"His Land Cruiser," Reagan said finally, breaking the heavy silence. "The old Toyota he drove from Seattle. Where is it?"
Tom pulled up vehicle registration data. "1998 Land Cruiser. No GPS capability. And there are no traffic cameras on these coastal highways. He could have moved between locations without leaving any digital trail except the phone pings."
"The vehicle's either hidden near Granger Point," Wade said, "or they found it when they grabbed him."
The implications settled over the group like cold water.
David had been careful. Had moved locations when Haven Cove got too dangerous. Had maintained operational security for weeks.
Until he'd walked back into danger trying to meet a dead man. "Granger Point," Wade continued, his knowledge too detailed for casual familiarity. "Rough place. Had a fish processing plant and lumber mill before they both shut down ten, maybe twelve years ago. Most people moved away. What's left is logger and dock worker crowd. Cash only. No questions asked."
Reagan nodded. "I've heard of it. The kind of place where you don't make eye contact and you pay your tab fast."
"Perfect place to stay invisible," Gabe said. "Close enough to observe Haven Cove's dock activity without being in Haven Cove itself."
Tom pulled up more satellite imagery showing the broader area. The abandoned fish processing plant and lumber mill sat on deteriorating docks jutting into the Pacific, maybe a mile from the tavern. Industrial infrastructure left to rot.
"David was using the tavern as a base," Gabe continued, pieces falling into place. "Somewhere to get food, supplies,maintain some connection to civilization while staying off everyone's radar."
"And watching the operation from a safe distance," Cara added.
"But why stop going four days ago?" Piper asked. "If he was there multiple times a day for two weeks, why just...stop?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with implications no one wanted to voice.
Gabe stared at the red dots clustered around The Rusty Anchor and felt certainty settle in his gut.
His brother had been there. Recently. Using that tavern as his lifeline while conducting surveillance.
Until something changed.
"I'm going tonight," Gabe said, the decision already made. "Someone at that tavern saw David. Maybe talked to him. Maybe knows where he went."
"What's your plan?" Tom asked.
Gabe studied the satellite imagery. "Arrive around twenty-two hundred. After dinner rush, before the crowd gets too drunk to remember anything useful. Sit at the bar. Order food. Observe."
"And then?" Reagan asked.
"If the opportunity presents itself, I show David's photo. Say I'm looking for a person of interest in connection with the Haven Cove murder investigation. Someone who might have information about Ruiz's death."
Wade's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. "That's a dangerous play."
"That's the point," Gabe said. "If David's been there, someone knows something. I want them nervous. Want them making phone calls. Want to kick the hornet's nest and see what stings."
"You'll be walking into a bar full of people who might beconnected to the smuggling operation," Cara pointed out, her voice tight. "With no backup."
"I'll have backup." He looked at Tom. "You'll monitor from here. Any sign of trouble, you call it in."
Tom nodded. "I can do that."
"And I'll have Detective Price on standby," Gabe continued. "He’s State Police, not local. Someone I trust who can respond if things go sideways."
The plan was solid. The kind of calculated risk his counter-intelligence work had taught him to take when gathering intelligence in hostile territory.
"We move at twenty-two hundred hours," Gabe said, finalizing the timeline.
The decision hung in the air like a challenge.
