too quickly."
"I can do that."
"What if Blaire figures out Miranda's fake?" Piper asked quietly.
"Then we're in trouble," Wade said. "She'll know someone's investigating her. She'll blame Cara first."
"Which means we can't afford mistakes," Tom added.
Exactly. One wrong move and Blaire would burn everything.
"We don't make mistakes," she said firmly. "We're better than her. Smarter. And we have something she doesn't—each other."
Reagan's phone buzzed. "Blaire sent a follow-up."
Tom pulled it up.
Lisa,
One more thing—given the federal interest in this case, I need to know: are you prepared for the possibility that I might find Ms. Wells in a situation where she's already under investigation? My responsibility is to locate her and report back to you. What happens after that is beyond my scope.
I need to ensure we're aligned on expectations before proceeding.
-B
"Covering her bases legally," Reagan said. "Making sure the client understands she's just the finder."
"Smart," Wade observed.
Reagan typed a response: I understand completely. My interest is in knowing where she is and recovering what's mine. What the authorities do is their business. I'm prepared to pay for information, not involvement. I appreciate your professionalism. -Lisa
She hit send.
"Perfect," Tom said. "You're not asking her to do anything illegal. That's exactly what she wants to hear."
Ten minutes passed. Then Tom's monitor lit up.
"She's searching again. Deeper. Corporate HR, hotel networks, car rentals." His fingers flew. "She's tracking Miranda's movements."
"Is she using the program?" Reagan leaned close.
"Yes. Watch—" He pointed at scrolling code. "That's automated. The program's doing it for her."
"Which means I can start building the backdoor." Tom's smile was sharp. "Every time she accesses it, I get deeper. Six to eight hours, I'll have full access."
Cara checked her phone. 2:47 AM. "I have to check in with Blaire in the morning. Act normal. Keep her focused on the money I supposedly don't have."
Piper held up her phone. "She posted an hour ago: 'Working on a challenging case tonight. Some people are good at hiding... but I'm better at finding. '"
"Let her brag," Cara said. "Let her think she's winning."
Wade looked at Cara. "You keep Blaire focused on the blackmail. Daily check-ins. Act scared and compliant."
They dispersed. Tom to monitors, Piper tracking social media, Wade on security.
Reagan touched Cara's arm. "Sleep more. Real sleep."
"I don't think I can."
"Try. Tomorrow's going to be long."
At the door, Cara looked back at her team working through the night.
Thank you, she prayed. Please keep them safe. Please let this work.
Upstairs, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
Somewhere out there, Blaire Mitchell was hunting a ghost, thinking she was in control.
She had no idea the prey was hunting back.