Page 42 of Betrayal In Calusa Cove
Chloe gave her a steady look. “He’s not the one I’m worried about. It’s the people hiding behind him. The people who put him here. They’re threatening him, too. Holding things over his head…things that aren’t true. I did some homework on that, and so far, his story tracks.” She tapped her bag. “This Tessa Gilbert chick, her company is a front for laundering money for the Barbaros. Can’t quite prove it, but all the tells are there.”
“What the hell was my brother involved in, and the bigger question is, did he know when he married her?” Baily whispered with a tight jaw.
“Hey, do you want to come with me to the meeting?” Chloe asked. “I know Fletcher won’t care.”
“I’ve chosen to stay away because I’m struggling to keep my anger in check. I say and do things that aren’t conducive to that kind of discussion.”
“Just breathe before speaking and stuff your hands in your pockets,” Chloe said. “That’s what I do. It’s saved me more times than not from getting myself fired.”
Baily chuckled. “Okay. Let’s go.” She was tired of waiting. Tired of being one step behind. It was time to fight back.
And this time, she wasn’t backing down.
Fletcher leaned forward, elbows on his knees, as tension thickened in the back room of the marina. The walls were thin enough to hear the quiet hum of the wind slipping past the windows, the occasional creak of the dock outside, and the distant sound of a boat engine starting somewhere on the water. But inside, the air was heavy.
“Mueller, he went back to Virginia. Or at least that’s where I believe he went.” Decker took a packet of paper out of his small backpack and laid it on the table. “He could be anywhere, lurking in the shadows, watching, especially after my little temper tantrum with Tessa. I tried to smooth that over. It’s not like I haven’t asked questions before or threatened to stop giving her updates over the past few months. But I never did.”
“Why is that, if you didn’t know about the Barbaros?”
Decker leaned against the table and sighed. “Tessa hinted about the plans I supposedly stole. How she made that go away, and how she could make them resurface and bury the project I’ve been working on over on Marco Island. I’ve always known she could be vindictive, and I thought maybe there was a man somewhere in this town she had her sights on…romantically.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I needed to protect myself. I put my heart and soul into that development. But also, I sank most of my equity. I lose it, I’m done in this game. Selfish, I know. But what would you have done in my shoes?”
“Not a fair question,” Fletcher said. “And not because of the selfish comment. We all can be that. But since I joined the Navy, I haven’t done a single thing alone. I haven’t felt alone, and I haven’t walked into danger alone. If I were you, I would’ve called my friends.” He arched a brow. “But my friends come with assault weapons and backup plans, not pencils and drawings.”
“Yeah,” Decker mumbled. “And, thanks to Tessa, I don’t have too many real friends.” He shrugged. “I know I talk a big game. Walk and act like I’ve got swagger, but the truth is, all I’ve got is my work. My company. I thought when I broke things off with Tessa my life would change. That I’d be able to make a clean break, especially since I paid her back every penny I owed her. But she—and the Barbaros—they don’t let people go. They put them down like dogs.”
“That’s a visual I could’ve have done without, man.” Fletcher lifted the papers. “What am I looking at?”
“Some early sketches and ideas for the old Crab Shack.” Decker smiled, as if he were proud. “I haven’t shown these to anyone. They’re for you. If you want them. What I’d give to Tessa are bullshit drawings that I know this town would pass on.”
Fletcher had no idea what he was really looking at, because some of what he was staring at didn’t make sense. Blueprints weren’t his thing. Hayes and Keaton had a mind and eye for such things. “Why are you showing me these?”
“I thought, since I’m here discussing everything, we could chat about an idea I had.”
“Let’s wait for Chloe.” Fletcher glanced up over the paper. “Aren’t these kind of plans usually on big sheets and pages long?”
“I didn’t want to print out the plans, which I haven’t done on my program anyway, just in case Mueller was still in town. Or if there was spyware on my computer. Chloe and Dawson were going to look at that later.”
“I’m not a trusting sort, and you letting us peek into your personal things, well, that makes me wonder.” Fletcher flipped a page. He might not understand all the details of the drawings, or even some of the verbiage, but he could see the bigger picture, and this concept wasn’t bad. It also wasn’t too far off the mark from what he and the guys wanted to do.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to grow up dirt poor?” Decker asked.
Fletcher laughed. “Have you looked around this town? At the majority of people who live here? Most are barely scraping by.”
“Oh, I get that. I see it.” Decker nodded. “But where I come from? People only have two choices. The first one is to take the money and jobs that the Barbaros of the world hand out and hope they don’t end up in prison or at the bottom of the ocean. That somehow they’ll be the exception to the rule, when they know deep down, they’re feeding the beast and just another piece of the bigger problem.” He held up his hand. “Or, they can dive into the dumpster for dinner. And I mean that literally. They can use that same garbage collection tin box to hide behind when the thugs come looking for people to do small errands. They promise you it’s a one-time thing. No obligation. And they’ll stay away for a little while, smile at you on the street, like they kept their end of the bargain. But then, they’ll need another favor. One, only you can provide. They pay you well, and next thing you know, they’re threatening your sister. Your mother. Your little mom and pop shop. People like the Barbaros take over neighborhoods. They do it slowly and methodically, until most small businesses are cleaning their money, and all the teenagers are doing their bidding and being groomed.”
“How’d you manage to keep your nose clean?”
“I was a scrawny kid. A nerd. Not much use to them for dealing street drugs, but my uncle told me to be careful. That a man like me, with my smarts, they’d want me for something else.”
“Your uncle, he works for them?”
“Most of my family did.” Decker said.
Fletcher leaned back and cocked his head. “Then explain to me how you flew under the radar.”
“I got beat up a lot, making myself appear to be not worth the trouble.”
“That’s smart,” Fletcher said.
