Chapter 45
The basement felt different now. Lighter, somehow, even as the night closed in.
Cara sat at the table, watching her team settle into their usual spots.
Tom at his laptop, though for once he wasn't typing—just listening.
Reagan leaned against the wall near the stairs, arms crossed, her expression thoughtful.
Wade had claimed his corner, still and watchful as always.
And Piper sat cross-legged in her bean bag chair, looking up at Cara with those sharp eyes that missed nothing.
She’d called them the minute Gabe left. They'd come immediately, no questions, no hesitation. Just showed up, the way family did.
"Jessica Forsythe was here," Cara said.
The reaction was immediate. Wade straightened. Reagan's arms dropped to her sides. Tom's mouth dropped open. Piper's eyes went wide.
"Here?" Tom demanded. "In the bakery? While you were alone?"
"She had a gun," Cara said. "But she didn't use it. She just wanted to talk."
"Back up." Reagan held up a hand. "Jessica Forsythe. The accountant. She was here in Haven Cove, and nobody spotted her?"
"She’s been here for days. We just didn’t catch on." Cara took a breath. "She was wearing a wig. Glasses. No makeup. She looked like..."
She watched the realization dawn on their faces, one by one. Wade got there first—his jaw tightened. “Huh.”
“Are you kidding me?” Reagan closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly.
Piper was the one who said it out loud.
"The artist. The tourist lady with the paintings." Her voice was barely a whisper. "She was in here like three times this week. I talked to her about her brushes."
"We all walked past her," Cara said quietly. "None of us saw it."
"That was her. The whole time." Cara took a breath. "We were right about her being Blaire’s virtual assistant. She confessed to everything. Putting Thorne on Blaire’s trail, infiltrating her operation, luring her to the cliffs. The push."
"And you're just telling us now?" Piper's voice was sharp. "She could have hurt you. She could have—"
"She didn't." Cara held up a hand. "She didn't come to hurt me. She came to explain. And to tell me the blackmail is over. For good."
She walked them through it—Jessica's six months as Blaire's assistant, the failed attempt with Thorne, the night on the cliffs. The files Jessica claimed to have destroyed, every backup, every copy. The fact that Jessica was gone now, vanished into whatever new life she'd planned.
When she finished, silence filled the basement.
"So it's done," Tom said. "Blaire's dead. Jessica's gone. The operation's finished."
“If we can believe her,” Wade added.
Reagan shot him a look. “It’s not like we have a choice.”
“True,” the big man muttered.
"And Gabe?" Reagan asked. "Does he know?"
"I called him right after she left. Told him everything." Cara paused. "Well. Almost everything."
Tom's eyes narrowed. "Almost?"
Cara met his gaze. "Jessica gave me a USB drive. Just my file—what Blaire had on me. She said she'd destroyed everything else, but she kept mine separate. Thought I deserved to see how close Blaire had gotten."
"And?" Piper leaned forward. "What did you do with it?"
"I read it. Then I deleted the file and destroyed the drive." Cara kept her voice steady.
Another silence. Heavier this time.
"Tell me you didn't share that little detail with Gabe," Reagan said.
Cara looked around at her team. "He started to ask—I could see him putting it together. But then he stopped himself. Chose not to push."
"He's protecting you," Wade said quietly. "Even from himself."
"Yeah." The word caught in her throat. "He is."
Tom leaned back in his chair, processing. "So the official investigation goes cold. Jessica disappears. And we all just... move on?"
"That's the idea."
"What about the other victims?" Piper asked. "The people Blaire was blackmailing. Do they just never find out they're free?"
Cara had thought about this. Had wrestled with it during the long minutes between destroying the USB drive and calling Gabe.
"Jessica said she destroyed all the files. Every victim, every secret." She paused. "But we still have our own research. The names we found, the people we contacted when we were trying to build a case against Blaire."
Tom nodded slowly. "We could reach out. Quietly. Let them know the threat is most likely gone."
"Without telling them how it ended," Reagan added. "Just that Blaire's dead and her files are destroyed."
