Page 10 of Pirates in Calusa Cove (Everglades Overwatch #2)

Keaton quietly closed the door to his bedroom, grateful that Trinity had finally fallen asleep. He walked through the small family room and into the kitchen, ducking his head into the fridge and snagging a beer before stepping out on the back patio. He had two access points to his home—one from the front door and the second through the glass sliders in the back.

His house sat on the same street as the marina. He had his own dock, which had given him pause about safety in this situation. But he had the best security money could buy. He’d also tweaked it, thanks to having more than a basic understanding of technology. Fletcher might be the comms guy with a better-than-average working knowledge of how these things worked, but Keaton had an odd aptitude for it. In the field, he’d been the intelligence officer. He and Fletcher had often worked in tandem because what Keaton didn’t know, Fletcher did—and vice versa.

The thing with Keaton, though, was that he tinkered with this stuff because, if he didn’t, he got the itch to do those things that he’d given Petra shit for and the last thing he needed to do was start racecar driving again.

He glanced at the time. He’d argued with Monty about his plans to return to one of his dealerships, but he couldn’t stop the man if he tried. He’d promised to check in, which he had. Monty also had no problems with spending the night here.

Now, that was going to be strange.

Keaton had no idea where everyone was going to sleep. He supposed he’d be stuck on the sofa, even though he wanted to lie next to Trinity.

But not with her father resting his head in the guest room.

Thank God, he’d put a bed in there. His siblings had promised to visit. So had his parents. That hadn’t happened yet.

They were all busy in Colorado, and he understood that. His little brother was married with kids, and his sister was the same. His dad refused to retire, and his mom was busy being a grandma.

However, what he really wanted was his cousin, Foster, to visit.

It had been a while since they’d seen each other, and Foster had been through the wringer. The last time he’d seen him was after a mission had gone sideways. That was an understatement, and Keaton couldn’t keep his distance. Not since a few months before that Foster had lost his parents.

He eased into the lounge chair and fired up his computer to see the front of the house, making sure no one came near it, including Fenton. Keaton tapped his cell. It would be around six on the West Coast.

Freaking Oregon. Keaton had only lived there for a short time when he was young, and what he remembered, he hated. It was always gray, rainy, and cold. There were only two things to like about Oregon. First were the storms. God, Keaton had loved sitting in that damn stupid tree fort that Foster had built and watching the lightning flash in the sky while the thunder rumbled the ground, shaking the tree with all its might.

And, of course, Foster.

Back then, his older cousin had been larger than life—a freaking superhero.

Keaton sighed. To say Foster was just a man wasn’t something Keaton was capable of saying. Foster might be mortal, but he wasn’t simply...a human.

Foster picked up on the second ring. “Hey, cuz. How’s Florida?”

“Never a dull moment.” Keaton took a hearty swig.

“That doesn’t sound like things have calmed down since the shit hit the fan with that case your buddy Dawson was working on.”

“It was quiet for about five minutes,” he admitted. “How’s Oregon?”

“Barely settled, but so far, no complaints.”

Keaton knew Foster had a ton to complain about. He’d left the Air Force, something he’d loved—something he’d excelled at—and Keaton understood the demons that lurked in Foster’s mind, reminding him of that mission, of all the things that had gone wrong—all the choices he’d made or hadn’t made.

Keaton knew the drill, and he knew it would take some time for Foster to get that poison out of his brain. However, some would linger, and it would spike like blood sugar when he least expected it.

Keaton closed his eyes momentarily and allowed his childhood memories to flood his brain. There was so much he hadn’t understood about his mom’s relationship with her sister, Foster’s mom. Things he might never know. While his parents had attended the funeral, it had been years since the two sisters had been close. They spoke occasionally, but it was strained.

The car crash that had taken Foster’s parents had been tragic. It had hit Keaton in ways he hadn’t been prepared for, and Foster understood that better than anyone.

His aunt and uncle hadn’t been doing anything dangerous. Nothing reckless. But still, it had brought to mind Petra’s death and crushed his spirit all over again.

Foster’s mom had been his favorite aunt. She’d been the coolest, sweetest woman ever, and Keaton missed her dearly.

Miles and years had separated them. So had some weird family feud that neither Keaton nor Foster had ever understood or cared about. They weren’t grudge holders, but they’d been kids when Keaton’s parents had packed them up and moved them to Colorado.

