Three weeks. No contact. No sightings. Just a trail of questions that led to a dead PI and a baker who moved like a trained operative.
He closed the notebook carefully and set it on the nightstand.
Lord, I don't know what I'm doing here. But help me find him. Please. Before it's too late.
The prayer felt inadequate. Desperate.
It was all he had.
Tomorrow, he'd push harder. Dig deeper. Follow every lead in Ruiz's notes until something broke open.
Cara Sweet was going to tell him everything.
"No more lies," he said to the empty room. "Tomorrow, you're going to trust me. Whether youwant to or not."
He lay back on the bed, still fully dressed, and stared at the ceiling.
Sleep felt impossible.
But he'd learned a long time ago how to function on adrenaline and determination.
Tomorrow would come soon enough.
13
Reagan's SUVbounced over a pothole hard enough to make Cara's teeth click together. The headlights carved through the gathering dusk as they headed toward the beach.
"Tell me you're glad I dragged you out." Reagan grinned, one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing wildly enough t.
Cara forced a smile. "Thanks for the ride."
"Please. You needed this more than oxygen." Reagan shot her a look. "You were about three minutes from spiral mode when I showed up."
More like thirty seconds.
Cara's stomach knotted at the memory of Gabe's face when he'd left the bakery. That quiet certainty in his voice. The way he'd seen straight through her lie.
She breathed deep, trying to force her heart rate down. "It's been a long day."
"That's why we're doing this." Reagan swung into the parking lot with her usual disregard for painted lines. "Bonfire. S'mores. Youth fundraiser. Zero stress allowed."
Cara nodded like she believed it.
The bonfire came into view as they climbed out of theSUV. Warm flickering light against the twilight. Driftwood stacked high and burning bright. The smell of woodsmoke and charred marshmallows drifted up on the ocean breeze.
Teenagers clustered in groups, waving glow sticks and laughing. Piper’s dad, Tom stood at a makeshift grill, prodding something that might have been a hotdog once. Pastor Ben stirred a massive pot of chili over a camp stove. Music played from someone's portable speaker. Not loud. Just enough to fill the spaces between conversations.
Wade Patterson lurked at the edge of the firelight, hands in his pockets, looking like he'd rather be checking his crab pots.
This was Haven Cove. Safe. Normal. The kind of community she'd been desperately trying to become part of for six months.
"Cara!" Piper materialized out of the darkness like a sugar-fueled missile. "I saved you a s'more. It's structurally unsound but spiritually uplifting."
The laugh that escaped was involuntary. Real. The first genuine one all day.
Piper thrust a paper plate at her. The s'more in question had collapsed into a sticky mess of chocolate, marshmallow, and graham cracker pieces. It looked terrible.
"Thank you?"
