The medics secured Trent in the basket and signaled thumbs up. Seconds later, the basket was inside the helicopter, and a ladder dangled from the opening. One of the medics climbed up. Then the second. Wind howled across the flats as they lifted. The noise turned her chest hollow.
Fallon shielded her face from the spray, watching as the blades of the chopper beat the air until it felt like her heartbeat had synced with them.
Then it was gone—just the echo, and the smell of gas and salt and swamp.
Keaton shut off his radio and leaned against his console. “That didn’t feel completely random. Not when we found a girl out here five days ago.”
Fallon nodded. “I know.”
He looked at her, jaw tight. “We’ll run it down. State, Feds, whoever. I’ve already sent a message to Dawson and Buddy?—”
Her head snapped up. “Buddy knows?”
“He was with Dawson when the call came through. I gave them an update, and he’s been blowing up my phone ever since.” Keaton paused, side-eyeing her. “I bet yours is too, and if you don’t respond soon, he’ll just show up like a beast.”
“I’m fine,” she said, too fast.
“Didn’t say you weren’t.”
Keaton checked the channel again, then climbed back into his airboat. “We’ll need to tow you in since you’ve got no gas left. And we’ll need to check the hull back at the docks.”
“Copy that.”
“Harely, Dawson will want a statement. You good to drive Trent’s boat in?”
“Yeah.” Harley nodded.
“Alright. Let’s go before someone else shows up. Coast Guard is gonna send someone back here and will add in patrols now.” He tossed Fallon a line, and she tied it to the bow cleat before easing back behind the helm. “Be careful what you touch, Dawson will need to check the boats over, see if we can find any wedged bullets anywhere.”
“Copy that,” Harley said.
Fallon stared at her cell, and a message from Buddy stared back.
Buddy: Heard what happened—worried about you. Check in, okay?
Nine words, and she felt them land low and steady, the way his voice had sounded when he’d whispered her name right before he’d kissed her that first time.
She could almost see him in her head—jaw tight, eyes dark, pacing in his kitchen because sitting still never was his thing.
Another text.
Buddy: Don’t make me drive out there. Because I will.
Her throat caught. A laugh wanted to come up but died halfway. She typed, I’m fine, and stared at the words for a long second. Then deleted them.
Fallon: I’m fine. Chopper just left with Trent.
The three dots pulsed.
Buddy: Good. But don’t tell me fine if you’re not.
That one got her. Because he would know. He always did.
She wiped her palm on her pants and tucked the phone away, staring out across the water as Keaton slowly navigated back toward the FWC docks. Somewhere under the sound of cicadas and her own heartbeat, she thought she heard the echo of gunfire again—the mechanical stutter that didn’t belong in her swamp. Only it wasn’t real—not this time.
Fallon drew in a breath, held it until her ribs hurt, and slowly let it go.
She could almost hear Buddy’s voice in her head. We’ll be careful.
