EJ’s smile didn’t change. “We’ve been working on something special. For the fundraiser. A surprise. I’d hate to ruin it.”
The lie slid out of him like silk.
“Interesting,” he said lightly, taking a sip of his beer, “I thought I knew most of the folks helping her. And here I thought I was the only surprise in the works this year.”
EJ didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. “We’d better go if we want this to work.”
Fallon’s hand trembled at her side. “I didn’t tell anyone about this,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
She hadn’t lied since she told her parents that she was working that shift at the Crab Shack the night Tessa disappeared. Now, that was irony at its best.
Bingo’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Okay. But let me walk you?—”
A second man appeared at EJ’s shoulder, cutting off the offer with a quiet, “We need to move. Now.”
He wasn’t aggressive. Just… decisive. Confident he would be obeyed.
EJ touched Fallon’s arm—not roughly, but firmly enough to inspire dread. “Come on.”
“I’ll see you shortly.” Unable to meet Bingo’s gaze, Fallon forced her feet to follow. Forced herself not to look back. Forced herself to believe Bingo would know that this wasn’t normal, and he’d catch the license plate number. Or something. Anything he could give to Buddy that might save Linda, the girls, and herself.
Buddy wouldn’t be able to live with himself he couldn’t save them.
The SUV waited at the far end of the lot—one of three lined up like they’d been positioned hours ago. Dark. Tinted. Ominous in a way that made her bones feel hollow.
“Get in the back,” EJ murmured.
She expected empty seats. Maybe duct tape. Maybe rope.
Not Linda Mallor.
The older woman was slumped against the leather, wrists cuffed, gag pulled too tight across her mouth. Her eyes were red, panicked, pleading.
Fallon’s own breath caught like barbed wire. “Please,” she whispered to EJ’s accomplice. “Take the gag off her. She can’t breathe like that.”
“No,” the man said simply, already pulling out restraints. “Hands.”
Fallon’s pulse thundered. “Please—just the gag. She’s terrified.”
“Hands,” the man repeated.
She didn’t have a choice. She put her wrists forward, and the plastic ties cinched tight—too tight—burning into skin that had been unblemished only minutes ago.
The SUV lurched forward, following another just ahead of them. Fallon’s stomach twisted as the marina blurred behind them.
Then—they stopped. Not gradually. Abruptly.
The entrance was blocked by an ambulance, parked sideways, lights off but hazard blinkers on like it had broken down in the wrong damn place.
The driver leaned out. “Gonna be a few minutes,” he shouted. “Emergency call. We’ve got to unload.”
Her heart hammered. Too loud. Too hopeful. Too dangerous.
The back doors of the ambulance swung open.
Two EMTs jumped out, rolling a gurney—white sheets, metal frame, equipment clipped to the sides.
One of them was Hayes. Only, Hayes wasn’t an EMT, at least not for the Calusa Cove Fire Department. Sure, he was a firefighter, but he’d given up his role as medic when he’d left the military.
