“I need to call Flager with the FBI. We need to make the trafficking charge stick.”
“That’s gonna take some work, but I can send him what I have,” Mia said. “I’ll also work some magic and get him more. Methods might be questionable, but I’ll make them as legal as possible.”
“Do what you need to.”
“Nick has contacts with the Miami PD. He also knows the local fed there. He’ll loop them in,” Mia said. “Let me go. This will take time. Do your best to stall.”
“Got it.” Buddy ended the call and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Dawson leaned in toward the comm. “You think that’s where the girls are?”
“I think,” Buddy said, “they’re already packed and waiting to disappear. I believe the second I choose, they’re either dead, or they’ll be moved.”
He didn’t let himself feel it. Not yet. Not the terror. Not the grief. Not the fury threatening to tear him apart.
“Or he could be playing you and he’s just gonna move the girls anyway,” Dawson said. “To stick with the football analogy, the audible’s been called, and the taunt, you can’t save them all, might not mean death.”
“I know,” Buddy said. “Simon once told me he’d rather not kill product.” He swallowed thick bile that felt more like tar lodged in his throat. He hit Flagler’s contact information.
“Ballard,” Flagler answered on the second ring. “Tell me you’ve got something.”
“I’ve got a location,” Buddy said. “Miami port. Shipping containers under Quinn Bellows. EJ’s ex-wife. High-volume lanes. Restricted access. And I’m following EJ right now. He’s got Fallon and Linda Mallor. We’ve got him on kidnapping. All I need you to do is make possible to get into that shipping yard, and make it fucking legal. Mia Sarich is sending you intel. We’ve got two Aegis Network operatives in the area. They’re contacting local PD and local Fed.”
Silence—sharp, heavy.
“Buddy,” Flagler said slowly, “if you’re wrong, I’m about to blow about ten million dollars’ worth of political capital.”
“I’m not wrong.”
“You’re guessing based on shell companies?—”
“I’m not guessing, and Mia will send you everything she’s got, but you need to move fast, or those girls will disappear before Dawson can slap the cuffs on EJ,” Buddy snapped. “He’s moving product. He always has been. Simon wasn’t the mastermind—EJ was. And ‘Bluewater Restoration’ doesn’t restore shit. It moves it.”
Flagler exhaled. “Christ.”
“Fallon and Linda stay alive,” Buddy said, voice thickening with the weight of his decisions, “but those girls? They don’t get that chance if we’re late. They’ll be sold to the highest bidder and disappear forever. Or die. I am not letting that happen.”
Flagler muttered something Buddy didn’t catch—something sharp, federal, furious. “Fine. I’ll burn every favor I’ve got. I know people at Miami PD, too. I’ve also got Harbor Patrol, DHS, Coast Guard—I’ll get them all. We’ll converge on the port.”
Buddy sagged back into the seat, breath shaking. “Thank you.”
“Ballard,” Flagler said, voice harder now, resolute instead of cautious, “if you're wrong, it’s my career. If you’re right, I’ll owe you some serious shit.”
The call ended.
Buddy stared ahead at the black SUV carrying Fallon into the dark. His heart hammered like a wild beast. He tapped the comms in his ear. “Dove, Sterling, you read?”
“What’s up, boss?” Dove asked.
“Copy,” Sterling said.
“Dump the SUVs and come to my location.” Buddy glanced in Dawson’s direction, who nodded, as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. “Dove, try to get around in front of us. You’re gonna have to haul ass to do that.”
“Won’t be that hard,” Dove said. “We’re on the highway, headed northeast.”
“Sterling, tuck in behind me until told otherwise.”
“Consider it done,” Sterling said.
