Chapter 18 #3
“Oh, yes.” His smile softened. “We worked at the same company. Different jobs and different offices, for that matter. I travel for the corporate team, and one year I ended up down here, and he and I dinner. You were still in high school, I think. I met you briefly—just a hello in the hallway.”
A faint memory flickered—her father ushering a man through the living room.
She couldn’t recall the details. Just a blip of a fellow looking similar to this man having a quick drink in the living room before going out to dinner to discuss…
she had no idea. All she remembered was waving from the kitchen before heading out to meet Tessa.
Her stomach twisted. “I think I remember. I, at least, remember your face.”
He tapped his chest and smiled as if that meant the world to him. “My wife came across the flyer for the fundraiser online. She recognized your name. I put the pieces together and… well, I wanted to come pay my respects. Your father was a good man. I liked him.”
Emotion pinched her throat. “Thank you.”
“Would you have time,” he asked, “for a drink? I only have maybe an hour to spare before I need to head over to Sarasota. I’d love to chat about this project and exchange a few stories about your father.”
It was innocent. Perfectly reasonable. And Fallon wanted it—wanted to hear stories about her dad from someone who’d known him ways she hadn’t.
Her chest ached with it. The chance to learn something new, something unexpected.
A memory that wasn't hers but could become hers.
Like maybe, just for a moment, her father could reach through all that grief and loss and give her something lighter.
Something that made him feel alive again instead of just gone.
“Sure,” she said. “There’s a table over there. We can grab some sweet tea—”
“Maybe someplace that isn’t so loud,” Quincy said. “I saw some tables on the side of the Crab Shack? They had reserved signs on them. I assume they’re for volunteers.”
“Sure. We can go there.” She snagged her cell off the table.
“I just need to get that girl over there to cover for me. Give me one second.” She turned and scurried off toward one of the volunteers.
She really didn’t need the help since there were always two people at the raffle table, but she wanted the opportunity to text Buddy. Just to be safe.
“Hey, Val. Mind hanging out at the raffle table for a bit?” Fallon asked.
“Nope.”
“Great. But give me a second,” Fallon said. “Stand here with me while I send a couple of texts. Just chat away about anything.”
“I can do that. My dad says I’m a chatterbox, and…”
Val continued to talk about boys, and school, and, well, Fallon didn’t pay attention.
Fallon: Having a drink with an old friend of my dad’s. Name is Quincy Bellows. I’ll be over at the Crab Shack tables.
The reply arrived almost immediately.
Buddy: Do you know him? Recognize him?
Fallon: Familiar looking. But no, I don’t know him.
Buddy: I need you stay alert. Be hyper-aware of what he says, how he acts. Don’t trust anything.
Fallon: I know. I’ll be careful.
Buddy: Stay in sight lines. I’ll be close by. Some will always be watching.
She smiled to herself—not annoyed. Warm. Seen. Protected in a way that didn’t cage her.
“Thanks, Val. I’ll be back shortly.” She turned and strolled toward Quincy, tucking her cell in her back pocket.
He gestured toward the drink stand. “Shall we?”
She stepped forward—and the crowd surged around them, a sudden bottleneck of bodies squeezing through the walkway. People laughing, stumbling, shoulders brushing hers.
Quincy moved behind her slightly, hand pressing against the small of her back to guide her forward—
Too familiar.
Too intentional.
Too much pressure.
Fallon’s breath hitched.
Then he leaned in, his lips almost brushing her ear.
“Nice jacket,” he murmured. “Makes an interesting statement, don’t you think?”
“Excuse me?”
He smiled. But it wasn’t friendly. “Wasn’t that the one your friend wore the night she disappeared? The one you lent her… because it should’ve been you?”
Fallon froze. Ice poured down her spine. Her knees nearly buckled. She didn’t turn. Couldn’t. Because she felt it. A hard shape beneath his sports coat. Pressed into her ribs. Cold. Concealed. Deadly.
“No sudden moves,” Quincy whispered. “Smile, sweetheart. You’re surrounded.”
Her legs went numb.
“You try anything,” he continued, voice soft enough to get lost in the noise around them, “and you won’t be the only one who dies today.”
Her vision blurred. “What… what do you want?”
He chuckled, breath hot against her ear.
“For now, I want your cooperation, and that means you’re going to tell the military-looking man who’s been lurking close by—the one with the shaggy hair—to use the bathroom.
Or get lost in the crowd. I don’t care. And then you’re gonna tell that boyfriend of yours that we’re going to walk to my car and he’s going to let us get in it, and drive away.
” The gun pressed harder. “And sweetheart… if you even breathe wrong, Trent’s mother, that sweet, lovely old woman, she’ll be the first to die.
Don’t try me, because we’ve already got her, and I won’t hesitate.
And if you and Buddy still don’t want to play by my rules, then I’ve got a dozen teenage girls I can drop at his doorstep—dead. ”
Fallon’s heart stopped.
The crowd swallowed them whole.
And she knew—she was in the jaws of the trap. Quincy—or EJ Vance—or whatever his name was, might think he had the upper hand—and well, he did have a gun shoved in her side. However, she could call an audible just as easily as he could.
Time to change the play.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t get her, or anyone else, killed.