Cara looked up.
Her stomach dropped straight through the floor.
Gabe Sawyer stood in the doorway, backlit by morning sun that made him look like something out of a noir film. Dark jacket creased like he'd slept in it. Hair slightly mussed. Harder expression than yesterday, if that was even possible.
He looked exhausted. And furious.
Piper froze mid-wipe, her gaze swinging between Cara and Gabe with predatory teenage interest. "Oh my gosh. Is that him?"
"Piper." Cara's voice came out too sharp. "Back room. Now."
"But—"
"Please."
Something in Cara's tone must have registered. Piper's eyes went wide. She dropped the rag on the nearest table and disappeared through the door to the kitchen without another word.
The bakery's ambient noise seemed to drop. Conversations didn't actually stop, but they felt muted. Like the universe was holding its breath.
Gabe walked toward the counter.
Each step was measured. Controlled.
Cara's hand moved automatically to the drawer. The notebook was right there. Six inches from her fingertips. She could hand it over right now. End this.
Except ending this meant starting something else. Questions. Investigations. Gabe Sawyer digging into her background until he found the truth she'd buried under witness protection paperwork and a new name.
He reached the counter. Stopped. Put both hands flat on the scarred wood surface.
"We need to talk." His voice was quiet. Rough. The kind of quiet that was more threatening than shouting. "Now."
Pearl glanced over from where she was browsing the day-old rack. Mrs. Henderson had stopped mid-conversation with her husband. Even the tourists had paused their debate about scone flavors.
Small towns. Always watching.
Cara swallowed hard. Lifted her chin. Met his eyes with what she hoped looked like confusion instead of guilt.
"About what?"
His jaw worked. A muscle jumped beneath stubble he hadn't bothered shaving. "You know exactly what."
The espresso machine hissed again. Someone's phone buzzed. Outside, a seagull screamed over the marina.
Cara's heart hammered against her ribs hard enough to hurt.
She'd practiced responses all through the sleepless hours. Had prepared lies that would hold up under scrutiny.
But looking at Gabe Sawyer's exhausted, furious,desperate face, she realized something that made her chest tight.
She didn't want to lie to him anymore.
Too bad that wasn’t an option.
"Back room," she said. "Five minutes. Let me handle these customers."
For a moment she thought he'd refuse. Force the confrontation right here in front of Pearl and the Hendersons and three tourists who'd come for authentic baked goods and gotten front-row seats to a federal investigation.
Then he stepped back. Nodded once. Sharp. Final.
