"No thank you, ma'am."
"Are you sure? They're very good. My granddaughter loves them. She's single, by the way. Lovely girl. Works in Portland. About your age."
Gabe's jaw tightened. "Mrs. Brewster, the man you saw. Did he do anything suspicious besides walking on the trail?"
"Well, he had very nice binoculars. Swarovski, I think. Top of the line." She moved to a photo album on the bookshelf. "Let me show you the puffins I saw last week. Twenty-six different shots. Each one captures a unique behavioral moment."
Gabe bit down on a groan. Price was going to owe him. Big time.
He endured fifteen minutes of puffin photos, politely declined three offers of cookies, sidestepped two attempts to discuss her granddaughter's availability, and finally escaped with a promise to "be careful out there."
Mrs. Brewster waved from the doorway as he drove away. "Come back anytime."
The fog had thickened by the time he reached the highway.Gabe's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary.
Another dead end while David was out there somewhere, running out of time.
He circled back to Cara Sweet. She lied and hid evidence. Breaking into Ruiz's motel room had come easier to her than to him. Every movement carried the practiced ease of someone used to making quick escapes. Everything about her screamed law enforcement or intelligence background. But she was hiding in a small-town baking bread.
Why?
The sun was heading toward the horizon by the time he reached Haven Cove. The town looked peaceful in the golden light. Boats bobbing in the marina. Shops closing for the evening. Streetlights flickering on one by one.
Gabe drove past the bakery.
Locked up tight.
He continued to the alley behind it where Cara's apartment sat above the shop. One light visible in an upstairs window. Her well-used Subaru parked below.
He slowed.
Movement on the stairs.
Cara came down bundled in a dark jacket, hair down around her shoulders instead of pulled back in her usual bun. She looked different. Softer. The kind of pretty that caught him off guard for half a second before his brain caught up.
Reagan from the diner appeared beside her, linking arms with easy familiarity. They were both laughing. Not much, but enough to suggest plans. Friendship. Normal Saturday evening activities.
She looked relaxed. Happy even.
Not scared. Not hiding. Not running.
They climbed into Reagan's compact SUV and pulled out of the alley.
Gabe sat in his vehicle and watched them disappear down Main Street.
She'd stolen evidence from a crime scene last night. Been confronted by a federal agent this afternoon. And now she was going out with friends like nothing had happened.
Either she was innocent and handling the stress remarkably well, or she was the best actress he'd ever met.
His gut said option two.
He drove back to his rental cabin. Inside, the silence felt heavier than it should. Empty rooms. Sterile furniture. The kind of temporary housing that reminded him he didn't belong here.
Gabe sat on the edge of the bed and opened Ruiz's notebook again.
The pages were worn from being handled. Coffee stains on one corner. David's looping handwriting visible on page twelve where he'd added a note in the margin: "If I'm right about this, it will change everything."
Gabe's throat tightened.
