Page 17 of Undertow

Derek looked between them. Whatever calculation he was running, the answer came back insufficient. He stood, brushed rain from his coat, and straightened like a man leaving a meeting he’d decided to end. “Fine. But I want updates.”

“You’ll hear from us when there’s something to hear.” Cara lied. He wasn’t a client. She owed him nothing.

He held her gaze a beat too long—the power move of a man who confused eye contact with dominance—then walked back down the trail without saying goodbye. His leather soles slipped twice on the wet gravel. He didn’t look back.

Wade came to stand beside her under the shelter. The harbor spread below them, gray and rough. A gull screamed somewhere in the fog.

“He bought it,” Cara said.

“You’re good at that.” Not a compliment. An observation.

“I know.”

She watched Derek disappear around the bend. He was dangerous. Not the loud kind. The quiet kind. She recognized it because she’d spent her adult life around men like that.

And leverage, for a woman living under a name that wasn’t hers, was the most dangerous thing in the world.

The cold arithmetic she ran every day surfaced without permission. She was Cara Sweet, baker, neighbor, friend. She was also Carly Reid, convicted art forger, who’d served three years before taking an NYPD deal to go undercover at a financial firm. The star witness was murdered before trial. The deal evaporated. The people who were supposed to protect her decided she was more useful back in a cell. She’d run. She’d been running ever since.

Haven Cove was supposed to be the end of the running. Most days, it felt like it might be.

Lord, help me walk this line.

The prayer surfaced—quiet, practical, the kind a woman offered when the margin for error was exactly this thin.

They walked back down the trail together. Wade didn’t ask what she was thinking. He didn’t need to.

Cara pulled out her phone in the parking lot and texted the group.

Voss handled. Got some leads. Tomorrow we stop talking about Elena Whitfield and start looking for her.

Reagan: FINALLY. I’ve had a bag packed since Tuesday.

Tom: I’ve mapped three rental properties within range of Pacific Crest. Also I may have already pulled satellite imagery of the facility grounds. In a completely legal way.

Wade: So we hit this Pacific Crest place?

Cara: Coast highway north. Portland first, then the facility. Thinking we leave at six.

Piper: I’m in. I’ll bring the road snacks. Adults can’t be trusted to handle that.

Tom: You’re sitting this one out, babe.

Piper: Dad!

Tom: School, Piper. Hello??

Piper: It’s ONE road trip.

Tom: It’s a school week.

Reagan: He’s right, honey. We’ve got this.

Cara could practically hear the silence on Piper’s end. The silence of a teenager who knew she’d lost and was composing her dignified retreat.

Piper: Fine. But I’m looking in on Diane and Agent while you’re gone. Someone has to make sure that cat doesn’t stage a coup.

Cara: Deal.