Page 80 of Undertow

“Stay here.”

“He’s dead,” Elena said. Not a question. Her voice was flat and strange. “My uncle’s dead.”

No point in denying it. Cara nodded. “Yes.”

Elena stared at the building. At the cream stucco and the wraparound windows and the tasteful bronze sign. Then she put her face in her hands and made a sound that wasn’t crying, wasn’t screaming, was somewhere in the territory between the two that doesn’t have a name.

Cara put an arm around her thin shoulders and guided her to a bench at the base of the front stairs.

Two cars pulled into the parking lot fast, no sirens, no lights. Plain wrap cars with Federal plates. The doors opened and four people in windbreakers got out moving like people who already knew what they were walking into. Becky Hammersmith had promised Gabe two agents. She sent four.

Reagan was crossing the parking lot at a dead sprint with her phone in her hand. She dropped to a knee beside Elena and looked at Cara. “Piper’s in Wade’s truck. Locked in tight.” She jutted her chin at the building. “What’s the situation?”

“Gabe and Wade have Derek. Tom’s hurt.”

Reagan was on her feet and through the fire exit before Cara finished the sentence.

Cara and Elena waited, Elena’s head against Cara’s shoulder. In the distance, the Pacific crashing against the bluff. Seagulls wheeled overhead as if nothing had happened. Barely seconds later, two of the agents marched Derek out in handcuffs. He stared at the ground, face blank, no acknowledgement of Cara or Elena. No smile. No charm. The mask was gone and there was nothing underneath it.

Tom came out next, holding his jaw, one lens of his glasses fractured. He waved at them, then whipped out his phone. Calling Piper, she guessed.

Wade came out rolling his right shoulder. The limp was practically gone, amazingly, but a new cut above his eyebrow bled into his collar. He walked to the nearest SUV, leaned against the hood, and closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them and looked at Cara and Elena. “You two good?”

“We’re good.”

Wade closed his eyes again, lips moving in a silent prayer.

Gabe came out last. He came through the fire exit with blood on his knuckles and his shirt untucked and the stillness of a man who had done exactly what needed doing and would feel every minute of it tomorrow. He found Cara in the parking lot. Didn’t speak. Put a hand on Elena’s shoulder, then on Cara’s.

Derek was by the federal car. One of the agents had a hand on his head, guiding him into the back seat. Tom stalked over. He looked at Derek through the open car door. “My daughter is sixteen. You sent me her picture to make a point. Now it’s my turn."

To Cara’s surprise, the agents backed away.

Expression still blank, Derek looked up at Tom.

Tom raised a bruised fist but quickly dropped it. “Nevermind. You’re not worth sacrificing my principles for.”

As Cara watched, Derek opened his mouth. Her breath caught. What could he possibly say?

Tom held up a hand. “You should not speak. Seriously. Don’t. I will end this conversation past anything your lawyers can fix.”

Derek closed his mouth. The nearest agent stepped between them and closed the door.

Cara watched the feds pull away. The Pacific kept breathing below the bluff. The bronze sign caught the light.

Elena was safe. So were the people Cara loved.

It was over.

She closed her eyes. Thank You, Lord.

44

Elena gave her statement in a conference room down the hall from where Graham died.

Gabe stood in the doorway and watched. Cara stood beside him, shoulder pressed into his. Two of Becky's agents sat across from Elena with a recorder between them. Elena looked tired but surprisingly calm, hands resting flat on the table.

She described the drugging, Pirelli entering her room each night, then the days that simply stopped — not blacked out, not forgotten, just absent, like pages pulled from a book while she slept.