“I could do that,” she said as a smile tugged at her lips. Her pulse twitched. It had been six months since she’d been on a date. Seven since she’d been with a man.
She quickly reminded herself that this wasn’t a date and that Buddy was just some guy who used to be law enforcement who was probably just greasing palms for his current job with the Aegis network.
Even though he’d made some interesting comments regarding her breasts once in a text message and then tried to backpedal.
“Wonderful. Why don’t you come over to my place around nine?”
“What about work?”
He shrugged. “Just wrapped up a case, and Dove and Sterling are working on other things that don’t require me to babysit them. So, I can spare a morning.” He leaned a little closer. Maybe too close. “That’s the nice thing about this job. When I’m working certain kinds of cases, I’m always on. But when I’m not, I’m free as a bird.”
“That would make me crazy,” she said. “See you in two days.” She stepped into the warm dark, the hum of crickets rising. Away from Buddy. Away from the feelings and sensations he stirred. They weren’t real. He was just looking for connections. He probably had meetings with Keaton, Fletcher, the head of Parks and Rec, and all the deputies on Dawson’s payroll. It was how things worked.
She crossed the street, and her mind drifted back to the earlier events—the girl who had kept breathing long enough to be found. Somewhere, “blue” meant something, and Fallon planned on finding out what.
Chapter Three
The county hospital understood late hours the way the military understood silence—temporary. The fluorescent lights caused the kind of fatigue no one talked about. Someone coughed, the sound quickly swallowed by the hum of vents and the soft shuffle of rubber soles.
Buddy flashed his visitor sticker at the security desk, signed his name on the clipboard that no one would read, and took the stairs—two flights, but enough to burn off the static in his chest. He’d never liked elevators at night. Too much reflection, not enough escape.
He found the right corridor when the antiseptic sharpened, cutting clean through the old coffee. Every hospital smelled the same after midnight—like something trying too hard to be pure—but the ICU always tried the hardest.
He passed an empty vending alcove, a nurse’s laugh echoing from somewhere unseen. The hospital had that hollow feel every building did after dark—the kind that made you whisper without knowing why.
The tension in his shoulders crept up his neck and rolled down his back. He’d spent the day in meetings that he couldn’t get out of and a road trip an hour away to discuss a case that Sterling might be assigned to, all while trying not to think about the Jane Doe found in the Everglades the day before who reminded him he could never save them all.
That phrase would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Deputy Jasper Newton, the newest recruit to Calusa Cove’s police department, sat outside the last room, one boot braced against the wall, radio turned low. His hat was tilted over his eyes, but the man wasn’t sleeping.
“Evening,” Buddy said.
Jasper tipped his hat up with a finger, a grin twitching. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks. It’s good to be here.”
“I was told you might wander in and play consultant.”
“So, Dawson’s expecting me,” Buddy said with a small laugh.
Jasper shrugged. “Chief went downstairs to get caffeine before the cafeteria shuts down—Chloe’s in with the girl. Over twenty-four hours since she was found, and we’ve got nothing. Chief is twitching.”
“That doesn’t surprise me about Dawson. He likes his town to be quiet.” Buddy brushed the edge of the sticker on his chest with his thumb. “Is the girl conscious?”
“She’s woken up a few times. Drifts in and out. Nothing substantial.” Jasper nodded toward the door. “Chief told me you can go in.”
“Appreciate it.”
Buddy pushed the door open, stepping into the low hum of machines and recycled air.
Chloe stood near the window, arms crossed tight, gaze fixed on the girl in the bed. Jane Doe looked even younger under the sterile light. IV taped to her arm. A faint ring on her wrists where the restraint had been—he’d seen that mark before, too many times. It wasn’t just the injury. It was the precision of it—clinical, practiced.
Her lips were dry and split. Her hair was a dark tangle against the pillow, still streaked with swamp water even after the nurses had done their best.
The monitor ticked out a steady rhythm that somehow made the silence louder.
Chloe didn’t turn. “You just won me fifty bucks,” she said.
