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No one was supposed to use them to kill a snake or a gator. That was illegal and considered inhumane. There were rules. But if it came down to a human life or a creature’s life, humans won.

Yet it made no sense as to why her drone had been shot down. Many hunters had one. It was a great resource, and while prize money was awarded, the purpose was still to remove as many snakes as possible.

She should have never come back to Calusa Cove.

It took her twice as long to get back to the area where she’d parked the boat. Her heart dropped like a boulder to the bottom of her gut before lurching to the back of her throat. She stared with horror in her eyes as a masked silhouette boarded her vessel.

“Hey, you,” she yelled. “Get the hell off my boat.”

The man—or woman, because she couldn’t actually tell—glanced up with a quick jerk of his or her arm. A metal object that was gripped in the person’s hand glared in the sunlight.

With a flick of the wrist, her boat was floating in the murky water.

The silhouette hopped onto their small flat-bottom boat with a two-stroke engine. They pulled the cord and sputtered away.

As quickly as she could, she raced through the thick muck, praying she didn’t step on an angry alligator or a spiteful snake. She tossed her belongings on the bow and climbed aboard. Her pulse pounding, it took a few moments for her to catch her breath.

With a shaky hand, she tried the engine.

Nothing.

She reached for the radio and pressed the button.

Nothing.

“Well, hell.” She’d done a radio check before leaving the dock, and it had worked just fine.

She tried again. Still nothing.

Dead in the water.

She rifled through some of her belongings, lifting her camera bag. She gasped.

Tentatively, she raised a bundle of dynamite. “What the hell?”

She had expected a cold welcome from the townspeople of Calusa Cove, but this was something entirely different.

She snagged her cell and raised it toward the sky. There was no reception in this spot, and since the tide was coming in, the current was taking her in the wrong direction. Great. Reception wouldn’t get better if she floated deeper into the Everglades. She checked the time. The sun would set in half an hour. Boats should be flying by, so she should be able to wave down someone. She hoped.

Only, she was a good forty-five minutes to an hour from the dock.

Yeah, good luck with that.

CHAPTER5

Dawson rolledto a stop in the parking lot of Mitchell’s Marina. Benson Massey leaned against his SUV with his cell in his hands. He glanced up and waved Dawson over.

Wonderful.

“Chief Ridge, I need to speak with you for a moment,” Benson said. “It’s important.”

“Sure thing.” Dawson rolled up the window, slipped from the driver’s seat, and strolled toward Benson. Dawson had only met the young man three or four times, even though he was aware he came to town relatively often to visit his parents.

Paul was quite proud of his son and talked about him constantly. But Paul spoke about both his children—and his grandchildren—every chance he got.

“What can I help you with?” Dawson noted the empty snake bag at Benson’s feet.

“Would you mind taking a look at my tire?”