Chapter 26
By two pm, Cara had burned three trays of croissants.
The first batch, she forgot to set the timer. The second, she set the oven too high. The third, she simply walked away and didn't come back until the smoke alarm started screaming.
Diane appeared in the kitchen doorway, fire extinguisher in hand, and gave her a look that managed to be both gentle and firm. "Go home."
"I'm fine. I just got distracted—"
"You've been distracted all day. You're exhausted, you're stressed, and you're wasting product." Diane set down the extinguisher and crossed her arms. "I've got this. Go upstairs. Take a nap. Eat something. Whatever you need to do."
"Diane—"
"I'm not asking." Her voice softened. "Cara, I don't know what's going on with you. I'm not going to pry. But whatever it is, you're no good to anyone like this. Let me help by handling the bakery so you can handle... whatever else needs handling."
Cara wanted to argue. Wanted to insist she was fine, that she could push through, that she didn't need to be coddled.
But the truth was, she could barely think straight. Every time the bell above the door chimed, she flinched, expecting Blaire. Every time her phone buzzed, her heart stopped.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Thank you."
She untied her apron and headed for the stairs, feeling Diane's worried gaze on her back the whole way.
Her apartment felt smaller than usual. Quieter. The afternoon light slanted through the windows, catching dust motes in the air, making everything look fragile and temporary.
Because it was temporary. All of it.
Cara sat at her kitchen table and stared at the wall.
No amount of money would fix this—she knew that better than anyone. Even if she somehow scraped together fifty thousand dollars, Blaire would only come back for more. That's how blackmail worked. That's how people like Blaire worked.
Paying wasn't an option. It never had been.
Which left only one real choice.
She could run.
Cara stood and walked to her closet. Pushed aside hanging clothes until she found it—the go-bag she'd packed her first week in Haven Cove. The one she'd told herself she'd never need.
She pulled it out. Unzipped it. Checked the contents mechanically.
Cash—two thousand dollars in twenties and fifties. A burner phone, still in its packaging. A change of clothes. A baseball cap and cheap sunglasses. A bus schedule for routes heading south.
Everything she needed to disappear again.
She could be gone in an hour. Out of Haven Cove before dinner. Ditch the Subaru and board a bus to California by midnight. New town, new name, new life. She'd done it before. She could do it again.
Cara sat on the edge of her bed, the go-bag in her lap, and stared at the wall.
Six months ago, running would have been automatic. Instinctive. The only logical choice.
But six months ago, she hadn't had Diane covering her shifts without being asked. Hadn't had Reagan showing up with soup at midnight. Hadn't had Wade appearing out of nowhere at three AM because he was worried about her.
Hadn't had a team willing to break laws for her. A found family that had somehow become more real than any blood relation she'd ever known.
Hadn't had Gabe.
Gabe, who looked at her like she was worth something. Who'd crossed lines he shouldn't have crossed to protect her. Who still didn't know the truth but had chosen to trust her anyway.
If she ran, she'd lose all of that. Forever.
And she'd spend the rest of her life being Carly Reid again. Running. Hiding. Alone.
Cara zipped the bag closed and shoved it back into the closet.
She wasn't running. Not this time.
Whatever happened next, she was going to face it. Here. With the people who'd chosen to stand beside her.
She didn't remember deciding to pray. One moment she was sitting on her bed, staring at nothing. The next, she was on her knees, forehead pressed against the mattress, words spilling out of her in a desperate whisper.
"I don't know what to do. I've tried everything I know how to try and none of it's working. I'm out of moves. Out of plans. Out of time."
The silence of the apartment pressed in around her.
"I know I don't deserve help. I know I've done terrible things. I know this whole life is built on lies and fraud and I have no right to ask for anything."
Her voice broke.
"But please. Please. Not for me—for them. For Reagan and Wade and Tom and Piper. For Diane. For Gabe. They don't deserve to go down because of my mistakes."
She stayed there for a long time. Minutes. Maybe longer. The light shifted across the floor as the afternoon wore on.
No voice from heaven. No sudden clarity. No miraculous solution appearing in her mind.
Just silence. And slowly, underneath the fear, something that felt almost like peace.
Not certainty. Not confidence. Just... stillness. The sense that whatever happened next, she wasn't facing it alone.
Even if she couldn't see the path forward.
Even if everything fell apart.
She wasn't alone.
A knock at her door made her jump.
Cara wiped her face quickly, checked her reflection—red eyes, pale skin, but presentable—and opened the door.
Gabe stood in the hallway, still in uniform, looking almost as tired as she felt.
"Hey," he said. "Diane told me you went home early. Wanted to check on you."
"I'm fine."
The lie was automatic. Meaningless. They both knew it.
Gabe studied her face for a long moment. She watched him decide not to push.
"I've been working the brake line case," he said instead. "The guy from the inn—Michael Thorne—checked out this morning. Returned his rental car in Portland. Trail's gone cold."
"Oh."
"I've got a partial plate. A face from security footage. I'm running it through every database I can access, but so far, nothing." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's like the guy doesn't exist."
Or he exists under a different name. Like me.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I wish I could help."
"You could." His voice was gentle but pointed. "If you told me what's really going on."
The words hung between them.
Cara wanted to tell him. Wanted to open her mouth and let everything spill out—Blaire, the blackmail, the fake inheritance, all of it. Wanted to stop carrying this weight alone.
But telling Gabe meant making him choose. His job or her. The law or his feelings.
She already knew which one he'd pick. He was too good a man to choose anything else.
"I can't," she whispered. "Not yet. I'm sorry."
Something painful flickered in his eyes. Then he nodded slowly.
"Okay. But Cara—" He reached out, almost touched her arm, then stopped himself. "Whatever this is, whatever you're caught up in... I'm here. When you're ready. If you're ever ready."
"I know."
He held her gaze for another moment. Then he stepped back.
"Lock your door. Don't go anywhere alone if you can help it. And call me if anything happens. Anything at all."
"I will."
He turned and walked down the hallway. She watched him go, her chest aching with everything she couldn't say.
Then she closed the door, locked it, and leaned against it, eyes closed.
She should eat something. Should try to sleep. Should do anything besides stand here replaying every word she wished she'd said.
Instead, she moved to the couch, wrapped herself in a blanket, and watched the light fade from the windows. The apartment grew dark around her. She didn't bother turning on the lamps.
Somewhere out there, Blaire was plotting her next move. Tom was digging through code. Gabe was chasing a ghost who didn't want to be found. And Cara was sitting alone in the dark, waiting for something—anything—to change.
Her phone buzzed.
Tom: MEETING NOW. MY HOUSE.
Cara grabbed a sweater and headed for the door.