Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
The memorial always drew a crowd, but today it felt like the entire damn county had poured itself into the space between the marina and the Crab Shack.
Buddy and Sterling moved through the thick press of bodies, the air shimmering with heat and grief and the twisted kind of hope people carried to events like this.
Laughter rose above the picnic tables, bright and sharp, colliding with the steady hum of the water and the occasional croak of a frog.
It should’ve felt vibrant.
Instead, it felt like static.
Buddy’s skin buzzed with it, that low, electric warning he hadn’t been able to shake since dawn. Sterling must’ve felt it too—his shoulders too tight, his eyes too alert for a man trying to look casual.
“My first year with the CIA, I was a Protective Agent, and I hated it.” Sterling continued to scan the crowd.
Buddy didn’t look at him. “Why?”
“Because I had to protect high-level officials at functions not all that different than this overseas. Civilians were always involved. If something were to happen, casualties were always part of the risk.”
“You’re not helping.” Buddy rubbed the back of his neck.
Children darted between legs, their clothes sun-bleached, arms sticky from melted popsicles. Teen volunteers ferried donation buckets. Someone shouted near the dunk tank, another person threw a beanbag toward the ring toss, and someone else cursed when they dropped their funnel cake.
This was good. Normal. Joyful in ways that almost didn’t make sense considering the event’s purpose.
Perfect camouflage for a monster.
Buddy’s gaze snapped to Fallon, magnetic and unavoidable. She stood under the shade of the raffle tent, the light-weight spirit jacket on her shoulders—the one she’d been sent, the one that was a replica of the jacket Tessa had been wearing the night she went missing.
Fallon greeted people with that careful, kind smile she used when she didn’t want anyone to see the crack in the foundation. But he noticed how her grin didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid that flowed over her left shoulder.
Cullen lingered in the crowd behind her, pretending to examine a display of silent auction items. Too far to draw attention. Close enough to intervene. The man blended like the trained marine he was, and that worried Buddy.
Cullen had come a long way from the days when he’d first returned.
But he still had triggers, and PTSD didn’t disappear overnight. The things Cullen had been through didn’t just go away because he had people who loved him and a damn good therapist.
Sterling paused at one of the vendor booths, stuffed his hand in his pocket, pulled out a wad of tickets, and placed a couple in the basket. “Can I ask you something without you telling me to mind my own business?”
Buddy scowled. Sterling wasn’t the kind of man to ask before asking. He usually just opened his mouth and spewed whatever he needed to say, so this was strange. “Sounds like I’m gonna be annoyed.”
“Probably.” Sterling continued walking, scanning.
Buddy moved along with Sterling, keeping his focus on Fallon. She smiled at everyone who stepped up to the raffle table, but her posture was all wrong. Her shoulders too high, her gaze darting, and her smile not wide enough.
“In the few months I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you take a girl out.
Not once. I’ve never even seen your head turn when a beautiful woman walked into the room.
But Fallon, she’s had your attention from the second we rolled into town.
You’ve been watching her like you’re waiting for someone to try to steal the sun. ”
Buddy glared. “Yeah, because someone’s fucking with me, and they're using her to do it.”
Sterling side-stepped a couple of young boys running through the crowd while their mother alternated between yelling at them and quietly apologizing to everyone she passed. “I’m not judging. I’m just saying you’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one a man gets when he finally realizes he’s got something to lose.”
Buddy ran a hand over his mouth as he paused thirty paces from the raffle table.
A familiar, uncomfortable tightness settled in his chest. He’d experienced the same feeling when his FBI colleague, Gino, lost his wife and kids, and Buddy realized that his career put his wife in danger every time he walked out the door.
If he had no one, he had nothing to lose and no chance of anyone getting killed—but him.
“We’re all here because we want to protect her, this town, and anyone who might get caught in the crosshairs of whatever game this asshole is playing,” Buddy said. “You’d be just as diligent about this situation even if I wasn’t involved with her.”
“Not the point.” Sterling lowered his chin.
“Back in Jacksonville, you used to get this funny smile when someone would text you. Or sometimes, you’d excuse yourself because you got a phone call.
