Page 44 of Secrets in Calusa Cove

What difference did it make? She enjoyed his company. He was witty and good in bed. And he had agreed to help her.

“Right,” Silas sneered. “Tell me, after all these years, why did you come back?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.” Silas gripped the side of her boat as waves from another boat zipping by crashed into them.

It wasn’t an airboat, but a small flat-bottom Whaler. She squinted, staring at the man behind the steering wheel. He wasn’t a local. The boat wasn’t a rental. She had to question why he was out in these waters. She also wondered if he was the same man who had boarded her boat yesterday, but she couldn’t be sure.

“It’s not that anyone has forgotten your dad—because we haven’t. But we’ve accepted the mystery. It’s become part of our history. Having you show your face stirs up all the unanswered questions—the legends, both real and made up.” He arched a brow. “You frighten the town.”

She swallowed the thick lump in her throat. “Why? Because my grandmother was Native American, gypsy, and a dash of Irish? And my dad was a hundred percent Irish, making me this weird mix of red hair with a mom who’d stapled herself in her Native American history? Her people saw me as something unique, something special. Everyone else here saw me as a swamp monster.”

“What you fail to understand was that your behavior made everyone think of you as someone who practiced some weird kind of witchcraft.” Silas waved his index and middle finger between his eyes and pointed toward hers, mimicking what she used to do to people when she’d come into town as a small child, barefoot, in ratty clothes with wild, uncombed red hair, and everyone would stare.

They all forgot her mother had been dying. That she’d sat at her bedside, holding her hand, and had eventually watched her take her last breath. Her father’s mind had finally fractured between reality and fantasy. He’d known it and had done his best to keep one foot in the real world, but one couldn’t control mental illness on their own.

“If your father had only allowed me to help—if you had allowed me to help,” Silas said in the same kind voice he’d used when he’d found her floating in these same waters years ago. The same voice he’d used when he’d come by the house after her mother had died. It was as if the man cared.

But he didn’t.

He sighed. “Go home, little girl,” Silas said, “before something bad happens to you and your cop boyfriend can’t help you.”

“Are you threatening me?” She rested her hand on her air gun.

“Good God, no.” He pursed his lips. “I’ve never been the enemy. But I’d feel terrible if a snake got you. Or a gator. Not to mention, everyone in this town believes you got away with murder.” He leaned a little closer, gripping the side of her boat. “Did you do it, little girl? Did you murder your old man? Those questions have haunted me since you betrayed my trust and slinked out of this town like a coward.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.” She held his unnerving glare. “Now let go and leave me alone. There’s room enough out here for both of us.”

“Watch your back.” He raised his hands. “And be careful who you take for a bed partner. He’s not going to be able to help you if someone stabs you in the back.” He arched a brow before engaging the gas and zooming off.

Jerk.

“Audra? Come in, Audra,” the long-range walkie-talkie crackled.

Finally, she lifted the contraption. “Hey, Dawson.”

“Hayes tells me it’s been a fruitful day for you out there.”

“Did he tell you that Silas just collided with my boat?”

“Well, no,” Dawson said. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy. But Silas knows I’m staying in your cabin.”

“Everyone knows you stayed there last night.”

“No, I mean, like you moved my stuff in there today.”

“Interesting. But I don’t care,” Dawson said. “Give me a second and let me radio Hayes. There was a problem a half hour ago, and he might still be dealing with that. I know he’s not far from where you are. You’re still in front of Hog’s Island, right?”

“I am.”

“All right. Don’t move. I’ll radio you back in a couple of minutes.”

“Copy that.” She rested the walkie-talkie in her lap. Part of her felt like a sitting duck. Hayes’ job wasn’t to watch her like a hawk. No. He was to ensure the safety of the hunters. While she’d only done two Python Challenges, she was well aware there were always a couple of guides—or Fish and Wildlife—out on the waters. She’d been surprised that Keaton and Fletcher also had at least two boats out. Then again, she figured that was because of her—and not because of her lack of experience—but also because of the bullshit that had happened yesterday and maybe because of the idiots Dawson had arrested.

Damn, she wished she knew what had happened with that.

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