They hadn’t spoken to each other for a few years. Not because they didn’t like each other, or because they were involved in the bullshit, but Foster was older. He’d been doing his thing, and Keaton had been busy trying not to shine and be the star of everything.

They had reconnected when Keaton had joined the Navy. Foster had been there for him when Petra died. He’d been his rock. The least Keaton could do was be there for him when his parents had died and he’d been deployed on some supersecret mission, in an undisclosed area, unable to do jack shit.

Keaton had stepped in. He’d taken care of the details and made sure Foster got what he’d needed for his parents.

But those emotions were still so raw for Foster. It was evident when Keaton had visited after Foster had returned Stateside, right before he’d retired. Right after that messed-up mission. Both men had become slightly broken—slightly left of center—but they were vertical.

“How’s the house coming?” Keaton asked, needing his brain to rattle with nothing but cobwebs, but he wasn’t sure that was possible.

“You didn’t call me to bullshit about my DIY projects,” Foster said. “I suspect one of the reasons is you’re going to tell me you’re going to cancel your visit next week.”

“That’s one of the reasons,” Keaton admitted.

“What’s the rest of them?”

Keaton set his beer aside and pinched the bridge of his nose. Usually, he went to Dawson, Hayes, and Fletcher for anything that demanded advice. It didn’t happen often, but those men were family as much as Foster. And while they’d all been there when Petra had died, they hadn’t seen him lose his shit quite the same way Foster had.

Sure, those three—well, four, because Ken had still been alive—had held him while he’d cried. Stood next to him when he’d buried her. They’d also had to work with him and help him deal with those demons, day in and day out, until he was close to being a whole man again.

Keaton would have surely drunk himself to death had it not been for any of those men. But Foster had become a different kind of lifeline.

“It’s twofold,” Keaton started. “First, I met a girl.”

“One you’re serious about?” Foster asked with a voice that made him sound like a small child. It screeched and was high-pitched.

Keaton chuckled at the noise. “I’m not sure.”

“Only you wouldn’t know how you feel about a woman.”

“It’s complicated,” Keaton said. “And someone tried to kill her.”

“Jesus. Why?”

“That’s a long story, and I’ll send you the details. A second set of trained eyes on what’s going on there can only help,” Keaton said. “If you don’t mind giving me your take on the situation.”

“Not at all. Don’t think twice about that. You’d do the same for me.”

“Thanks.” Keaton lifted his beer and chugged half. He checked the computer screen, tapping on a few keystrokes and checking every angle he could.

Silas drove down the canal in one of his boats, waving .

Keaton nodded.

“So,” Foster said with a long draw. “You called me to get advice regarding a woman. Why?”

“She has this habit of trying to gain people’s respect, and sometimes when she does it, she ends up being reckless. It’s how she managed to get herself in this situation.”

“Cuz, someone trying to kill her is not her fault,” Foster reminded him with a dark tone.

“I’m not saying she’s to blame.” Keaton often fumbled over his words when he had to deal with emotional things. He’d been worried when he’d spoken at his aunt and uncle’s funerals. He’d been terrified he’d trip over his tongue. He’d managed not to botch it up, but this was different. This was about him. “And to be fair, for a full year, I’ve been harsh. It’s amazing we ended up in the same room alone together and didn’t kill each other.”

“How long have you been dating?”

Keaton laughed. “I’m not even sure we can call it that, but if we are, a couple of days.”

“And she’s got you this crazy? Jeez, Cuz, what’s in the water in the Everglades besides gators and pythons?”

“Like I said, she’s been under my skin for a lot longer, but I kept my distance because all I saw was a girl doing crazy things to get the respect of others. The thing was, I got some of it wrong. Hell, I got a lot of it wrong. But that’s not even the point. I keep kind of fucking up. I keep acting like some raging, overly aggressive, controlling boyfriend. I’m a hundred times worse than I was with Petra. I mean, I feel like I’m becoming that thing she called me, and what’s even worse, Trinity called me that, too.”

“Man, we both know you are not that word,” Foster said. “But between the way Petra was—and let’s face it, she was out to prove something—and how you were raised, it’s always going to be hard for you to put that genie in a bottle.”

“I’m not even sure what that means.” God, his head hurt. He hadn’t slept much in the last two days. Nor had he eaten. He’d fed Trinity, and he’d nibbled, but he hadn’t had a meal.