"Is that enough?" Piper's voice was uncertain. "Don't they deserve to know the whole truth?"
Wade shifted in his corner. "Sometimes the whole truth does more harm than good. They don't need details. They need peace."
"It feels like lying."
"It feels like mercy." Wade met Piper's eyes. "There's a difference."
Piper looked like she wanted to argue, but something in Wade's expression stopped her. She turned to her father instead.
"Dad? What do you think?"
Tom was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was careful.
"I think... this whole situation is complicated.
What Jessica did was wrong. Murder is wrong, full stop.
" He held up a hand before Piper could interrupt.
"But I also believe God sees the whole picture when we only see pieces.
Blaire was a predator. She destroyed lives for profit.
The system couldn't touch her—she was too smart, too careful, too protected by lawyers and loopholes. "
"So Jessica did what the system couldn't," Piper said.
"Yes. And now she's going to spend the rest of her life running from what she did. Living with it." Tom shook his head slowly. "That's between her and God now. It's not our place to judge her. That's above our pay grade. Our job is to figure out what we do next."
"The next right thing," Piper said quietly.
"Exactly." Tom reached out, squeezed his daughter's shoulder. "We can't undo what happened. We can't make it clean or simple. But we can help the people who are still hurting. We can offer mercy where we can. And we can trust that the Lord’s got the stuff we can't handle."
Piper was silent for a moment, chewing on this.
"It's still not simple," she finally said.
"Welcome to adulthood." Tom grinned. "It's terrible. The hours are long, the coffee's never strong enough, and nobody gives you a manual."
Piper snorted. "Great sales pitch, Dad."
"I do what I can."
Reagan pushed off the wall. "So. We reach out to the victims we can identify. Let them know the nightmare's over. And we keep our mouths shut about how it ended."
"And Jessica?" Wade asked. "We just let her go?"
Cara thought about the woman who'd stood in her bakery, gun in hand, tears streaming down her face as she talked about her brother. The terrible, patient planning that had led to a single push on a moonlit cliff.
"She's already gone," Cara said. "And honestly? I don't think she's a threat to anyone anymore. She got what she wanted. Blaire's dead, the files are destroyed, and she's free." She paused. "As free as someone can be after doing what she did."
"You almost sound like you feel sorry for her," Piper observed.
"I understand her." Cara met the girl's eyes. "That's different. And scarier, maybe. Because I know exactly how far grief and desperation can push someone. I've felt that edge myself."
"But you didn't go over it," Reagan said softly.
"No. Because I have you." Cara looked around the room, her throat tightening. "Jessica didn't have anyone. Maybe if she'd had a team like this one..."
She couldn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.
The basement fell quiet again. Outside, the evening was settling in—the light through the small windows fading from gold to gray.
"I think we should pray," Tom said quietly. "Before we scatter. This feels like a moment that needs it."
Nods around the room. Even Wade, who usually hung back during these moments, moved closer to the circle.
They gathered around the table. Cara reached for Reagan's hand on one side, Piper's on the other. The circle closed, all of them connected.
Tom bowed his head.
"Lord, we're tired. We're confused. We've seen things these past few weeks that don't fit into neat boxes, and we've made choices we're still not sure about.
" His voice was steady, grounded. "We don't understand why You let things happen the way they did.
Why Blaire existed. Why Jessica had to lose her brother. Why any of this had to hurt so much."
Piper's hand tightened in Cara's.
"But we trust You anyway. Even when we don't understand. Even when the answers don't come." Tom paused. "Thank You for keeping us safe. Thank You for this team—this weird, wonderful, slightly dysfunctional family You've somehow built out of broken people."
A wet laugh escaped Reagan. Wade's mouth twitched.
"Help us do the next right thing," Tom continued. "Help us offer mercy where we can. Help us be the kind of people who make the world a little less dark, even when the darkness feels like it's winning."
"And help us not kill each other when we're hangry," Piper added.
"Piper," Tom said, without opening his eyes.
"What? It's a real concern. Wade gets scary when his blood sugar drops."
