Chapter 23
Three hours later, Cara sat at the conference table, hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long gone cold. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the faces of her team.
Her family, really. The people who'd shown up for her when she had no right to expect it.
Wade leaned against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Reagan sat beside Cara, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
Tom was at his workstation, monitors glowing, fingers occasionally moving across the keyboard even as he listened.
Piper had claimed her usual spot on the floor, legs crossed, laptop open but forgotten.
No Gabe.
That absence felt louder than anything else in the room.
"So someone tried to kill her," Reagan said finally, breaking the silence that had stretched too long. "And it wasn't any of us."
"Definitely wasn't me," Wade said dryly. "Though I won't pretend I wasn't tempted."
"Wade." Reagan shot him a look.
"I'm joking." He paused. "Mostly."
Cara stared at the table. She'd watched Blaire Mitchell's car slam into a rock wall. Had heard the woman scream. Had pulled on a jammed door, trying to save the life of someone who'd been systematically destroying hers.
The irony still made her head spin.
"Walk us through it again," Tom said, not looking up from his screens. "The timeline. Everything you remember."
Cara took a breath. " Blaire's car was already there when I got to the cottage.
We talked inside for maybe ten minutes. She was scared about the FBI email, convinced I'd turned her in.
I denied it. She..." Cara hesitated. "She offered me a deal.
Said she'd stop asking for money if I'd vouch for her.
Be a character witness if anyone came asking questions. "
Tom snorted. “Wow. Seriously? After she threatened to ruin your life?”
“She’s not big on self-reflection,” Cara muttered.
Wade set down his water bottle. “No joke.”
"And you said?" Reagan asked.
"I said I'd think about it. Then she left.
I was walking to my car when I heard her engine start.
" Cara's hands tightened on the cold mug.
"The headlights came right at me. I thought—I thought she was trying to run me down.
But then I heard her screaming. And the car just kept going. Straight into the wall."
"Someone cut her brake lines,” Wade said. “After she got to the meeting site. There’s no evidence of brake fluid on the road in.”
"I’ve been thinking about the timeline." Cara looked up at him. "It had to be while you were scouting the perimeter and before I got there."
“That would only give them a few minutes, at most.” Wade shook his head slowly. "I got there around seven-fifteen to scout positions. Set up behind the old storage shed. Had eyes on the cottage and the main approach road the whole time." His jaw tightened. "But I wasn't watching the parking area."
"So they knew about the meeting," Reagan said.
"How?" Tom asked quietly. "How would anyone else know?"
The question hung in the air.
"Someone's watching her," Wade said. "Has been for a while, maybe. Waiting for an opportunity."
"Maybe it’s one of her other victims," Reagan suggested. "She's destroyed a lot of lives. Any one of them might have snapped. Decided to take matters into their own hands."
“We have a bigger problem," Cara said.
Tom nodded grimly. "The FBI verification."
"What about it?" Piper looked between them.
"According to the email updates he’s sent Blaire, her lawyer has been making calls," Tom explained.
"Trying to verify that the FBI investigation is real.
So far, they've gotten the standard response—can't confirm or deny ongoing investigations.
But it's only a matter of time before someone slips, or they push hard enough to figure out that Special Agent Rita Martinez doesn't exist."
"How long?" Reagan asked.
"Could be tomorrow. Could be a few days. But it's coming." Tom pulled up a screen showing phone records. "The lawyer's already contacted the Portland FBI field office twice. Left messages both times. Eventually, someone's going to call back and tell them there's no investigation."
Their fake FBI email had bought them time, rattling Blaire and distracting her from pursuing Cara. But that window was closing fast.
"So what do we do?" Piper asked.
"We use the time we have," Wade said. "Blaire's in the hospital. Concussed, scared, dealing with the fact that someone just tried to kill her. She's not focused on Cara at the moment. We need to move while she's distracted."
"Move how?" Cara asked.
Tom spun his chair to face them. "I've been digging deeper into her systems. The backdoor I built while she was hunting Miranda Wells—it's still active. I can access her cloud storage, her files, her program. But I need more time to map everything without triggering her security alerts."