“My dad always described Uncle Oliver as old school. The kind of man who didn’t believe women belonged in the kitchen but liked that his wife didn’t work. That her career was raising her kids, and he’s super proud that your sister is doing the same thing.”

Keaton chuckled. “Yeah, he says some stupid stuff sometimes around my little brother’s wife. It’s not bad, but it comes out sideways about their kids being in daycare or her career. She makes more money than Joe. I don’t know what difference it makes. I won’t deny I enjoyed having my mom home, but it didn’t make or break me. Joe’s kids won’t be any better or worse than Tilly’s. I don’t think your argument works here,” Keaton said. “I’ve always believed women can do anything a man can, that her gender shouldn’t be what holds her back, and you know I hate it when people treat women that way.”

“I know, and I get that,” Foster said. “But I’ve seen how you flip. You did it with Petra anytime she got hurt. Or with Tilly when she broke her leg. Even with your mom. That protective instinct in you would be strong without your dad telling you that it’s your job to take care of the women in your life, and I want to state for the record, this isn’t about women not being able to do something. It’s about you coming in full throttle and taking over once something bad happens.”

Keaton opened his mouth to protest. But what was he going to say to that? He could hear his father’s words. See his old man’s face when he’d lecture him on how important it was to care for his little sister and mother. He never came out and said women were weak, but it was implied that he was strong physically and that his role was different than his sisters.

The difference between his father and Petra’s father was that when Tilly had wanted to play a sport, his father hadn’t said no, and he’d supported his child. It wasn’t about girls not being able to do the same things. It all came down to roles in marriage, roles in the family, and roles when raising children.

“Add in the military training, and you’re one bark away from being an asshole,” Foster said.

“I’m not that bad,” he said for the second or third time that day.

“If you’re calling me for advice about a woman I don’t even know, yeah, you are,” Foster said with a laugh, but he quickly cleared his throat. “Is it the fact she has a free spirit that reminds you of Petra, or is it that you find yourself being vulnerable again for the first time since Petra died?”

“How about it’s a little bit of both of those things, and that I don’t feel guilty about it. Not one freaking bit, and I should. I loved—still love—Petra. She meant everything to me. A piece of me died with her.”

“I know that, cuz. Any woman who happens to fall in love with you now will have to understand that about you,” Foster said. “Does this Trinity know about Petra?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Keaton closed his eyes, remembering how Trinity had told him not to cover up his past. Not with her and what that had done to his heart. “It’s like she understands me. All of me. Every broken piece of me.”

“That’s not a bad thing, man.”

“That’s easier for you to say since it’s me we’re talking about.”

That made Foster burst out laughing. “Because that’s never going to happen. Now, why don’t you enjoy living for a change? You’ve been half-dead for too long.”

He wanted to tell his cousin it was like the kettle calling the pot black, but he wouldn’t dare. Things were just too…raw. “I’d like to do that, but now I have to figure out who’s trying to kill her. I know the why. But I don’t know the who, and there are way too many possibilities.”

“Send me the file. My buddies and I will look it over and give you our thoughts, if your buddy Dawson doesn’t mind.”

“He’ll be glad for the help.” Keaton’s computer lit up. Two vehicles. One was Dawson’s patrol car. The other was Monty .

“Talk to you later, and I promise, when this is all over, I’ll be out there to visit.”

“You better, and bring this Trinity. I’d like to meet her.”

“We’ll see.” He hung up the phone and made his way back into the house, locking the doors. He set the computer on the small table in the kitchen before racing to open the front door before anyone rang the bell and woke up Trinity.

“Brought you dinner since I know you probably haven’t eaten.” Dawson held up a bag full of something that smelled like burgers, bacon, and onion rings.

He had never liked onion rings until he’d met Audra.

Now, he loved them. The big ones from Massey’s. They were fried and crunchy on the outside, and he smelled like an onion for days after, but he didn’t care. They were so freaking good.

Hayes stood behind him, sucking on a straw. The man had become addicted to milkshakes. Chocolate. Vanilla. Oreo. It didn’t matter. He loved them. He drank at least one day, sometimes two. Everyone was starting to call him Ken since he loved the things, but Audra and Baily got ornery about the comment, so they’d stopped. But still, Hayes had never even been an ice cream kind of man, so they had no idea where this had come from.

