“We’re good for now,” Dawson said.
Silas left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Buddy’s pulse clicked higher.
Blue 42.
A call at the line. A shift. A signal before the play changes.
And now—a channel marker.
Right between the marina and the Crab Shack.
Part of Fallon’s work patrol. Part of where she’d spent her entire life. Her sanctuary.
Tessa’s last shift.
Could it be the place where everything began?
A cold, clean line sliced through his mind—clarity he didn’t want but couldn’t ignore.
He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Not yet. He let Dawson and Chloe shuffle papers. Let Flagler rub his temples. Let his brain put the pieces in a line he wished didn’t make sense.
“Buddy?” Chloe placed a warm hand on his forearm. “When you go quiet and still like this, your brain is turning something over. What is it?”
Buddy scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “I think I know what Blue 42 means.”
“We’re listening,” Dawson said.
“Keaton was right. It’s an audible change. I know Simon’s behind bars and?—”
“He’s refusing to speak to me, but word has it, he’s not running anything. That no one will talk to him from the outside,” Flagler said. “That he’s been blackballed from what was left of his own network.”
“That may be true. But someone who either worked with him or knows him is making a play change to get me to come out and run defense.” Buddy generally didn’t like to speak in analogies, but this prick didn’t give him a choice. “Blue could mean a lot of things, and whoever this is, knows it. That means they know Simon. They also know things about me. About the trafficking pipeline I shut down. But more than letting me know the game’s changed, they were indicating a location in that statement.”
Flagler straightened. “The channel markers that Silas just referenced?”
“Marker 42 is between the Crab Shack and the marina,” Buddy said. “I bet if you stand where the jacket was found the day after Tessa went missing and looked out at the channel, you’d be staring dead center at channel marker 42. They’ve known all along about Tessa and Fallon, and that makes me wonder about a few things.”
“Jesus.” Chloe exhaled. “I’ve struggled with whoever this guy is using Fallon to get your attention. Tessa isn’t related to your case. But it’s all blending together, and that doesn’t feel right.”
“Agreed.” Dawson frowned. “Not to put your personal life under fire, but you and Fallon, from all the chatter that's landed on my ears, didn’t start seeing each other until after Fallon found the first victim.”
“That’s true. But we’ve been friends for a long time, and we’ve been in contact with each other for years. However, that’s not the point. If the case I closed is somehow connected to Tessa, then whoever this is would’ve fucked with Fallon regardless of whether or not I spent the night at her house just because she’s here and so am I.”
Buddy shook his head, slow and grim. “This asshole is letting me know that I was only quarterbacking for part of the game, and that game isn’t over—because I can’t possibly save them all.” The back of his neck prickled. His chest tightened. “And he’s reminding Fallon it could’ve been her. And no matter how much awareness and money she raises, she can’t bring Tessa back, and she can’t stop this from happening to others.”
He heard his old instructor’s voice from Quantico in the back of his skull. When a predator knows your history, he weaponizes it.
Dawson leaned forward. “Are you saying that Tessa Blake was trafficked through the same or similar pipeline as the one you shut down? That maybe this would’ve always found its way to my town?”
“I don’t believe this guy would be here without me,” Buddy said. “I’m the catalyst. Me moving here gave him more to work with regarding what happened with Tessa. He can weaponize both, putting me not only on the defensive but also in the role of protector. Blue 42 is also him saying, ‘I know where your blind spot lives’.” Abruptly, he began to pace. He needed to move. To think. He’d brought this right to everyone’s doorstep. To Fallon. Now, he had to find a way to stop it before anyone else went missing.
Or died.
“I don’t like it when you scuff floors,” Chloe said. “It means you’re not only pissed off, but you’re on edge, and not in a good way.”
He paused and shifted his gaze. “Before I left Jacksonville to open this office, I begged my boss to relocate. I worked him hard for this location. Everyone busted my ass because they figured it had to be because of a woman. They couldn’t believe I willingly wanted to move to a small town like Calusa Cove. Not when I could live in Miami. Fort Lauderdale. Or even Tampa. Hell, I could’ve gone northwest to Destin or Pensacola. But if I was gonna do it, it had to be this town, or nowhere at all.”
