Page 30 of Undertow

“His words. That’s what he was told. Said people did it all the time.” Wade’s mouth twitched—the closest thing Wade had to a smile when nothing was funny. “Direct quote: ‘These rich idiots do whatever they want. One time some rockstar got ahold of a staff member’s cell phone and ordered himself a helicopter.’”

Piper snorted behind him. On screen, Agent’s ear flicked.

“So Pacific Crest’s story is that Elena Whitfield left voluntarily,” Gabe said.

“That’s the company line,” Wade said.

Gabe took a breath. “Here’s where the company line falls apart.”

He told them about the crashed car. Pirelli’s name on the registration. Front end crumpled into a guardrail on the coast road, four miles north of the facility. Driver’s door open. Blood on the steering wheel. No driver found. State patrol had responded and documented the scene two days ago. The report sat in the system like a flare nobody had answered.

The kitchen table had gone still.

“And Pirelli reported the car stolen,” Tom said. Not a question—an assumption. The logical next step.

“No,” Gabe said. “He didn’t.”

Tom blinked. Reagan’s mouth dropped open.

Gabe shrugged. “There’s no stolen vehicle report. I ran the plate, the VIN, his name. Nothing. His car was used in what looks like an escape, crashed on a public highway with blood on the wheel, and the man never picked up the phone.”

“That’s—” Reagan started.

“It gets worse,” Gabe said. “No missing person report for Elena Whitfield. Anywhere in the state system. I ran it six ways. Nobody has reported her missing. Not Graham. Not the facility. Not Pirelli.”

Dead silence.

“A woman steals her doctor’s car,” Gabe said, laying it out the way he’d lay out evidence for a case—because that’s what this was now. “Crashes it on a coastal highway in January. Bleeds on the steering wheel. And heads off into a storm. And no one has raised an alarm.”

Wade growled. “That’s some kind of crazy.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” Gabe agreed.

Even Cara looked a little dazed. “Absolutely.”

Behind him, Piper’s hand stopped moving on Agent’s fur.

“She’s out there,” the girl said. “She’s hurt and she’s alone and nobody’s looking for her.”

Nobody corrected her. Nobody could.

14

The silence after Piper’s words lasted long enough for the rain hammering the rental windows to fill it.

Tom spoke first. “Do we tell Graham Whitfield about the crash?”

Gabe shook his head on screen. “Think it through. The vehicle trace went through State Patrol. Pacific Crest administration would’ve been contacted as the registered owner’s employer. Graham was at the facility that morning⁠—”

“The argument behind the closed door,” Cara said.

“Exactly. Whatever Pirelli knows, Graham almost certainly knows. That crash is probably what they were fighting about.”

“So telling Graham gains us nothing,” Wade said. “And tips him off that we’re investigating.”

“Worse than that,” Cara said. “It tells him we have a source inside law enforcement.” She looked at the screen. At Gabe. The thing they didn’t say out loud sat between them anyway: every piece of information Gabe shared with this team put his badge at risk. They all knew it. Nobody mentioned it. That was its own kind of loyalty.

Reagan leaned forward. “What I don’t understand is why she hasn’t called anyone. Graham’s her uncle. He has money, lawyers, resources. If she’s hurt and alone—why not pick up a phone?”