"She's not wrong," Wade muttered.
Tom sighed—the long-suffering sigh of a father who'd lost control of the prayer circle. "Lord, please also grant me patience. Lots and lots of patience."
"Amen to that," Reagan said.
"Amen," the others echoed, laughter threading through the word.
The circle broke apart, but the warmth lingered. Cara wiped her eyes, not bothering to hide the tears.
"One more thing," she said. "Gabe asked me to dinner tomorrow. Just the two of us."
Reagan's eyebrow quirked. "Oh really?"
"Don't start."
"I'm not starting anything." But Reagan was grinning. "It's about time, that's all. I was starting to think I'd have to lock you two in a closet."
"There's still... a lot between us. Things I haven't told him. Things I might never be able to tell him."
"But you're going to dinner," Wade said.
"Yeah." Cara felt something warm bloom in her chest, fragile and new. "I'm going to dinner."
"Good." Wade's voice was gruff, but his eyes were kind. "You deserve something good, Cara. We all do."
"Wear the blue dress," Piper said. "The one with the little flowers. It makes your eyes pop."
"Since when are you a fashion consultant?"
"Since I have eyes and you clearly need help." Piper grinned. "Also, don't order salad. It's a first date. Salads are for third dates when you're trying to pretend you're a healthy eater."
"It's not a first date. We've known each other for months."
"Fine. It's a first official date. Which means you definitely shouldn't order salad."
"I'll take that under advisement."
The team began to drift toward the stairs—Tom and Piper first, still bickering about appropriate first-date food choices, then Reagan, who paused to squeeze Cara's hand.
"I'm happy for you," she said quietly. "Whatever happens. You deserve this."
"Thanks, Reagan."
Wade was last. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking back at her with that steady, unreadable expression.
"You did good, Cara. Through all of this. Keep up the good work." He nodded once and disappeared up the stairs.
Then she was alone.
Cara sat in the quiet basement, surrounded by the equipment and evidence of everything they'd been through. The whiteboard covered in timelines and theories. Tom's laptops humming quietly. Piper's scattered notes and empty energy drink cans.
They'd crossed lines. Made choices. Kept secrets that would bind them together forever.
And somehow, impossibly, they'd come out the other side.
She closed her eyes and let the silence settle over her.
Thank you, she prayed. For this team. For Gabe. For second chances I don't deserve.
I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell Gabe the truth. I don't know if I'm a good person or just someone who's gotten very good at pretending.
But I know You're here. Even in the mess. Even in the gray areas. Even when I can't see the path.
Help me keep walking anyway.
She opened her eyes.
The basement was the same. The world was the same. But something inside her had shifted—a small, quiet peace she hadn't expected.
Tomorrow, she had a dinner date with a man who saw her—really saw her—even through all the walls she'd built.
Tonight, she was going to sleep without nightmares for the first time in weeks.
And the bakery would open in the morning, the way it always did. Fresh bread, strong coffee, the smell of sugar and butter filling the air. Haven Cove waking up to another day, oblivious to the darkness that had almost swallowed it whole.
Life, going on.
Messy. Complicated. Beautiful. And blessed.
So. Very. Blessed.
Book 3: UNDERTOW
Cara is fighting hard for the new life she’s building in Haven Cove. A place to belong. A circle of friends who have become family.
A faith she’s still learning to trust.
And Gabe Sawyer.
But some battles didn’t end cleanly. Some truths refused to stay buried.
After everything they’ve been through, the distance between Cara and Gabe is harder to ignore. The questions he’s not asking matter just as much as the ones he is—and the longer Cara keeps her secrets, the more fragile whatever is growing between them becomes.
Then a new case walks through her door.
A missing woman.
A powerful client.
And a story that doesn’t quite add up. Is heiress Elena Whitfield missing? Or is she hiding?
This time, the truth isn’t just hidden. It’s protected.
The deeper Cara and Gabe and the team dig, the more dangerous the answers become.
In Haven Cove, secrets run so deep, sometimes they pull you under.
Continue the story in Undertow.