It was after two in the morning. Cara would be locked in her apartment, maybe already in bed pretending the last few hours hadn't happened. If he showed up demanding entry, she'd call the police. Probably had a lawyer on speed dial for situations exactly like this.
He had no warrant. No probable cause he could articulate without revealing he'd also been inside that motel room. No legal standing to search her apartment or seize anything.
All he had was certainty that she'd taken something. And fury hot enough to make his chest tight.
Tomorrow. Catch her at the bakery when she opens. Public place. Witnesses. Nowhere to run.
Morning would give him time to plan. Figure out exactly what he'd say. How he'd corner her with facts she couldn't deny.
And rein in his temper.
Movement caught his eye. A shadow separated from the alley beside the bakery. Tall. Bulky jacket. Moving with purpose but hugging the building's edge like someone who didn't want to be seen.
Gabe's hand went to his weapon before his brain caught up. The Glock's grip was warm from being against his body. Familiar. Steadying.
The figure paused near the dumpster. Stood there in profile, face angled up toward Cara's dark window. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Just watching.
Then moved on. Disappeared around the corner toward the marina's boat slips.
Gabe's pulse hammered in his throat. He counted to thirty. Listening. Watching the empty street.
A dog barked somewhere distant. Wind rattled a loose shutter on the building next door. The ocean kept its steady conversation with the shore.
Nothing else.
He climbed out as quietly as possible. His boots hit pavement with soft thuds that sounded too loud in the stillness. Cold air slapped his face, cut through his jacket like it wasn't there.
He crossed the street keeping to shadows. Pressed his back against the brick wall of the alley. Let his eyes adjust to the deeper darkness between buildings.
Empty. No one visible in either direction.
He moved to where the figure had been standing. Used his phone's flashlight to scan the ground. Gravel. Cigarette butts that looked weeks old. A crushed coffee cup. Nothing fresh. No footprints clear enough to identify in the loose stones.
But someone had been watching Cara's apartment.
Someone else interested in the baker who picked locks and moved like she'd done this before.
Gabe looked up at her window. Still dark. Still quiet. Either she was asleep or lying there in the darkness wondering if he'd figured it out.
Options cycled through his mind.
He could go up there. Knock. Warn her someone else was watching. See her face when she answered the door. Read whatever truth leaked through before she got her defenses up.
Or he could stay down here. Keep watch. Make sure whoever that was didn't come back.
Gabe returned to his SUV and repositioned it. Better angle on both the apartment stairs and the alley entrance. Engine off. Lights off. Just another vehicle parked near the marina in a town where fishermen kept odd hours.
He settled into the driver's seat. Checked his weapon out of habit. Kept his eyes on that dark window.
Just until dawn. Just to be sure she's safe.
The exhaustion crept up on him like fog. Three weeks of running on adrenaline and bad coffee. Three weeks of worst-case scenarios playing on repeat every time he tried to sleep. Three weeks of his phone not ringing with David's number.
His eyes burned. Gritty. Like someone had poured sand under the lids. His neck complained about the angle, vertebrae grinding as he shifted position.
The steering wheel pressed cold against his forearms. Outside, the wind picked up. Made the SUV rock slightly. A hypnotic movement.
Just rest them for a minute. Just close your eyes.