“I’m not going to say no to food from Massey’s.” He choked on the last word. “Someone needs to change the name of that pub. I know his wife still owns it, but it’s on the market, and whoever buys it needs to change the name. I can’t say it without wanting to vomit.”

“You and the rest of this town.” Monty slapped him on the shoulder. “But some people blow through town just to stop there because it’s kind of famous thanks to Paul and his drug and arms business that landed him in prison.”

“Some of that food in there is for the rest of us.” Hayes waved his beverage. “I ordered tots and a burger, and we brought that wrap that Trinity loves.”

“Relax. No one is going to eat your food,” Dawson said with a chuckle. “Are you going to invite us all in?”

“How about we go around back? I don’t want to wake Trinity.” Keaton waved everyone toward the back of the house.

“I’m so glad she’s sleeping,” Dawson said. “We can save her wrap for when she wakes up in the middle of the night because she does that a lot.”

Keaton might have only spent one night with her, but he’d watched her eat a sandwich and an entire piece of chocolate cake at two in the morning.

“Or she can eat it tomorrow. The girl’s a human garbage bin,” Monty said. “Do you have any wine in this place?”

“I stopped and bought some for Trinity on the way home, but it’s not the expensive stuff.” He pointed toward the kitchen.

“Don’t care.” Monty tapped his temple. “Got any whiskey? I don’t usually drink that, but I seriously need to take the edge off.”

“It’s all in that cabinet in the kitchen. Feel free to pick your poison.” Keaton waved his hand toward the front door. “Anyone else want a beer? ”

“I can’t.” Dawson tapped his badge. “Might not be in uniform, but I’m still technically on duty.”

“As soon as I finish this shake, I’ll kick one back. But I’ll get it. You set that up on the table in the back.” Hayes lifted his fingers to his lips and spoke softly. He was always good at respecting and reading the situation, but all the guys were.

Keaton and Dawson slipped out the back with the bag of food, utensils, and paper plates.

“I need to ask you a question and tell you something,” Keaton said, staring at the dark channel of water that led into the depths of the Everglades. Keaton had spent the bulk of his childhood living in Colorado. He loved it there. He loved the mountains. The hiking trails. The snow. Skiing. There wasn’t anything not to like about that state.

When Fletcher had proposed that they all start an airboat touring company in Florida, well, Keaton had balked. Florida was flat and hot and sticky, especially in the summer. He didn’t give a crap about the gators or the snakes. He could deal with those creatures. However, after traveling the globe and seeing the world, he couldn’t imagine what a state like Florida could offer.

There were times when he still struggled, but it had nothing to do with his surroundings and everything to do with grounding himself in one place—making a home for his unsettled spirit.

However, this tiny town had given him something unexpected. It had eased some of his pain. Even he could admit that .

“I’m listening.” Dawson sat at the table, resting his elbows on the wood.

Keaton joined his longtime friend. Dawson was like an older brother, filled with the voice of reason. He was the calm during the storm, and the man had a heart of gold. He’d lost his parents when he’d been young and had been raised by his nana, who had died shortly after he’d joined the Navy.

The military had shaped Dawson. The friendships he’d forged as a SEAL had become the only family he knew, and Keaton was honored to be part of that.

“I called Foster and asked him if he and his team would look at what we know about Trinity’s case,” Keaton said, holding Dawson’s gaze.

Dawson arched a brow. “Foster’s a good man. He’s smart, and I certainly value his opinion, but that’s sensitive police business.”

“Are you telling me you don’t want someone who has no ties to Calusa Cove and all the rumors circulating about what happened to Jared, Trinity, and Mallary, to see if they can find an angle we might have overlooked?”

“Not saying that at all.” Dawson shook his head. “I just need to be careful what I let come out of my office, and what concerns me the most is if anyone finds out we have the jewels.”

“That’s fair, but I’ve already emailed him what I know using the same code language that Foster and I have always used when dealing with sensitive intel. He knows the drill.”

“Of course you have, and I honestly have no problem, but anything he gets didn’t come from me.” Dawson waggled his finger. “That few degrees of separation is definitely needed, not just because I don’t want to lose my job, but for Trinity’s protection. The chatter on this is loud. There is a lot of speculation and too many calls into the station. We’re following every lead, but all of them are coming up as duds.”

“Whoever is after those jewels will come again. I’d be a fool to think they won’t come at me just because I’m a former SEAL. It makes me wonder if holding off on that announcement, that she did find the jewels, is the wrong move.”