He didn’t look at her.
He didn’t even flick his eyes toward the SUV. Of course, he couldn’t see through the tinted windows.
He just moved with the calm, practiced urgency of a man doing his job.
But Fallon felt it. Hope tightened like a fist in her throat. Help wasn’t here. Not yet.
But it was close. So close, she could sense it. Even as the SUV idled. Even as EJ’s hand settled lightly on the seat beside her. Even as Linda’s muffled sob shook the dark.
Fallon lifted her chin, heart pounding, wrists burning against the ties. She was out. But she wasn’t lost.
Not yet.
Chapter Twenty
The ambulance blocked the only exit exactly as planned—angled across the asphalt, hazards pulsing, the back doors open while Hayes played the part so well, Buddy almost believed it. Engines rumbled behind them. Three black SUVs. One holding Fallon. And one holding the men who thought forcing the choice would break him.
Dawson stood at his side at the parking lot edge, posture so tight it could snap. Somewhere behind them, Trent paced in sharp, uneven lines, one hand pressed to his side, the other shaking with fury he couldn’t burn off. His voice cut through the air once—raw, terrified—but Buddy didn’t turn. He couldn’t. Not without losing focus.
Fallon’s last message burned in his head, anyway.
It dug under his ribs like wire.
He keyed into comms. “Status.”
Dove answered first. “Keaton and I are staged down the bend. No interference. Hayes can hold another thirty seconds.”
“Sterling?”
“Eyes on SUV Two.”
“Fletcher?” Buddy asked.
“With Bingo. Ready to roll.”
Buddy nodded once, breath clipped, controlled. Fallon was out of sight but not gone. Not yet.
Dawson touched his arm. “When they split, we won’t be tailing Fallon’s vehicle. We’ll let Fletcher take that one.”
Buddy exhaled through his nose—a sound that wasn’t a laugh and wasn’t agreement. “Try to keep me off it.”
“I mean it,” Dawson said. “You love her. You’re not capable of being objective.”
Buddy turned just enough to meet his eyes. “If it were Audra in that SUV, you’d already be behind the wheel.”
Dawson didn’t deny it. “Fine,” he muttered. “But keep your head clear. and I’m driving.”
“That’s fair.”
“Hayes is ready to move the ambulance,” Fletcher said.
“Let’s go.” Dawson jogged toward his personal vehicle and jumped behind the steering wheel. “We follow Dove and Keaton, and we stay a safe distance behind them.”
Buddy wasn’t about to argue.
The ambulance began rolling back, clearing the lane. Hayes made hand gesture, a subtle signal—move—and the three SUVs pulled forward in a slow, synchronized glide before gaining speed.
Each team followed their respective SUVs. Buddy couldn’t see shit inside.
