Page 55 of Betrayal In Calusa Cove
He tapped his phone with bloodied fingers, heart hammering, and dialed Baily.
She picked up on the second ring. “Hey! I’m with Chloe and Silas. We are waiting for Hayes before we?—”
“I just needed to hear your voice,” Fletcher said, barely above a whisper. “You okay?”
There was a pause. “Yeah. I’m fine. We’re fine. Why? Fletcher, what happened? You sound…off.”
“I’m up on the trail. There’s been an…incident. Gunfire.” God, he shouldn’t lie to her, but he didn’t want her freaking out. Not yet anyway. “Dawson and Hayes are on their way, but I needed to know you were safe.”
A sharp inhale. “Fletcher…”
“Stay where you are,” he said. “Stay with Chloe and Silas until I say otherwise. Please.”
“I will. I swear. Just—just be careful. I…I…I love you, okay?”
He closed his eyes, the words hitting him harder than the bullet. “I love you, too.”
The line disconnected.
It wasn’t like they hadn’t said those words to each other a million times. However, it had been years since they’d tumbled from her lips. Years before, he’d felt the weight of their impact.
Years since that part of his world had been put back together.
Another few minutes crawled by before the crunch of boots sounded over breaking twigs.
Fletcher sucked in breath, held his weapon, and shifted. He peered over the tree trunk, scanning the area.
Nothing. No movement. Only the sharp sound of an owl. Only it wasn’t a real one.
Dawson.
Fletcher responded with his own owl noise. A few more repeated.
Hayes.
The gang was all here. But they had a job to do.
Find the fucking sniper.
Unfortunately, Fletcher was the sitting duck. His job was to do nothing but wait.
He craned his ear, listening to every little noise. Even the stillness told him something.
Crack. Pop.
Movement and gunfire. Just one round.
Thud.
Then boots. Dawson’s voice called out, “Fletcher! Talk to me!”
“You’re going to fucking pay for that,” a deep male voice said.
“You shot our friend first,” Hayes said, with the kind of pride dipped in a sense of humility that he’d always had when he hit his target. “I think the law might be on our side.”
“Here,” Fletcher called, lifting his hand enough to wave. All the energy he’d stored in his muscles left like a bird taking flight.
Dawson crouched beside him seconds later, already assessing the wound. “Damn. You weren’t kidding.”
