Page 9

“Ken hated coming home to Calusa Cove,” Dawson said. “You had to drag him.”

Fletcher nodded. “It’s also one of the many reasons that Baily thinks I’m an asshole. For some reason, she likes to blame me for her brother’s hatred of this town when that one was on Ken and whatever went down between him and Audra.”

“Baily thinks we’re all assholes,” Dawson said. “Now, outside of the fact Audra is a redhead, and I don’t do redheads, why else should I stay away?”

“Because I know you.” Fletcher stood, stretching. “And she’ll put a hole in your heart bigger than Liz did.”

Dawson cringed at the name. Just hearing it was like listening to fingernails on a chalkboard. But Dawson had moved past Liz. She was in his rearview. Sure, she’d ripped his heart from his chest with her bare hands, but he’d managed to repair the damage. He wasn’t so broken that he’d given up on the concept of love.

Just redheads.

Only, he really liked women with red hair and green eyes.

It sucked having a type.

“So, what you’re saying is you don’t like Audra,” Dawson said. “Does that mean we’re supposed to dislike Baily?” Dawson pointed toward the marina shop. “Because isn’t she the one who broke?—”

“That’s the worst analogy ever, and I like Audra just fine.” Fletcher folded his arms across his chest and widened his stance, daring Dawson to say otherwise. “Just not for you.”

Normally, he would let it go. Baily wasn’t a topic any of the guys dug too deep into. They all knew why they’d come to Calusa Cove.

To honor Ken. To help save Mitchell’s Marina.

But there was more to it, even if Fletcher wasn’t willing to admit it. “I don’t do redheads, and I don’t think this is about me anymore.”

“I’m done with this discussion.” Fletcher tossed his empty bottle in the recycle bin. “I’ve got to head over to my post. I’ll see you at the end of the day.” He turned and marched toward the parking lot without saying another word.

Dawson shouldn’t have poked the bear. Fletcher had been carrying a torch for Baily his entire life. He’d loved her as a teenager. They’d tried to have a relationship for his first four years in the Navy.

It had failed.

They’d tried again a year later.

It became impossible after her father passed, and she took over the marina, refusing to leave Calusa Cove. But the two of them had managed to remain friendly.

Until Ken had died.

That had changed everything.

Fletcher understood, but that hadn’t fixed his broken heart, and he’d never been the same.

Dawson stood there for a long moment, staring at the front door of the marina, contemplating if he should try to catch a glimpse of the sexy redhead or head to the office.

He opted for the latter, reminding himself he didn’t do redheads.

His cell buzzed. He pulled it from his back pocket. “Hey, Remy, what’s going on?”

“We’ve got a problem, Chief,” his second-in-command said. “Remember the two guys with the boat shoes that rubbed you the wrong way?”

“Yeah, what about them?” Those damn shoes.

“Well, Hayes and I finished the inspection of boats, and guess what we found?”

“Do I really want to know?” Dawson rubbed the back of his neck. Of all the towns that had been opened up in the last two years for the challenge, this location was the smallest one. Most people here were passionate about removing the pythons from the Everglades. They didn’t care about the prize money. They wanted the damn things gone from the ecosystem. But he’d been warned that one or two would try to slip in and do things the easy way instead of the right way.

“Dynamite.” Remy laughed. “They actually have a license for the shit, but obviously that doesn’t cover the removal of pythons.”

“Nope, but what does the license say?” Why he asked the question, he didn’t know because it didn’t matter. Obtaining an explosives license with false information was a first-degree misdemeanor that came with a possible thousand-dollar fine and a year in jail. Using it made it a third-degree felony with a ten-thousand-dollar fine and potential prison time of up to five years or longer, depending on the intent.