Page 7 of Betrayal In Calusa Cove
Silence settled over the room like a thick fog.
Dawson broke it with a slow exhale. “You run the last piece of commercial waterfront in this town worth anything, except for the land the old Crab Shack sits on, and that will be up for auction soon. You have a legacy that someone wants, and a developer is sniffing around like a gator in a fish barrel. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“So, are you going to haul Decker Brown down to the station, stick him in an interrogation room, and question him?” Fletcher asked with real venom dripping off every syllable.
Dawson lowered his chin. “No,” he said. “I don’t have any legal reason to do that. No probable cause. He’s made no threat and no offer. He’s just kind of here, and all I have is suspicion. But I am going to stop by his cabin that he’s renting from me and have a little chat.”
“Come on, Dawson,” Fletcher said, pushing off the counter. “The man’s a slime. We both know he’s gonna make a play for the Crab Shack. That he’s gonna try to outbid us. The next logical grab is the marina. If he can put Baily more at risk by?—”
Dawson held up his hand. “I hear you, but as the police chief in this town, I have to set aside my personal feelings and investigate. Let me do my job…the right way.”
Baily inched closer to Dawson and curled her fingers around his thick biceps. “Thank you,” she whispered. She understood Fletcher’s disdain for Decker. She had her own set of reservations about the man. She certainly didn’t understand Decker. He’d come around, hung out at the marina, flirted a little, but never too much, never in such a way that made her feel as though he was all that interested, but just enough to make her wonder.
But he had also asked questions about the marina. Not hard ones. Not ones that were too deep, too personal, nor had he dug into her finances in a way that made her think he had that kind of an agenda. But ever since he’d shown up at the town hall meeting after the Crab Shack had burned down, her perception of Decker had changed.
If he wanted that piece of property, he might want more. Building something next to a rotting old marina wasn’t a smart move. She understood why Fletcher and his band of merry men wanted to do it. They all had savior complexes born out of when her brother had been murdered by the same enemy that had captured and tortured them.
They wanted—in a way—to atone for his death. They thought that, if they could save the marina, it would make the world right again.
But nothing could bring her brother back.
“Anything for you.” Dawson nodded, glancing at his cell. “Remy just pulled in. I’m gonna miss that man when he retires, but I’m sure as hell looking forward to having Chloe on my team.”
“When does she start at the academy?” Fletcher asked.
“Next month,” Dawson said. “Kind of sucks that this state is requiring her to jump through that hoop to be a cop when she’s spent years as an FBI agent, but local laws are different from federal ones.”
“Is she going to be your second?” Baily asked, needing to talk about anything other than broken security cameras and stolen gas.
“That’s a tough one.” Dawson swiped at his brow. “I’ve got three men under me who are all great cops. Love the job, but not a single one of them has asked me about the position. Chloe has. She wants it. And she’d be damn good at it. But she’d be a rookie, regardless of her FBI training.” Dawson moved toward the door. “I might not name one right away and see how it all plays out.” He waved a hand over his head. “I’ll let you know when we’re done out there.”
“Thanks, man.” Fletcher made his way to the coffee station, stuck a pod in the machine, and pressed the button.
The door slammed shut with a resounding thud, and Baily’s chest tightened. She scurried around to the other side of the counter and opened the ledger, glancing at the numbers. Her business account was pitiful. The marina operated on a month-to-month basis, especially during the winter. Even South Florida, with temperatures ranging from the fifties to the eighties, slowed down in the winter.
But with a big boat parade and a fishing tournament, well, that meant business. Big business. The kind of business that would keep her operational for a month or two. At least until the warmer temperatures brought more than a trickle of tourists back to the area.
Fletcher set his coffee on the counter, whipped out his cell, and tapped on the screen.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Texting with the gas guy.”
She let out a long sigh. She didn’t have any fight left in her to argue. “Okay.”
He glanced up. “No argument?” he asked with a furrowed brow.
She shook her head.
“Good, because I’m paying for it, too.”
She planted both her hands on her hips and glared. She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a mangled gasp.
“Whether you like it or not, I have a stake in what happens to this marina.” He paused for a moment, looked at his screen, tapped angrily, then tucked the cell in his back pocket. “I have boats for Everglades Overwatch that need gas. I can’t run a business without full tanks. Not to mention that, right now, I’m the only residential house left on this road.” He waved a finger. “However, if it’s not me writing a check to the gas man, it’ll be Hayes because he and Chloe are about to build a house on Keaton’s old land. They don’t want some land developer in here changing things, knocking this place down and doing God only knows what. We don’t want to live next to that. And we want the Crab Shack. We want to build something this town can be proud of, and guess what?” he said. “We’re proud of Mitchell’s Marina. It matters. It means something to us, too.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “The gas truck will be here in an hour. I’ll let Dawson know, and hopefully, this place will be clear by then so you can open the docks. Kirk from the gas company already has my credit card. It’s handled. I don’t want to hear another word about it. If you want to pay me back, fine. We’ll talk about it later.” He turned and marched toward the door, pausing after he curled his fingers around the handle. “I’ll be home all day working around the house and going through Tripp’s journal if you need me.” With that, Fletcher ducked out of the door and disappeared.
“Ugh.” She dropped her head to the counter. He could be so infuriating at times. She resented that, this time, she really did need his money, that she’d said yes, and he was the one storming off all angry. She could no longer afford to let her pride get in the way. If she didn’t take Fletcher’s help, she’d surely have to either sell or close up shop, and that meant someone would come in and buy the place anyway.
If her dad and brother weren’t already dead, she’d strangle them herself.
