"No. Nothing like that." Guilt twisted through her chest. "I'm sorry. I wish I knew more."
Gabe exhaled slowly. His gaze shifted to the window, toward the ocean beyond. "What was he looking for?" The question seemed directed more at himself than her. "David disappears around the same time this guy shows up asking questions. Then the guy ends up dead on the beach."
The words hung in the air.
Something cold slithered down her spine. She grabbed the closest dishtowel, twisting it in her hands.What if the dead man being in town had something to do with her?
What if someone was looking for Carly Reid?
There were plenty on both sides of the law who'd be happy to take her down. Any agent, the one in front of her included, would arrest her in a hot second. And then there were the shadowy figures who'd ordered Schenkman killed.
No. That was paranoid. Ridiculous.
Or not.
And then something worse occurred to her.
Even if the dead man hadn't been in town looking for her,she couldn't chance a sharp FBI agent like Gabe Sawyer turning over every stone he could grasp. He was desperate to find his brother.
He wasn't going to leave Haven Cove. Not until he found what he was looking for.
And if she wasn't careful, that might be her.
He picked up the untouched coffee, took a single sip, then set it down with careful precision. "I'll be in town as long as it takes." His voice was quiet but absolute. "If you remember anything else, here's my card."
He slid a business card across the counter. The edge caught on a dusting of flour she'd missed. White powder clung to the black ink.
She picked it up. The cardstock felt heavy, official. FBI seal embossed in the corner. Her fingertips left faint prints in the flour residue.
"Sometimes memories surface when you're not trying so hard." He studied her face one more time, then glanced toward the ocean visible through the front window. "Funny thing about the past. You think you've buried it deep, but it keeps washing back up on shore."
The words landed like a punch.
He nodded once—a gesture that somehow conveyed both courtesy and certainty—then turned and walked out.
The bell above the door jingled cheerfully, completely at odds with the tension still crackling through the bakery.
Cara watched through the window as he climbed into his rental SUV. The scent of coffee and yeast hung thick in the air, usually comforting, now suffocating. She didn't exhale until he pulled away from the curb and disappeared around the corner toward the marina.
Then her legs went weak.
She sank onto one of the mismatched stools. The wood felt rough under her palms, worn smooth in some spots,splintered in others. She dropped her head into her hands. Her fingers came away dusty with flour and sugar.
If he stays, he'll dig.
If he digs, he'll find Carly Reid.
If he finds Carly Reid, I lose everything.
The apartment upstairs that felt like home for the first time in years. The community that was starting to accept her. The bakery that was actually turning into something real, smelling of butter and vanilla and fresh bread instead of fear. The faith she'd been building, piece by fragile piece, like a sourdough starter that finally decided to cooperate.
All of it gone.
The thought crystallized into something sharp and urgent.
She needed to run her own investigation into the murder. Figure out if it connected to Carly Reid or David Sawyer or something else entirely. Control the narrative before Gabe's investigation collided with her carefully constructed new life.
Planning cons was nothing more than deep investigation. She knew how to ask questions without seeming to. How to piece together a story from fragments and whispers.
