Page 53

“I’m sorry, I can’t. Not right this second anyway.”

“I see,” she said. “You’re mad.”

“I’m frustrated.” He leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “I asked you not to talk to anyone. I have no problem with you chatting with Baily or Trinity, but I don’t give a shit what Tim or Paul said to ruffle your feathers. You were going to haul off and hit him. Had I not stopped you, we both know Tim would’ve filed charges because he can, and I would’ve had to follow through.” He tapped his badge. “It’s my job to serve this community, even jerkoffs like Tim O’Toole.”

“At least we agree that man is useless.”

Dawson leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. “I’m begging you to make my life easier from here on out.”

She sighed, slumping in her chair. “All I want to do is figure out what happened to my dad. I’ve put off doing this for way too long. But it’s hard when everyone in Calusa Cove treats me like I’m the one who killed him or like I’m some kind of witch.”

“Yeah, well, don’t come gunning for me, but you’re making yourself an easy target.” He lowered his chin. “I need you to rely on me. You need to trust that I know what I’m doing. Responding to everyone who gets in your face about what they might think of you only adds fuel to the fire and creates this narrative, making idiots like Tim do stupid shit,” Dawson said, then cleared his throat. “Moving on to something more important, I spoke with a detective from State today. A Detective Lester. He worked with Trip on your dad’s case but also helped put Trevor away.”

She sat up a little taller. “And?”

“It didn’t go very far, but he directed me to the FBI, who then directed me to the local DEA office.”

“That sounds like a circle jerk if I ever heard one.”

Dawson chuckled. “The bottom line is I have some new paperwork to comb through first thing tomorrow morning. My goal is to see what kind of dots I can connect between what Trevor was doing and what your father thought was going on.”

“Yeah, but we don’t know much about what my dad?—”

“But I learned a little more.” Dawson waggled his finger. “Your father loved his conspiracy theories. He loved stories about pirates, right?”

“He told them all the time. Old tales about how pirates in the seventeenth and eighteenth hundreds would use the Everglades to hide when they were pursued. They would build old shacks to hide their treasures because no one would dare go back there. There’s even an old sunken ship out in the island barriers to prove he’s not crazy about that.” She smiled. She used to love to listen to her dad get all riled up around the campfire while she roasted marshmallows. “And then there was the Ghost Ship of the Everglades.”

“That one is my favorite. Keeps some people from going out there at night.” Dawson nodded. “But it turns out, Agent Ballard of the FBI and Agent Pope with the DEA think there might be some merit to some of your dad’s ramblings.”

She bolted out of her seat. “Are you serious? Why haven’t I been notified? Why hasn’t anyone done anything about this before?”

Dawson chuckled.

“This isn’t funny.” She stood over his chair with her hands on her hips and glared.

“No. It’s not, but your reaction is.” Slowly, he rose. “The DEA is constantly dealing with drugs coming in from all directions. Mexico, South America, to name two places.” He ran his hands up and down her arms. “Right now, Agent Pope is dealing with the Mendoza Cartel.”

“Hector Mendoza,” Audra whispered. “There’s an old story my dad used to talk about?—”

“I know the tale.” Dawson nodded. “I’ve asked the DEA to see if there is a connection between Hector and the cartel. That will take time. Pope has asked me to be on the lookout for anything suspicious, but so far, I haven’t seen anything. I’ve worked with the Coast Guard and the FBI in case the drugs have made it inland. It’s an ongoing battle. And then there are gun runners—which the Mendoza Cartel is also rumored to be part of. It appears that what Trevor was doing was small potatoes. Yet the DEA saw—and I agree—it was a tiny portion of a bigger operation in the transport of drugs and maybe other things. Only Trevor wasn’t—still isn’t—talking.”

Audra opened her mouth, but Dawson silenced her with his finger.

God, she hated that, but she’d let it go for now.

Of course, she didn’t care for being manhandled either, but when Dawson had flung her over his shoulder, it had felt more akin to caring than being treated like a second-class citizen.

“I believe Trevor was a peon,” Dawson continued, “and the more I think about it, he’s got a lot to protect—an ex-wife and a kid. That’s something. But my point is, I’ve always wondered if someone else in or near this town controlled things—is still controlling things.”

“All the more reason we need to get out to the island with no name.”

Dawson cupped her cheeks and kissed her softly. “Hayes already checked it out. There’s nothing out there but old driftwood—old remnants of a cabin.” He arched a brow. “If something’s going on in our part of the Everglades, it’s on a different island. There are eight days left of this challenge. I suspect whoever is keeping that shack is incredibly nervous with all of us out there, stomping around, looking for snakes, and potentially stumbling upon whatever they’re hiding out there. It’s time to use that to our advantage.”

“Do you believe the gunshots and the possible drug running are connected?”

“I generally don’t believe in coincidences,” Dawson said, pointing to the file on his desk. “But based on what’s in there, and how some feel about you in this town, it’s hard not to wonder if it all doesn’t circle back to the day your dad died.”

She jerked her head back. “So, maybe we should focus on those who spoke out the loudest about hating me.”