Chapter 18 #2
Buddy swallowed hard, every instinct in him lighting up like a flare. He scanned the crowd—the families at the raffle table, the teens laughing by the water, the older volunteers chatting near the stage.
Any of them.
All of them.
None of them.
“Not really. Our guy put them here,” Buddy said, voice rough.
“He wanted me to see them. He wants me off balance. He wants me to know that while he’s not Simon, he’s bigger than Simon.
Knows more.” Buddy scanned the crowd, his old instincts kicking in.
“I thought Simon and this guy, EJ, knew each other peripherally. But now? I get the feeling that I didn’t shut down anything when I arrested Simon.
I merely put a dent in a bigger operation. ”
Sterling’s posture sharpened. “Jesus. You know what I’m thinking?”
“Besides, this bastard is already here?” Buddy stepped back from the board, eyes sweeping the marina. He focused on the males. Clocked what they were wearing. Who they were with. What they were doing. If they appeared suspicious or blended in seamlessly.
It was the latter that made him nervous.
His gaze stayed locked on Fallon across the walkway, her braid slipping over her shoulder as she laughed at something a volunteer said.
So damn alive.
So damn exposed.
And wearing a target with a bullseye on the back.
“I’ve been bothered by the whole Bluewater Restoration and how clean that fucking operation is,” Sterling said.
“You checked them when you were looking for that compound before Simon’s arrest. Their books were solid.
I’ve gone through all your older files on them and doing additional research.
It’s a legit business. Outside of the LLC burying who really owns it, there’s nothing to look at. ”
“Could still be laundering money.”
“True. However, the more I think about all those companies, the more I don’t believe this one was doing that. I keep asking myself—How do all of them run legit? But all of them have an LLC or two in common and those all start with blue, something. That’s a pattern.”
“We’ve talked about that,” Buddy said. “Get to the point.” He continued to focus on the area near Fallon, looking for anything that might be out of place. Anything that might be a sign the clock for this game had started ticking down.
“Take the compound. It’s not common. It’s easy to trace back to specific companies that maintain meticulous records.
But if Simon were working for this EJ Vance, who owns all these fucking companies, it would be easy for them to cover this up as long as EJ stayed clean and EJV Industries wasn’t listed as an owner of any of those companies starting with blue. ”
Every muscle in Buddy’s body tensed. “If that’s the case, this is one massive organization. At least double the size of Simon’s if he was a cell under Vance.”
“Have you or Dawson called tried looping in Flager with regard to what’s been happening to Fallon?” Sterling asked.
Buddy nodded, keeping a close eye on anyone who came close to Fallon.
“Right now, this is a local issue—a harassment case at best. We’ve all been trying to find that connection, but nothing that Flager’s boss will take seriously, even though Flager is.
A team is close by. Flagler gave them EJ Vance’s name—actually, anything we have, they have.
But they have nothing to tie missing girls to EJ, or what’s happening to Fallon. ”
“Guess we’ll have to find them something,” Sterling said.
Cullen inched into Buddy’s vision and Fallon didn’t flinch when Cullen drifted a little closer to her in the crowd. Two deputies stood near the raffle line. Dawson and Chloe were near the docks. If she noticed the invisible grid tightening around her, it didn’t seem to bother her… too much.
She just continued on the same way she always did—the way she did when she wanted the world to believe she was fine.
God, he loved her.
The admission hit him so hard he reached for the edge of the remembrance board to steady himself. His palm landed inches from Maya and Sophie’s faces. Innocent. Young. Gone.
You can’t save them all.
Simon’s voice.
The new bastard’s echo.
Two threats layered over the only truth that mattered:
If he failed today, Fallon would join the rest of the victims.
His stomach dropped so fast he thought he might be sick. Sterling said something—Buddy caught the rumble of his voice but not the words. The noise of the crowd muffled to a dull roar, every sound swallowed by the thudding pulse in his ears.
He stared at Fallon.
He couldn’t stop.
He didn’t try.
He imagined reaching her too late.
He imagined losing her like he’d lost those girls.
He imagined his world cracking open in the same violent, irreversible way it had years ago.
And the thought nearly took him to his knees.
“Hey.” Sterling’s voice cut through the fog—quiet but sharp. “You with me?”
Buddy blinked slowly. “No.”
Sterling didn’t look away. “What do you need?”
Buddy swallowed, the motion painful. “I need her to survive this.”
