Page 73 of Secrets in Calusa Cove

At least he’d gotten his radio call off before Benson had plucked it from his fingertips and broken the fucking thing.

Time to make a play.

Dawson lunged toward Audra. He had to try.

Benson raised a rather large semiautomatic weapon.

A little overkill, but it got the point across, and bullets were stronger than muscle.

Dawson skidded to a stop. He growled. “Let her go.”

James fisted her hair before she could fall to the floor.

She groaned. Her eyes rolled up, then shifted left and right. Another groan, but she wasn’t completely out. She caught his gaze and held it for a long moment before her lids grew heavy just as James yanked her hair—a little hard for Dawson’s liking.

Her body twitched, and she mumbled something. It wasn’t words or anything coherent. But it was throaty, and if Dawson wasn’t mistaken, it was a message.

That was a good sign, even as James’s fingertips gripped her red hair and jerked her around as if she were a rag doll.

Dawson fisted his hands, rolling them against his thighs. He scanned the hut, mentally noting everything and its precise placement. Mostly drugs, but there were weapons, and he needed to get himself one of those. It wouldn’t take but a hot minute for Fletcher and the rest of the gang to understand the situation, but it would be a while before they made it to Coonts Island.

That said, they had a go-to-shit plan in place since they’d met.

If they radioed and went dark, wait five minutes. If nothing happened, come running with weapons loaded and a halfway decent extraction plan. That was if they knew any of the details. If not, wing it, and his team was good at doing that.

However, this time, Fletcher would call Remy. He had to. Dawson carried a badge. It would be protocol, and Remy would have to do things a certain way, and that would piss off the boys.

Dawson couldn’t be concerned about that now. He had three things on his mind: Audra and her condition, how to disarm these bastards, and how to ensure he had all the players and enough evidence to make federal charges stick.

“Let. Her. Go,” Dawson said, his voice low and menacing.

“No can do.” Benson jerked his head toward Dawson. “Give me a hand tying up this asshole.”

“I say we just toss them both in the swamp and be done with them.” James worked ties around Audra’s wrists and ankles. She flopped about, moaning and groaning, but each time she shifted, she managed to raise an eyelid and make eye contact with Dawson.

A signal. She was coherent, hearing everything.

Hope swelled in Dawson’s chest. He fought a grin.

Wonderful redheaded woman.

“We wait for my father,” Benson said decisively. He dropped into a chair next to a small table and set his weapon between his legs, staring at his goddamn fingernails as if he’d just gotten a manicure. The lazy jerk couldn’t even be bothered to get off his ass and strap a zip tie around Dawson’s wrists and ankles. That might work in Dawson’s favor because he doubted James knew how to ensure he kept his prisoner’s wrists tied together. Dawson had half a chance to wiggle his way out, and if they didn’t check his pockets, he could use his pocketknife.

“He’s going to tell us to kill them.” James shook his head. “We can’t leave them alive. That’s just stupid.”

“What’s stupid is you questioning me—or my father. We’ve been at this a hell of a lot longer than you have,” Benson said. “So, if I were you, I’d shut the fuck up and do as you’re told.”

Dawson couldn’t believe it. Paul Massey was a drug and arms dealer.

James propped Audra up against the wall. He sauntered over toward Dawson, and all Dawson could do was stare at the man’s brand-new boots. Granted, they were the right kind for being in the swamps of the Everglades, but they looked as though they’d barely been broken in.

“Have you ever been inches from a gator in the wild?” Dawson locked gazes with James. “Seen their snot and eyes emerge from the murky, dark water, barely causing even the slightest ripple. Or watch them glide across the top of the water as smooth as butter, searching for prey, searching for something that will hold their hunger at bay for more than a few hours. Days, maybe.” Dawson leaned a little closer. “A gator will see you—its meal—and then dip back down where it will blend into the darkness, leaving behind not even the tiniest of bubbles.”

James paused. The blacks of his eyes narrowed, then widened.

Dawson chuckled. “Dawn is grazing time for alligators. There are some big ones back here. One that can chew on a grown man’s bones and spit them out like toothpicks. That is if they don’t first pull you under, twist you around, play with you for shits and giggles, and drown you before they tear you?—”

“Shut the fuck up.” James cocked his fist and clocked Dawson on the side of his face.

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