Dawson leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the same posture he used on his kids when he needed to negotiate bedtime rituals. “She’ll be surrounded by volunteers. Hundreds of people. That jacket… It’s a beacon. If it means something to him, it might draw him faster than anything else. He’ll be watching you, Fallon, maybe me, Keaton, and your team. But he can’t watch everyone. He can’t keep an eye on Cullen. Or Silas. Or Decker. Not to mention Bingo’s back in town. He’s one badass young dude who would do anything to protect the people of Calusa Cove.”
“Outside of Cullen and Bingo, those men aren’t trained operatives.” Buddy shoved off the stool, pacing once, stopping himself. “And she’s not bait.”
“Aren’t you the one who said he’s watching her?” Sterling asked quietly. “Whether we acknowledge it or not, she already is.”
The words lodged deep, deeper than Buddy wanted to admit.
“We track her phone, and we use the jacket. Put one of those tags in it. We can get Baily to sew it into the lining.” Dawson’s voice dropped lower. “We can control the scenario, or our perp can. That’s the only choice we’ve got.” He raised his hand before Buddy could argue. “And before you ask, yeah, I’d be fighting this if it were my wife, but I’d also do it because it’s the only option.”
Buddy stared at the floor, the grain of the wood going blurry for a breath. He pulled up a mental image of Fallon from earlier. One of her outside on the patio. She’d been speaking with Chloe. They were standing off the side, leaning against the railing, immersed in an intense conversation. He’d seen a tear fall. But he also saw her resolve. Her stubbornness. The fire she carried even when her hands were shaking.
Buddy closed his eyes for a moment before blinking them open. “We do this, it’s on my terms. She’s never truly alone. Someone has to have eyes on her at all times, and we track her.”
Sterling nodded. “Of course.”
“And the instant anything feels wrong?—”
“We pull her,” Dawson finished.
Buddy went still for a moment, the weight of tomorrow already settling over him. “Fine. I’ll present it to Fallon, but she gets to decide. I’m not letting her walk blind into something we don’t understand.”
“None of us want that,” Dawson said. “She’s part of this team. Whether she meant to be or not.”
That truth hurt more than it helped.
Sterling stepped toward the door, grabbing his jacket. “We’ll bring it to the others in the morning.”
Buddy nodded, though the motion felt heavier than it should have. “In the morning.”
Dawson pushed himself to his feet. “Get some sleep.”
Buddy didn’t answer.
Sleep had left the house hours ago.
Buddy exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand over his face, trying to clear the pressure that had settled behind his eyes. The files on the counter didn’t move, but the weight of them had changed—now that there was a name attached, even if that name didn’t mean a damn thing yet. The room felt tighter, the silence heavy with the understanding tomorrow might demand a price none of them had agreed to pay.
The sound of bare feet padded softly down the hall. Fallon appeared a moment later, framed by the shadows from the hallway light. She wore one of Buddy’s T-shirts—too big on her, hem brushing mid-thigh—and her hair was pulled into a loose knot that had mostly given up. She didn’t look fragile. She looked like someone who’d stopped pretending the night wasn’t as heavy as it was.
Her gaze moved from Buddy to the files to the unnatural stillness that had fallen over everyone.
“You’re talking strategy,” she said softly. Not an accusation. Not a question. Just understanding.
Dawson cleared his throat. “We were wrapping up. We’ll go over everything first thing.” He nudged Sterling toward the door, giving Buddy a look that was equal parts warning and apology. “Try to get a couple of hours if you can.”
Sterling gave Fallon a slight nod on his way out. “See you in the morning,” he said, and then the door shut behind them.
Fallon waited until their footsteps faded outside before stepping farther into the room. She moved toward the counter slowly, not cautious—just thoughtful.
“How much of that did you hear?”
“Enough,” she said.
Buddy’s hands curled into fists against the back of a chair. “It’s not a good plan.”
She stopped across from him, the breakfast bar between them, the pendant lights highlighting the quiet determination settling into her features. “It’s the only plan that makes sense.”
He shook his head. “It’s too risky. We don’t know who we’re dealing with. We don’t know what they want.”
