She knew Wade was right. Gabe Sawyer had just gone from desperate family member to determined federal agent. And she was now the only person who'd admitted to talking to a murder victim.
"That was smart, though," Wade continued. "Telling them you recognized him."
"The truth is usually smarter than lies," she said, then almost laughed at the irony. Her whole life was a lie.
"Usually," Wade agreed, and something in his tone suggested he understood the irony too.
They reached the point where their paths diverged.
"Be careful," Wade said. "FBI agent with a personal stake? That's dangerous for everyone."
"Even innocent bakers?"
"Especially innocent bakers who notice things they shouldn't."
She watched him walk toward the marina, then climbed her deck steps. When she looked back, Gabe Sawyer was standing over the body, phone pressed to his ear, but his eyes were on her.
The relief on his face when he'd seen it wasn't David—that had been real, raw, devastating in its intensity. But now that relief was transforming into something else.
Determination.
And she was directly in his path.
Not a place for Cara Sweet, fugitive, should be.
3
Gabe watchedthe dark-haired woman retreat up the beach, moving with the kind of casual grace that wasn't casual at all. She gave the deputies a wave, but her shoulders carried enough tension to string a bow.
He'd interviewed hundreds of witnesses. The nervous ones who talked too much. The guilty ones who talked too little. The innocent ones who didn't know what they'd seen.
And then there were the ones like her—who saw everything and pretended they hadn't.
He filed away his observations and turned back to the body.
Thank You, Lord. Thank You it wasn't David.
The prayer came automatically, along with the familiar punch of guilt. Someone else's brother was dead. Someone else's family would get the call. But not his. Not today.
"You said your brother was working a story?" Chief Hale shifted his weight, his duty belt creaking like old floorboards.
"True crime. He's a journalist. Specializes in cold cases."
"Sounds risky," Hale said, already looking bored.
"Sometimes." Gabe crouched beside the body, forcinghimself to see it as evidence, not as a reminder of what could have happened to his brother. "He said he was following a lead. Something about corruption in a small coastal town. Wouldn't give specifics."
That last part was a lie. David had given him plenty of details. He flat out told him he could prove their dad hadn't been on the take. "I can also prove he was murdered," he had insisted.
Until he knew who he could trust, Gabe had no intention of filling in any details.
"These investigative types," Hale said with the wisdom of someone who'd never investigated anything more complex than a parking violation. "They see conspiracy everywhere. Sometimes people just drown."
"That's Army ink," Gabe said, pointing to the tattoo. "Unit insignia. Not gang-related."
Brewer squinted at it like he was trying to read Sanskrit. "You sure?"
"I'm sure." Gabe straightened, his knees protesting. "See those defensive wounds on his knuckles?" He met Hale's eyes. "He fought back. Someone restrained him, killed him elsewhere, then dumped him here."
