Sterling’s face paled. “Shit.”
Dove’s boot scraped gravel. “You think the message is: ‘See you tomorrow’?”
Buddy didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
He stood quickly, pulling his phone from his pocket and bringing up Fallon’s contact info. His fingers shook—not from fear, but from fury. He tapped the call button. It didn’t even ring. It went straight to voicemail. “Shit. Fallon’s not answering.”
Sterling frowned. “She’s at work, right? She said she was heading into the Glades.”
“With Cullen,” Buddy clipped out. “Which means she’s on patrol. Which means she’s exposed.”
Dove stepped closer. “She’s armed. Trained. Smart.”
“And being hunted,” Buddy said, stabbing at his contacts. “And I’m done giving these bastards a head start.”
He tapped the call button a second time.
Straight to voicemail—again.
“Fuck.” His pulse slammed hard enough that he felt it in his teeth. “Sterling, call Cullen’s phone.”
Sterling tried — same result.
Dove’s expression shifted, sharp and grim. “Service is spotty out where she patrols. Doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”
Buddy holstered that reassurance but stayed ready to draw. “You two wait here for Dawson. He’s already on the way. Bring him up to speed. Tell Chloe and Flagler to mobilize. And text Fletcher, Keaton, and Hayes to get prepped.”
“For what?” Sterling asked.
Buddy’s stare darkened. “For whatever the hell is coming.”
Dove nodded once, already typing. “We’ll lock this area down. Dawson will be here in minutes.”
Buddy didn’t waste another second.
He jogged around the truck, slid behind the wheel, and slammed the door.
Sterling stepped close. “Buddy—what if they’re baiting you? What if they want you to chase Fallon so they can?—”
“They already have her in the crosshairs,” Buddy said, voice breaking into something darker than anger. “And I’m not losing her. Not her.”
That sentence tasted like poison.
Sterling swallowed hard. “Where do we meet you once Dawson gets here?”
Buddy started the engine, gravel spitting under the tires. “My place. As soon as you’re all assembled. I want everyone armed and ready.”
Buddy put the truck in gear. “Text me a report after you’re done with Dawson.”
“Will do,” Dove said.
Buddy pressed his foot to the floor, the truck tearing down the glitter-stained road toward the Glades, toward the woman he refused to lose, toward the danger he could finally see—and toward the plan already unfolding for tomorrow.
The fundraiser.
The crowd.
