The warm Florida breeze collided with the air conditioning like a wrecking ball crashing into a building. Hard, powerful, and full of destruction.
Keaton stepped out to the back patio and joined Hayes, Chloe, and the weight of a storm none of them could name yet. Hayes leaned against the railing, arms folded, eyes trained on the dark backyard as if he expected trouble to materialize between the palmettos. Keaton strolled across the patio, stood next to Hayes, and stared out toward the Glades. Both men radiated protective energy—restless, focused, keyed to danger.
Chloe sat straighter than usual, tapping a pen against her thigh, scanning the pages of a notebook like vigilance was wired into her.
Fallon hovered at the sliding glass door, silently watching them , but her gaze kept drifting inside… to Buddy.
She heard his footsteps creaking on old floorboards.
He couldn’t go on like this much longer. She snagged a paper plate and a premade sandwich from the counter and made her way back to his office.
The space hadn’t been properly set up with a desk shoved inside—looking like the room was about to split at the seams. Stacks of files, crime scene photos, scribbled notes, old case printouts, Tessa’s file, Simon’s case summaries, maps, shipping receipts—everything he had jammed together in one suffocating room.
He’d stop. Lean over a file. Dig through pages. Flip a photo over. Mumble to himself. Then push off the desk and start pacing again, hands on his hips, jaw clenched hard enough to crack.
She didn’t knock.
He didn’t notice her presence until she stepped fully inside and set a plate on the desk.
Buddy jerked his head up—eyes sharp, shadowed, burning. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t pass out.” Fallon nudged the plate closer. “Eat.”
“I can’t.” He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing again. “I can’t sit. I can’t eat. I can barely fucking breathe.”
She blinked. Hearing a grown man swear wasn’t a big deal. She heard it every day. Hell, she used the word herself on a regular basis. But Buddy didn’t have much of a foul mouth. It was like he saved those words for specific occasions and certain people.
“Don’t make me tackle you, sit on you, and force it down your throat, because I will.” She smiled, hoping that might ease the tension.
But it didn’t. If anything, the air grew thicker, as if the oxygen were slowly depleting, and soon, they’d both be gasping and fighting over the last bit.
He glanced between the sandwich, her, and the papers in his hands. The papers won. “Thanks to Decker, we know that EJV Industries, LLC, which is part of Bluewater Restoration and Blue Heron Boat Tours is owned by EJ Vance. But that means nothing to me except that both Decker and his cousin say this EJ guy had a reputation years ago in Miami as an up-and-coming gangster. Decker’s cousin wouldn’t say who he worked for, but that EJ had big plans. However, I can’t seem to connect him to Simon, and Simon won’t talk to Flagler, me, or anyone else for that matter. No one from his ring will have any contact with law enforcement. Not even for a reduced sentence.” Buddy leaned against the corner of the desk. “I had Mia start a check on this Vance guy. So far, he’s clean. Too clean. Weirder still, she can’t find a single image of him on the internet, or any company directory anywhere. It’s like he’s a fucking ghost.”
“Why don’t you take a breath. Eat some food. And come outside,” she said softly. “Keaton just arrived. We can talk through this?—”
“Something’s going to happen tomorrow.” His voice cracked low, gutted, raw. “Everything points to a major event tomorrow.”
Tears burned the corners of Fallon’s eyes. “We don’t know that.”
“Yes,” he snapped, turning on her. “We do.” He straightened and moved across the floor in a swift, military-like precision. His eyes were a storm—anger, fear, determination, guilt, churning together in a chaotic mix she’d never seen before. He braced both hands on the back of his chair and bent his head. “If I don’t figure this out before tomorrow, someone is going to die,” he whispered. “Either you… or some random young girl who shows up to honor Tessa.”
Her heart punched her chest.
“And it’ll be my fault.”
“I understand why you’d feel that way and sure, we need to be prepared. That’s why all our friends are here. Why Dawson is assigning as much manpower as he has and even calling in a few favors. But we don’t know what’s coming or when.”
Buddy lifted his gaze. Darkness lurked behind his intense dark eyes. “I know exactly what’s coming, and I know what he wants.” He raised a single brow. “You want the truth?” The force of his stare nearly knocked her backward. “I can’t choose. It’s a lose-lose situation.”
Her breath stopped. “Choose what?”
“Between love and duty.” His voice rose, broke, then steadied into something terrifyingly honest. “Between saving the woman I’m falling in love with… and saving the next innocent girl who gets caught in the crossfire of someone else’s sick game.”
Falling in love with.
The words landed on her chest like a brick. Hard. Heavey. And real. He'd said it. Actually said it. And he wasn't taking it back, wasn't softening it with maybes or eventuallys. Just standing there, raw and exposed, like he'd ripped himself open and didn't care who saw.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She wanted to say something—anything—but her throat locked up.