Sterling exhaled, long and low. “Then you make sure she does.”
Buddy nodded, but it wasn’t agreement. It was surrender to the truth he’d been fighting since this whole damn mess began.
He wasn’t choosing between Fallon and some hypothetical victim. He wasn’t choosing between love and duty. He wasn’t even choosing between past and present.
He was choosing how much of himself he was willing to lose to keep her whole.
And the cost didn’t matter.
Not anymore.
Not with her in that jacket.
Not with Maya and Sophie staring back at him.
His hand closed over the edge of the board until the wood creaked.
“Whoever he is,” Buddy whispered, “he picked the wrong woman. Because he doesn’t get to take her.”
Sterling nodded, grim. “So, what now?”
Buddy straightened slowly, eyes locked on Fallon like he was counting every second before the room burned down around them.
“Now?” he said, voice low and steady. “We hunt.”
The raffle table had been busy all morning, and Fallon had barely had a second to breathe—exactly what she’d hoped for—noise, distraction, people.
Anything to keep her mind occupied so she didn’t hyperfocus on the jacket that reminded her of that night or the quiet storm humming below the surface of the crowd.
She was halfway through straightening a stack of raffle tickets, while the other volunteer at the table stood off to the side, yelling, “raffle tickets for sale”, when she heard her name.
“Fallon, you outdid yourself this year.”
She looked up—and broke into a smile.
Favoring his left side, Trent carefully made his way toward her, wrapped in a loose button-down someone had probably insisted he wear so people wouldn’t see the bandages underneath. His mother, Linda, walked beside him, one hand lightly touching his arm, as if to steady him but without hovering.
They both looked thinner. Paler. Like the bullet and diagnosis had stolen more than blood and health—they'd taken peace, security, the belief that tomorrow was guaranteed.
But they were here.
Fallon stepped out from behind the table. “What are you doing here? You should be home resting and recovering.”
Trent grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I couldn’t stand sitting still a second longer.”
Linda rolled her eyes affectionately. “He keeps trying to help me with stuff around my house. I thought coming here was the lesser of two evils.”
“I’m healing nicely,” Trent said, though he seemed winded from the walk. “We weren’t missing this.”
Fallon swallowed the unexpected emotion rising in her throat. “I’m glad you’re here. Really.”
Linda reached out and squeezed Fallon’s hand. “You’ve done something beautiful. We all need to remember those we’ve lost, those who have fallen, and those who are missing.”
Fallon squeezed back. Linda’s hand felt too light, her bones too sharp. The cancer was hitting fast. Hard. But she still stood straight, chin lifted, revealing the same quiet strength visible in Trent.
Just like Fallon had promised him, she didn’t look at Linda with pity. She talked to her the same way she always had—warm, direct, unafraid. And Linda’s shoulders began to ease, gratitude flickering in her eyes.
Falcon took a steadying breath. “At least, promise me you’re not planning to run laps or volunteer as tribute for the cake walk.”
Trent snorted. “Mom already threatened to sit on me if I push it.”
“I meant it,” Linda said primly.
Fallon laughed. “Good. Both of you take it slow. And drink water. It’s healing.”
“We won’t stay long,” Linda said. “Just wanted to be here. For Tessa. And for you.”
Fallon nodded, unable to speak around the sudden tightness in her throat. The moment shimmered—fragile, real—and then the next group stepped up to buy raffle tickets, pulling her back into motion.
Trent and Linda drifted toward a quiet table in the shade, Trent waved. She lifted her hand in return as a man stepped into her line of sight.
Button-down shirt worn under a sport coat. Khaki slacks. Sunglasses. Average height, average build, average everything. The sort of man she’d forget two minutes after passing him in Publix.
Still—something tugged at her memory.
He smiled. “Afternoon.”
“Hi there,” Fallon said, offering him a roll of tickets. “How many?”
“Let’s do a hundred dollars’ worth.”
“That’s very generous–thank you.” She tore the strip, handed it over, and dropped his cash in the jar. He lingered—staring just long enough to be intrusive.
“Fallon Reeves, right?”
She stilled, suddenly aware she was on display. “Yes?”
He laughed lightly. “Ah. Thought so. You probably don’t remember me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her cheeks heated. “I meet a lot of people at this event.”
“We met long before the fundraiser started,” he said gently. “I was a business acquaintance of your dad’s. Quincy Bellows.”
Her breath hitched—not fear, but surprise. “You… knew my dad?”