Page 34 of Secrets in Calusa Cove

The sofa was leather—and appeared to be real, not that fake stuff. The table by the kitchenette sat four, not two. And the chairs were wooden, not metal.

The bed had a nice wooden headboard, and the pictures on the walls—well, she suspected these weren’t hanging in other cabins because they were images of him and his team.

She set her bag on the coffee table and inched into the room. All the appliances were brand new. This guy must have spent a small fortune if he’d done this to the rest of the cabins.

“He works for a small private airline as a pilot out of Naples. It’s not a bad gig. He flies mostly rich corporate assholes. Occasionally, he gets government officials and a handful of movie stars and television personalities. Makes good money. I’m not sure why Lilly keeps working for me, but I’m damn grateful she does.” He unclipped his weapon, discharged the chamber, and put it in a lockbox. “Give me five minutes to change.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a shirt. Then he went to the closet and snagged a pair of jeans. “There’s beer in the fridge if you’d like one. Or I’ve got liquor in the cabinet—no wine, if you’re into that—but I can go back to the trailer. We keep small bottles of cheap stuff. I can get you some.”

“Beer’s fine.”

He disappeared into the bathroom.

Damn, that man could talk when he got going.

She ran her fingers along the bed's footboard, ignoring the heat that filled her veins. Men generally didn’t affect her on a primal level, but Dawson did a number on her mind, body, and everything in between.

She pressed her hand on the mattress. It wasn’t too soft, but she wouldn’t say it was hard. Actually, it was damn perfect. She hoped the bed in her cabin was just as nice. Making her way into the kitchen, she opened the fridge. “Jeez.” It was fully stocked with fruits, veggies, eggs, fixings for a salad, and other healthy foods. She pulled out two longnecks, cracking them both open, before climbing up on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, which hadn’t been a feature in the older version of this place.

She took a long swig of the cold brew. The bubbles tickled her throat. Snagging her phone from her back pocket, she loaded the video from the drone. She’d watched it five times. Had she not been so nervous about being shot, she would have explored that island more because right before the damn thing got blown from the sky, the drone had caught a glimpse of something.

Only, she couldn’t make out what it was—just that there were some wood scraps in the clearing. She tapped her notes app and found the one where she had the CliffsNotes version of all her thoughts regarding her father’s disappearance—his death.

She rubbed her temple.

For years, all she remembered about that night was how her father had been adamant that the Everglades were being used to smuggle something in and out. That someone was back there moving either drugs or guns, or both, through Calusa Cove, and he was going to prove it. She’d seen the shack. The crates. And then the world went black.

That’s what she thought she’d remembered.

But she’d also had this dream where she blinked open her eyes, and someone pushed her father overboard. That she screamed and reached over the side of the boat to save him, but it was too late.

Not only did his body disappear into the murky water, but someone tossed in gator chum. Bubbles appeared. Then tails kicked up.

And then a sharp pain filled her skull, and once again, the world went black.

However, that had been her nightmare. She’d had it for six months nearly every night after her dad had disappeared. She’d wake up in a cold sweat. Eventually, it had gone away, and she’d done her best to forget.

And she’d never told anyone about the dream—except Ken and Trip.

Ken had told her it was a dream, that it wasn’t real.

Trip had told her to keep those thoughts to herself because no one would believe her—they would twist it into thinking she was the one who’d pushed her father overboard.

That’s what had happened anyway.

Her dad had considered alligators to be his friends. Most people believed him to be a gator whisperer. If he could have had one as an emotional support animal, he would have. He had been one of the few people who could get close to a big one. He could touch one, and it wouldn’t do anything other than maybe scurry away. He had been the guy people called when gators got in their pools—or got too close for comfort. Hell, even animal control would call him for help.

So, to be taken out by one… That haunted her in so many ways.

However, when she’d seen that silhouette standing on her boat, that nightmare had snapped back into place. No blurry motion. No foggy imagery.

It was fucking real. As real as her red hair. Someone had pushed her father into the water, and she’d seen it with her own eyes.

Knock. Knock.

She jumped, falling off the stool. Luckily, she landed on her feet. She strolled to the front of the cabin. She glanced out the curtain.

Delivery boy.

She opened the door.

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