"Then take the time," Reagan said. "What else?"
"We keep the pressure on," Wade suggested. "More distractions. More threats from different angles. Make her feel like she's under attack from multiple directions. The more overwhelmed she is, the more mistakes she'll make."
Cara nodded slowly. It made sense. Keep Blaire off-balance. Keep her focused on threats that weren't Cara. Buy time for Tom to find whatever evidence they needed to take her down permanently.
But even as she agreed, a cold knot of dread settled in her stomach.
Because Blaire Mitchell wasn't stupid. And eventually, she was going to figure out that Cara was behind all of this.
One day at a time.
That had been Cara's motto for years. In prison. On the run. Building this new life in Haven Cove. One day at a time, because thinking further ahead meant confronting everything that could go wrong.
But tomorrow meant facing Gabe. Looking into those steady brown eyes and lying to him. Again.
Lord, I don't know how much longer I can do this. I'm so tired of lying. So tired of being afraid.
The prayer felt thin. Desperate. Like shouting into a void and hoping someone was listening.
"We should get some sleep," Tom said, breaking the silence. "Tomorrow's going to be long."
The team began to disperse. Wade nodded once—his version of emotional support—and headed for the stairs. Reagan lingered.
"You going to be okay?"
Cara managed a weak smile. "Ask me tomorrow."
"I'm asking now."
"Then... I don't know." Cara looked around the basement. At the monitors and equipment. At the evidence of everything they'd built here, everything they were fighting for. "I keep thinking about what Blaire said at the cottage. That she's just trying to survive. Same as me."
"She's nothing like you."
"Isn't she?" Cara met Reagan's eyes. "She lies for a living. Manipulates people. Uses their secrets against them. That's exactly what I used to do."
"Used to," Reagan emphasized. "Past tense. You're not that person anymore."
"Am I not?" Cara gestured at the room. "We're running a con as we speak. Fake FBI investigation. Fake threats. Manipulation and deception. How is that different from what she does?"
Reagan was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Intent."
"What?"
"Intent matters." Reagan sat back down, facing Cara directly. "Blaire destroys people for money. For power. For the thrill of it. She doesn't care who gets hurt. She drove a man to suicide and documented it like a business transaction."
"And us?"
"We're trying to stop her." Reagan's voice was firm. "The methods might look similar. But the reasons are completely different. And that matters. That matters a lot."
Cara wanted to believe that. But late at night, when the justifications got quiet, she wasn't always sure.
"Get some sleep," Reagan said, standing. "I'll come by in the morning. We can prep for your interview with Gabe together."
"Thanks."
Reagan headed for the stairs, then paused. "Cara? For what it's worth? I've known a lot of bad people in my life. People who took and destroyed and never looked back." She met Cara's eyes. "You're not one of them. The fact that you're even asking these questions proves that."
She left before Cara could respond.
Cara sat alone in the basement, surrounded by monitors and silence.
Tomorrow, she'd face Gabe. Would look into his eyes and tell him half-truths that felt like whole lies. Would watch him not push, not question, not demand the answers he deserved. Because he was protecting her. Even though he didn't know why. Even though she'd given him no reason to trust her.
She picked up her phone, stared at his message.
9 AM. My office. Need your formal statement about tonight.
Professional. Careful. No hint of the moment they'd shared at the crash site, when he'd touched her chin and told her to go, when he'd crossed lines he shouldn't have crossed to keep her safe.
I'll be there, she typed back.
Three words. Simple. Meaningless.
And yet they felt like a promise she wasn't sure she could keep.
Cara climbed the stairs slowly, turned off the lights, locked the basement door behind her.
All too soon, she'd sit across from the man she was falling for and lie to his face.
Again.
Lord, please help me find another way. Please help me find a way to tell the truth without destroying everything.
The prayer echoed in the empty bakery.
No answer came.
But then, Cara thought as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, maybe that was the answer. Maybe some messes you had to clean up yourself.
Maybe some lies you had to live with until you found the courage to stop telling them.
She just hoped that day came before she lost everything.
Including Gabe.