The conference room in the Calusa Cove Police Department wasn’t big enough for this many shadows—not when half of them belonged to Buddy. They circled the chairs, clung to the walls, breathed in the quiet between words.
He leaned against the edge of the table, arms folded, watching Dawson spread out the old file like it was a fragile relic. He pushed a piece of paper across the table with a gentle finger. Placed an image of Tessa in the corner. He barely touched the sides of the photograph. With gentle hands, he laid a crime scene report in the center of the table—just a single page with only a few words about where the jacket had been found, which Dawson had sent to the lab to recheck DNA. It was a long shot, but worth a try.
Buddy scanned the information a second time. Not much of a crime scene.
The overhead lights hummed—too bright, too clinical—bleaching the room and making everything feel sharper than it needed to be.
Chloe stood beside Dawson—her dark hair scraped into a no-nonsense knot with a few stray strands escaping the elastic band. It was a far cry from the perfect ponytail or bun she wore back when she’d been an FBI agent. Motherhood, marriage, and a badge had brought forth a more relaxed, a more alive version of Chloe. And she wore her new life with pride and a happiness that Buddy, oddly, envied.
She smiled faintly—one of those “we’re in the shit again” smiles they’d shared when they’d worked the same halls but different units with the FBI. They often passed files that in the beginning seemed unrelated but somehow always managed to be tangled in their respective cases. She was one of the best, and from the moment he’d met her, he knew the second she’d found her sister’s killer, she’d be turning in her badge and walking out the door and moving on to something more peaceful.
He just never expected she would’ve traded it in to be a cop in a small town. Then again, he never thought he’d be working for a security firm that took on a wide variety of missions. It wasn’t the job that was a shocker. It was the fact that Buddy, the rules guy, was willing to skirt a few as well as bend some laws to get the job done.
Flagler stood near the whiteboard, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and tie gone—which almost never happened. When it did, shit was about to get real. He looked like he’d walked straight out of Quantico and into a sauna. Florida humidity was not his friend, and neither was this case. Flager was the kind of man who was not only married to the job, but the job was also his mistress. However, this was the kind of case that changed a man.
Buddy knew that firsthand.
Silas sat stiff in one of the metal chairs, hat in his hands, knuckles white against the brim. He was the heart of Calusa Cove—the man who knew every crack in every street and every secret worth keeping.
Flager eyed him with suspicion. He hadn’t wanted him in this meeting for one simple fact—he didn’t carry a badge, nor had he previously worked for the FBI. However, in this town, sometimes that didn’t matter, and Silas knew more about this case than anyone… except maybe Fallon.
But she needed a break and was currently basking in some good old-fashioned girl time with Audra, Dawson’s wife, Trinity, Keaton’s wife, and Baily, Fletcher’s wife. Fallon had balked at the idea at first but gave in quickly. She might be a bit younger than that group, but they were her friends and among the best women in this town.
Buddy pushed all that out of his mind. No distractions. He needed to focus.
He stared at the papers on the table—the Tessa Blake file.
Old. Thin. Too thin.
Dawson set the folder aside. Its edges were soft to the touch, worn by years of being opened and closed without ever finding an answer.
“Alright. Let’s walk through it.” Dawson glanced at Silas. “I know you’ve told this story a few times, but I’ve never heard it in an official capacity.”
“It’s strange. This town talks about Tessa all the time. About what happened, but after a few years, the authorities just stopped asking.” Silas ran a hand over his scruffy white face. “I’m not casting judgment, I’m just saying there’s never been a lead. Never a single clue. Not one piece of evidence. The cops never had a direction, and no one ever believed that the child ran away. She wouldn’t have done that.”
“We’re listening.” Dawson pulled a chair out, sat down, folded his hands, resting them on the table and leaned forward. “And I promise you, I will do what I can to find a lead. To find answers.”
“We appreciate you coming in and doing this,” Chloe said gently. She spoke in that calm voice—the one she used with victims and shaken witnesses. “Take your time.”
Silas nodded, eyes dropping to the papers on the table as if they might bite. “Tessa was at the Crab Shack the night she vanished. This was before the place started to fall apart completely. Before the fire. Before Dawson here and the rest of his team rebuilt it and made it a booming business it again. Back then, the Crab Shack had character. The tables had gum stuck under them. The vinyl on the booths was cracked. But our town has always loved that little spot, and old man Tomey tried real hard to keep it going. And he loved hiring local kids. Those girls were willing to do anything. Wait tables and bus them. Do dishes. Cook. Clean the fryers. Heck, one year they even helped wash out the dumpsters. What a nasty job.”
“I know this isn’t easy,” Dawson said. “But can we keep the focus on Tessa?”
“Sorry. It’s hard for me not to go down memory lane when I think about all this.” Silas sighed. “Anyway, Tessa wasn’t supposed to be working that night, but none of us knew that Fallon was scheduled for the shift. Tessa picked it up so Fallon could go see her boyfriend.”
Buddy felt something hitch in his chest—not surprise, not shock. Just the reminder that Fallon had spent every year since that night drowning in guilt for making that choice.
“They were always together. Those girls… they were wild in the way good kids can be. Loud. Full of life. Loyal. Always giggling. I pretended to give them a hard time. Like I did with Fletcher and Ken. Or Trent and Cullen. It’s supposed to be my thing, but those two always had a special place in my heart. Kind of like Baily and Audra.” Silas swiped at his eyes.
Chloe flipped a page in her notebook and scribbled something down. “You were there that night. Did you notice anything strange about Tessa’s behavior? Was she unusually nervous? Talkative? Did she seem preoccupied? Or did she leave early?”
“She was bright and bubbly as always. Snuck us an extra basket of onion rings. She and Fallon were always doing that, and not for a bigger tip. They just did stuff like that. I once saw them pool their tips to help a family who couldn’t buy ice cream sundaes for their kids.” Silas shifted his gaze toward the small transom window. “She left right at closing. Walked out with me, Hondo’s dad, may he rest in peace, and Monty, Trinity’s dad. We all split off at the lot.” Silas lowered his chin and shook his head. “I should’ve waited for her parents to come get her. I should’ve insisted when she told me that she’d be fine and to go home.”
“Hey.” Chloe reached out and touched Silas’ hand. “We live in one of the safest small towns in South Florida. You couldn’t have predicted what happened any more than I can predict the next time Max is going to try to shove something up his little sister’s nose.”
Silas snorted. “You’ve got your hands full with that one.”
“I know.” She smiled.
