“It’s the starting point. Whoever’s doing this knew Simon. Probably did business with him, and I screwed that up. But I’m thinking this whole thing is bigger. Broader. That the second I came to Calusa Cove, I triggered something. That maybe I just reminded them of a girl they stole in the night and a woman who’s trying to keep her memory alive.”
And for the first time since he’d stepped into the room, Buddy felt the familiar weight settle in—determination sharpened by dread.
He wasn’t just hunting a trafficker now.
He was hunting a man using the past as a blueprint.
His past.
Fallon’s.
Tessa’s.
And the girls he couldn’t save.
He reached for the folder, opened it, sighed, then closed it, reverently, like closing a wound. “We need to move fast,” he said, voice steady but dark. “Because whatever this jerk is trying to say, he’s not done talking.”
Chapter Fifteen
The fire pit crackled like it had something to add to the conversation. Fallon pushed her bare feet closer to the warmth and let her head tip back against the Adirondack chair, the sky black and velvet, overhead. Nights like these were a contradiction. They pretended to be peaceful. They lulled a soul into a sense of serenity. They cut through armor meant to protect, while the beauty of the evening hid the shadows that stole the precious and innocent.
When she’d lived with Trent, she’d sit out under the tiki hut at Mallor’s Landing, stare at the lily pads, and try to forget about grief, ghosts, and loneliness. And for a brief moment, it worked. Until the darkness crept into her mind like fog rolling across the Glades, reaching into the roots of the mangrove, reminding her that life had hardened her in ways she couldn’t ignore.
Soft laughter filled the air and dragged her back to the moment. She’d learned to live for the times when the world seemed to stand still, and she could allow herself the joys of what life could be. Of what she believed it should be.
The bed and breakfast Audra and Dawson owned sat tucked behind her and her friends. The old, rundown shell had been turned into a cozy rental with string lights, mismatched furniture, and a fire pit that smelled faintly of orange wood. Around the pit were some of the best women Calusa Cove had to offer. Audra was a native to the town, and she had a rich history that people still enjoyed whispering about under a bright moon around a fire much like this one. Then there was Baily. She’d suffered profound loss but managed to keep it all together while fighting for her family legacy.
Fallon shifted her gaze to Trinity and smiled, thinking about how odd it was, yet utterly perfect, that she’d formed such a tight bond with the other two women. Trinity had been born into money. She’d been raised by a mom who’d told her she was better than everyone in this town When Trinity had been younger, she’d tended to treat everyone as though she believed it—including Audra and Baily. But now, they were like sisters.
That thought brought Fallon right back to ghosts—to Tessa. Fallon lifted her tequila and gulped, doing her best to push the past into the flames and refocused on the conversation, which she’d missed the last few minutes of.
“… And then my lovely little Petra looked me square in the eye, with her hands on her hips and asked me if this baby was going to come out of my vagina.” She patted her belly.
“Now, I know where Victor learned that word.” Audra smiled. “Of course, he also knows the word penis, and he uses it at the strangest times.”
“What I want to know is how she figured out how babies are born,” Baily said. “Fletcher and I have had to explain all sorts of things to Todd and Chad, including how to make a baby.” Baily smacked her palm to her forehead. “Hardest conversation… ever. Sadly, they already knew most of it. But Petra is only three.”
“She found my baby birthing book.” Trinity shrugged. “Keaton and I—well, mostly me—are looking into alternative options. Like water birth at home.”
Everyone around the fire pit burst out laughing—including Fallon. Anyone who knew Trinity, knew that she hated being in pain, even though she didn’t want drugs for fear of what it would do to her baby. She also didn’t want stretch marks or scars.
Trinity was an awesome person. Kind. Considerate. Generous. But calling her vain would be the understatement of the year.
“It’s not that funny.” Trinity leaned over and snagged a cracker from the tray. “Even Keaton didn’t laugh at me.” She smiled. “But I did tell him about it while he was stuffing his face full of his favorite home-cooked meal.”
Fallon’s chest tightened, and a vision of Buddy from last night flashed across her mind. They were in his kitchen, making dinner together. It was light, fun, and simple. She hadn’t put any context on it because she’d cooked with other men she’d dated before. She loved to cook. She loved food. It had always been her way of decompressing—of washing away a bad day—or just enjoying a quiet moment with someone she liked being around.
But all of a sudden, something clicked, snapped into place—and she realized this was different. This simple domestic task shared with Buddy filled spaces inside her that she hadn’t known existed. This had hadn’t just been about fulfilling her body’s demand for food while scratching an itch with someone convenient. They hadn’t simply been going through the motions. Her connection with Buddy was honest and real—no pretense, no games, just something solid she could actually trust.
The image of her and Buddy flashing through her brain sent longing twisting trough her veins, and she wanted more—craved it with a hunger that terrified her. But in the strangest way, it anchored a truth she'd been running from for years—the idea that she could want someone and keep them. That wanting didn't have to mean losing.
Baily leaned over and placed her hand on Fallon’s leg and squeezed. “I’m sorry. It’s hard for us to sit around and not talk about families.”
Audra lifted her glass. “Okay, new rule. No discussing husbands or kids unless it’s absolutely hilarious or involves bodily fluids.”
Trinity snorted. “In this group, that’s the same thing.”
Fallon laughed, the buzz of the tequila warming her edges. She’d needed this. Women. Laughter. Connection.