Afterward, you’d come back to the room, lighter.
” Sterling shifted his weight, gaze drifting between the band doing a sound check on stage and Fallon.
“Dove and I used to talk about it. We thought maybe you had a secret girlfriend. Turns out, we were right because I caught a glimpse of the name on your screen. It was Fallon’s. ”
“We’ve been friends a long time.”
“I’m not blind. I know what love looks like.
Hell, I even know what it feels like.” Sterling leaned against the wooden fence that lined the walkway.
“You’re in love with her. I saw it the first day out in the Glades and it explained why coming to Calusa Cove was so important to you when other towns or cities might have made more sense. ”
Buddy’s breath caught in his throat. Falling in love with Fallon had probably happened while he’d been working the Ring Finger case.
He’d done everything he could to make sure nothing could happen, including taking a job transfer, moving him further away from Calusa Cove.
But after he put Simon behind bars, his heart kept guiding him back to Florida.
Back to Calusa Cove.
Back to Fallon.
“Let’s get through this, make sure nothing happens to Fallon, or anyone else, and then you and Dove can pick on me all you want about my love life.”
Sterling chuckled. “I’d never. Love’s too important. But Dove, she’s gonna enjoy razzing you, and not just because she can. I’m pretty sure love is the only thing that scares that woman.”
“Dove frightens me, sometimes.” Buddy turned toward the remembrance board—bigger this year, covered in a mosaic of faces. Some laminated, some warped from past storms, some pinned by trembling hands only an hour ago.
Tessa’s photo sat near the center—Fallon had placed it herself earlier, fingers lingering on the edges. Buddy touched the bottom. The warmth from the sun still trapped in the corners.
Sterling shifted beside him. “How long has this board been part of the fundraiser?”
“Fallon’s always had a memory board with pictures of Tessa.
I believe the first year, she asked friends to bring their own images or write a note or dedication to Tessa.
It was smaller back then. Just local families raising money for a local women’s shelter.
Then, some mom came asking if she could put something about her daughter on there.
Then a sister. Then it just became a thing.
Now, Fallon not only raises a ton of money, but she helps raise awareness across all of Florida.
” Buddy’s eyes burned. The images shared on that board were a silent testament to the suffocating weight of loss--reflected in the smiles that would never be seen again.
He ran his fingers across the edges of what appeared to be newer images and his heart broke.
“I remember when I first transferred to human trafficking. I hadn’t even been assigned a case yet, and I came to this event.
I stared at this board for hours trying to find reasons why. Or patterns.”
“Find any?”
Buddy drew in a slow breath. “Nothing that ties all of them together in a meaningful way outside of the fact that they’re all missing.” He moved along the board, eyes sliding over each face.
Girls with braces.
Boys with dimples.
Mothers, fathers, young adults, teenagers.
People who were loved.
People someone still prayed for.
Simon’s voice echoed in his head, throbbing like a bruise pressed too hard.
You can’t save them all.
Buddy’s stomach tightened. He pressed his thumb against the edge of the board to ground himself, but his pulse didn’t ease.
Movement caught his eye—a sliver of glossy paper peeking out from behind another photo.
Wrong. Out of place. Fallon kept this board meticulous, constantly checking it throughout the day.
She curated every inch, made sure no one’s child was hidden.
If the board got too crowded, she pulled out the backup board from the marina's storage room—and there were two full boards already.
But this picture had been tucked behind another, as if the placement was deliberate.
A tremor ran through him as he reached out, his fingertip unsteady as he nudged the top photo aside.
One picture slid forward.
Then another.
And his world narrowed to a pinpoint.
Two girls smiled back at him—dark hair, bright eyes, joy frozen in a moment of a life they never got to finish.
Maya. Sophie.
The ones he couldn’t save. The ones he lost.
The ones who still crawled into his chest at night and hollowed out the space beneath his ribs.
Sterling stilled beside him, sensing the shift. “Shit.”
Buddy’s throat tightened. “This jerk knew Fallon would check the boards. That she would make sure each victim was seen—that I’d care enough to look.”
“That’s a crazy game. A lot of things would have to align for you to see them.”