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“Probably not.” He arched a brow. “All the more reason for you to stop arguing with me and let me do my job.”

She kicked off her flip-flops and dared to put her pretty little feet on his console. “People in this town don’t want me here, and I think this is my warning.”

“All the more reason for me to investigate.” He blinked, staring at her cute pink-painted toes. He groaned. That was unexpected but a total turn-on and the last thing he needed to focus on while he towed her boat back to Mitchell’s Marina. He seriously had issues.

“Nothing for you to do.” She sighed.

“I beg to differ because you just told an officer?—”

“My God, you’re uptight.”

That he blamed on a lack of sex.

“I bet you’re Fletch’s work wife.”

Dawson frowned. He hated that phrase. It wasn’t just with Fletcher. All the guys considered him the work wife. Or the voice of reason. The one who raised his hand and reminded everyone of the dangers of whatever path they forged down. He’d been like that his entire life.

The buzzkill.

He was worse than Keaton.

Her eyebrows rose as she studied his expression. “Looks like I hit paydirt with that one.”

“Fletcher wouldn’t appreciate you calling me that or shortening his name.” Dawson kept his gaze forward and not on the sexy lady sitting way too close for comfort, reminding him that the last time he’d shared a bed with someone of the opposite sex had been six months ago.

While the experience had been decent enough, the morning after hadn’t gone well.

She’d been a blonde.

He thought he’d be safe. It turned out she was crazier than a one-eyed rattlesnake.

She wrinkled her nose. “What is up with that? I mean, I’ve only known Fletcher as Fletch. That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“I honestly don’t know. I’ve only known him as Fletcher.” Not true. However, not the point. “But ever since we came to Calusa Cove, he’s been correcting everyone.” Only Dawson knew why. While it might not make sense to most, it made perfect sense to Dawson, and he would respect his buddy’s wishes. Still, he wasn’t about to tell anyone why. The only people who knew were the team.

And Baily.

But it hadn’t changed Baily’s opinion—not yet, anyway. And Dawson hoped it did for Fletcher’s sake because that man was miserable.

“And you changed the direction of this conversation.” He waggled his finger under her nose. “You’ll let me look at the drone and your boat. You’re going to give me a description of the boat and the person who boarded your vessel. You’ll also give me the dynamite and let me do my job.”

“Well, I’m not letting you do it at the docks, and I want some information in return.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“What’s that?”

“The name of the men you arrested.”

“Eliot Commings and James Huber,” he said.

“Wow. You gave that up real quick.”

He shrugged. “It’ll be public record, so not a big deal. Now, I need you to follow through with your end of this agreement.”

She groaned. “It’s not that simple. You don’t know me or my relationship with this?—”

“I know enough. I’ve read the file and gotten an earful from at least one townsperson.” He turned, catching her gaze under the moonlight. “Come on. Besides, Fletcher’s my best friend. I’m the town’s chief of police. You didn’t think I wouldn’t know about one of the oldest cold cases in this town?”

“Well, I’m sure Ken gave you an earful of misguided and bullshit information, too,” she said under her breath.