“Is your jacket still with the police?” Buddy asked with a soft but steady voice.
“Tripp said it had to remain with what little evidence they had, so I believe so.” Fallon pressed her hand against the center of her chest, as if to calm her heart rate.
“Who’s Tripp?” Dove reached into the box again, tweezers pinching a folded note.
“He was the police chief here a few years before Dawson took over.” Buddy took out a pair of gloves and snapped them in place before taking the note that Dove handed him.
His jaw tightened.
“What does it say?” she asked.
“It should’ve been you. Blue 42.” Buddy placed the note back in the box, along with the jacket. He ripped off his gloves and swore under his breath. “Dove, call Dawson and Chloe. We need to get them down here. Then call Flagler. We’ve got to loop him in on this, even if I’d rather work this angle without the FBI breathing down my neck.”
“On it.” Dove stepped aside.
Fallon rubbed her shaky hands up and down her thighs. “Why is this happening?”
Buddy palmed her cheek. “Whoever is doing this is trying to get to me through you. It doesn’t take but an internet search to figure out your connection to Tessa’s Project and what happened. This asshole has been watching since you found that body in the Glades. I was there, and then we made it even easier by being together. He’s trying to break me by hurting you where it will hit the hardest.”
“Then he’s getting what he wants.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Because I’m crumbling,” she whispered.
“I’m not going to let this prick destroy you, me, or anyone else. My team is the best, and I don’t have the constraints I used to with the FBI. I’ve got you.” His voice was a low, steady anchor, but she could hear the strain underneath. He was trying to hold it together for her. She hated that part of her almost wanted him to fall apart too—just so she wouldn’t feel so alone in it.
“You believe this is only about you?”
“I think everything about this screams ‘personal’—unfortunately, anyone in my life is going to be collateral damage in this jerk’s game. And I don’t mean just you. They could’ve targeted anyone on my team. Or Chloe. Or anyone they thought I was close to.” He pointed toward the box. “They’re using what they can to send me a message. I just don’t know exactly what it all means, yet.”
“So, me, my fundraiser for Tessa, that’s just the bait?”
“I’m sorry.” He thumbed away the wetness on her cheeks and stared deeply into her eyes. The gesture was kind, caring… but she could feel the guilt and torment in his touch.
“Don’t apologize for something neither of us did.”
Wind pushed through the open door, carrying swamp heat and the smell of sunbaked wood. The flags along the dock snapped once, like punctuation.
“Everyone in this town remembers when Tessa went missing. But what I don’t remember is if it was reported that the police found Fallon’s jacket,” Baily said.
“It wasn’t.” Fallon wrapped her arms around her middle. “But I don’t know anyone who doesn’t know she was wearing it. Silas was the one who found it. And this town can’t keep a secret.”
“What kind of person sends something like that?” Baily asked.
“The kind that wants to remind you they still own the story.” Buddy pulled Fallon close to his chest, holding her tight in his strong arms, as if no one else was in the room.
But she couldn’t breathe and she needed air. Needed space. She stepped back and looked inside the box again. The note open. The words echoed—It should’ve been you.
She felt the air shift, the world narrow until all she could see was that single cruel line. She'd been telling herself the same damn thing since Tessa vanished. And someone had gone to a lot of trouble to let her know they agreed.
Buddy’s hand brushed hers, lacing his fingers through hers, squeezing tight, as if to anchor her to him. “You’re safe.”
She wanted to believe that. She really did. But safety had betrayed her before, and trust didn't come easy anymore. When she glanced out the window toward the water, the reflection in the dark current rippled—and for half a second, she thought she saw movement in the mangroves.
Her pulse jumped.
And for the first time, the Everglades didn’t feel like home.
It felt like a warning.
Chapter Fourteen
