Chapter 19
JOSIE
Duck’s rally draws the biggest crowd Stoneheart has seen in years.
The town square is packed—families with children, elderly couples holding homemade signs, young professionals who’ve never attended a political event in their lives. The energy is electric, hopeful in a way I haven’t felt since I first moved here.
Stone insisted I stay close. After everything with Summit, he’s not taking chances. But I don’t mind the protective detail. It’s actually kind of sweet, watching Hawk and Axel pretend to casually position themselves between me and any potential threats.
“You’d think I was the one running for office,” I mutter to Kya.
“You’re the president’s old lady.” She grins. “That makes you a target and a VIP. Get used to it.”
Duck takes the stage to thunderous applause. He looks good up there—confident, commanding, nothing like the nervous man who asked me to review his speech three times this morning.
“Friends, neighbors, family,” he begins. “I’m not going to stand up here and make a bunch of promises I can’t keep. You know me. You know I’m not a politician—I’m a guy who runs a garage and happens to care a whole lot about this town.”
The crowd cheers. Someone yells, “That’s why we love you, Duck!”
“And I love you too.” Duck grins. “But listen—we’ve been through a lot this past year. Outside interests trying to buy up our land, drive out our businesses, turn Stoneheart into something it was never meant to be. And we said no.”
More cheers. I find myself clapping along.
“We said no because this town—our town—is worth fighting for. Not because of the buildings or the land values or whatever the hell Summit Properties thought they could profit from. But because of you. The people. The community. My neighbors, the people who make Stoneheart home.”
He’s hitting his stride now, and the crowd is eating it up.
“So here’s my promise—the only one I’m going to make. If you elect me mayor, I will fight for this town every single day. I will fight for our businesses, our families, our right to exist without some corporate vulture trying to pick our bones. I will—”
He pauses for dramatic effect, reaching for a cord at the side of the stage.
“—be your PUBLIC SERVANT!”
He yanks the cord.
The banner unfurls behind him in all its fifty-foot glory.
VOTE DUCK WHEELER: YOUR PUBIC SERVANT
For a split second, nobody reacts. Duck is still facing the crowd, arms spread wide, basking in what he thinks is his big moment.
Then the laughter starts.
It begins at the back—a snort, a giggle—and spreads forward like a wave. People are pointing, pulling out their phones, absolutely losing it. Duck’s triumphant expression falters.
“What? What’s so funny?”
Someone in the front row turns their phone around to show him. Duck squints at the screen, then slowly turns to look at the banner behind him.
The crowd absolutely loses it.
Duck stares at the typo for a long, silent moment. Then he turns back to the crowd with an expression of pure, deadpan acceptance.
“Well, shit.”
The laughter doubles.
Someone in the back yells, “You’ve got my vote!”
“That’s what I like to hear!” Duck is fully rolling with it now, leaning into the disaster. “Listen, I may not be able to spell, but I can damn sure lead. And unlike my banner, my commitment to this town is one hundred percent accurate.”
The crowd roars its approval. Phones are recording. This is going to go viral.
Stone appears at my elbow, his eyes scanning the crowd even as he’s fighting back a smile.
“He’s going to win because of this,” I say.
“Probably. Nothing like a good typo to humanize a candidate.” His hand finds mine. “You doing okay?”
“I’m great.” And I am. Surrounded by people I’ve come to care about, watching democracy in action, feeling like part of something bigger. “This is fun.”
“Good.” He squeezes my hand. “Stay close. FBI raid is set for midnight. I want us back at the clubhouse well before then.”
“Yes sir, Mr. President.”
“Brat.” He slaps my ass.
I laugh, leaning into him, feeling safer than I have in weeks. The rally is winding down now, Duck still working the crowd, shaking hands and posing for selfies with the typo banner. It’s the kind of wholesome chaos that makes Stoneheart feel like home.
“I need to use the restroom,” I tell Stone. “Too much lemonade.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll come with you.”
“To the bathroom?” I raise an eyebrow.
“To the café.” He nods toward Rosie’s, the newly opened cafe sits on the corner of the square. “I could use a coffee.”
I don’t argue. After everything we’ve been through, I understand his need to stay close.
Rosie’s is quiet compared to the bustling square—most people are outside for the festivities. The bell chimes as we enter, and Stone guides me toward the counter with a hand on my lower back.
“A black coffee,” he tells the barista—a college-aged girl I don’t recognize. He glances at me. “You want a drink?”
“A bottled water would be great. Do you have a bathroom?”
“Restroom’s down the hall on the left,” the girl offers.
I squeeze Stone’s arm. “Two minutes.”
“I’m timing you.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you are.”
The hallway is narrow, dimly lit compared to the bright café. There’s a small three stall bathroom on the left, storage closet on the right, and at the far end, a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY which I assume leads to their locker room.
The bathroom is empty except for one occupied stall. I take the one furthest from the door, do my business, and I’m washing my hands when the other woman emerges.
She’s young—mid-twenties maybe, wearing a sundress and a Stoneheart Farmers Market tote bag. She gives me a polite smile as she moves to the sink beside me.
“Hell of a rally, huh?” she says. “I’ve never seen the square this packed.”
“Duck’s got a lot of supporters.”
She flashes me a smile. “Well, have a nice day.”
“You too.”
She pushes through the bathroom door ahead of me, and the lights go out.
I hear a scuffle. A muffled cry, cut short.
My blood goes cold.
Through the crack of the still-closing door, I can see shapes moving in the darkened hallway. The woman’s tote bag hits the floor. Someone’s dragging her toward the EMPLOYEES ONLY door at the end of the hall.
Get out. Get to Stone. Now.
I shove through the bathroom door—
And walk straight into a wall of muscle.
“Ms. Bright.” The voice is calm. Professional. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
A hard object presses into my ribs before I can scream.
“Don’t,” he says quietly. “The woman we just took? We’ll let her go if you come with me. But if you make a sound, if you try to run, she dies. Understand?”
I nod, my throat too tight for words.
“Good. Walk.”
The EMPLOYEES ONLY door opens onto a back alley where a black SUV idles at the mouth of it, engine running. Two men have propped the unconscious woman against the wall of the alley—I see her chest rise and fall, alive, thank God—before they turn their attention to me.
The alley swallows me whole. Two men in front, one behind, the gun never leaving my side. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart.
Stone must have heard the commotion. He’ll save me. He’ll come get me.
The door behind us remains firmly shut.
“She’s secure.” One of the men speaks into a phone. “Moving to secondary location. Dump the bait.”
She crumples to the ground, as they push me into the vehicle.
“Get in. Now.”
I get in.
The door slams behind me, and the SUV pulls away.