Murder in Calusa Cove (Everglades Overwatch #3)

Chapter 1

H ayes Bennett lay in his bunk at the fire station and stared at his cell. He didn’t know what was worse—the fact that she’d called things off in a message or that it bothered him so much.

He had no problem admitting he cared. He cared about every single woman he’d dated. Of course, he did, or why bother taking them out in the first place?

But he didn’t care…enough.

He wasn’t the kind of man to have long-term commitments—except for his career and brothers-in-arms. Those were the only two things that mattered more to him than his own beating heart.

Some might consider that sad, especially since Hayes had a massive family.

He was one of twelve—well, eleven now—and that thought brought him back to the confusion that spread through his veins like the fires he was called to fight.

No woman since he’d been a young man had ever gotten under his skin like Chloe had, not even Betsy.

If he had ever honestly really cared about any girl, it had been her.

Okay, it had been her kid, Fedora. He smiled, remembering how adorable that teenager had been, and he was glad they’d had the opportunity to heal the past now that she was an adult.

When he’d ended the relationship with Betsy, Fedora had hated him—despised him, actually. Two years later, he’d received a heartfelt letter from Fedora. Since then, they wrote letters, spoke on the phone, and had even gotten together.

Hayes was glad for that and grateful she’d been able to forgive him for walking away from her mother.

While the relationship had been mostly good, Hayes had only been twenty-eight. Betsy had been thirty-eight and had a teenage kid.

Hayes didn’t do children, no matter the age, and he hadn’t loved Betsy—not enough anyway. Not the kind of love that made relationships last.

That was the cold, hard truth.

Love.

It was the one thing the world believed Hayes avoided.

Except the world was wrong. It wasn’t that he tried to skirt it.

Or sidestep it somehow. It was that the kind of love Hayes had experienced as a child had come with conditions and manipulations.

His parents and the community he’d grown up in didn’t know or understand what real love was all about, because if they did, they wouldn’t tie it to hell and damnation.

Not that Hayes had any idea about love—though he could see it with Dawson and Audra, and now Keaton and Trinity. They all had a love so pure it was like a flipping fairytale.

But it didn’t make Hayes want to believe in love. He didn’t trust it.

So, why was his chest sore over the fact that a woman—Chloe Frasier, a reserved FBI agent who held her emotions closer to the chest than he did—had rejected him. Why did it bother him so much?

The siren blared.

His colleagues jumped from their bunks, landing on the floor with thuds.

Well, that was a question he’d have to ponder another time. He hiked up his pants and raced into the locker room, collecting his gear and emptying all external thoughts from his brain. When duty called, Hayes knew how to compartmentalize better than most.

“Let’s roll,” Bear, his captain, said.

Hayes climbed into the passenger seat of the engine truck and glanced at his buddy, Carter. “Where are we headed?”

“Purdy Street. The old Crab Shack’s on fire.

” Carter shook his head as he reached for the ignition.

“Some of us townspeople want to bulldoze the place and maybe build a small park or something, but Dewey’s been throwing a fit about that.

He believes the Crab Shack is some kind of historical monument.

Damn restaurant shut down six months ago, but for years it wasn’t doing well and about the only person who ever ate there was Dewey. ”

“Why didn’t Dewey buy it?” Hayes buckled himself and chuckled.

Dewey Hale was an interesting character, as were most of the folks born and raised in the small town of Calusa Cove.

Dewey loved the area, and it showed in the way he told all the old tall tales about pirates and ghosts hidden way up in the Everglades.

Or in how he volunteered during hurricanes and storms. He seemed to be always looking out for his neighbor…

and making sure people didn’t dare touch the mangrove.

He got ornery when anyone did that—maybe a little too ornery.

Of course, the mangrove was protected, and no one but a qualified trimmer could go near it, and in these parts, that person was Dewey Hale.

But the man was strange. He lived alone and always had, according to everyone. He kept to himself mostly, and unless you got him in the evening down at the Pub or just hanging by the marina, he was just the mangrove trimmer that appeared in weird places when you least expected it.

Carter chuckled. “While we all think Dewey is secretly rich, considering he has a freaking Grady White fishing boat, of all things, I doubt he has the funds. He comes from a humble background, and for as long as my family has known Dewey, which has been my entire life, he’s grumbled about every little thing that changes this town right down to painting new yellow lines in the street.

” Carter honked the horn as he eased out of the station house.

“My dad told me that Dewey’s first job when he was ten years old was shucking crabs for old man Tomey, and he doesn’t want to see the place get torn down.

” Carter palmed the wheel and gave the big engine some gas.

“Change is bound to happen, even in this town.”

“Yeah, but Dewey lives in the dark ages. He’s still complaining that a woman runs Mitchell’s.”

“That’s sexist.” But not surprising. Hayes had seen that first-hand a few times when he’d been in the marina and Dewey had needed something.

It was as if he refused to deal with Baily, only wanting a man to help him, scoffing when she was the only one around, and mumbling how her dad would be disappointed.

He’d even gone as far as to tell Fletcher to get off his ass and either marry her, or knock her up, which was beyond rude.

“That’s Dewey, but he’s not a bad guy, just backward.

” Carter flicked on the lights. “Probably why he’s been single his entire life.

I can’t remember ever seeing him with a woman except this nice lady who used to play the organ at the local church.

That didn’t last long because she moved, and Dewey didn’t seem heartbroken over it anyway. ”

“He doesn’t date at all?” Hayes asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, I don’t pay attention. Dewey keeps to himself except for occasionally hanging out with Silas.” Carter shifted his gaze. “My old man told me once that Dewey had a girl back in the day and that she broke his heart, but that was when he was like twenty.”

Hayes knew all about how one woman could change a man’s view on love.

The rest of the eight-minute drive to Purdy Street was done in silence. It was a single station alarm, and there were no expected casualties. That was always a plus.

But it didn’t make fighting the fire any less dangerous. Any number of things could go wrong.

As soon as Carter rolled to a stop, Hayes leapt from the vehicle, pulled his jacket over his shoulders, thrust his arms inside, and plopped his hard hat on his head. His heart danced in his chest. The blood in his veins raced through his body. It was chaos, but his mind was clear.

“Working fire,” his captain called. To most, that seemed like an obvious statement, but all it meant was that firefighting operations had commenced. “Fire attack,” Bear shouted, waving his arms.

Hayes snagged the hose, hooked it to the truck, and twisted the knob. He looped the hose over his shoulder and jogged toward the fire. He was used to running toward danger from his military days. He scanned the area, first assessing the wind and then the size and scope of the flames.

“Over here.” Jenson waved. “Water on the fire.” Another command that had seemed odd at first, but essentially it meant Jenson believed he’d found the main source.

Hayes rounded the corner and stared at the back kitchen door, which had been knocked down, or blown off, or had simply fallen off.

He couldn’t be sure, but flames spewed out like hungry fingers in search of more food, and to a fire, that meant anything that could burn.

He adjusted the hose, turned the knob at the end, and braced as water coursed through it, smacking against the flames and pushing them back.

Other firefighters attacked the fire from different angles.

They shouted commands and projected their progress as the fire slowly dissipated into smoke and ash.

Hayes and Jenson inched closer into the kitchen, dousing the flames as dark smoke billowed into the air, circling toward the sky like a signal to the world that soon every flame would be nothing but a hot ember.

It took forty minutes to put the fire out, which had mostly been contained to the kitchen and half of the old dining area.

Hayes let out a long breath as he turned, sucking in a deeper one.

He always felt as though he’d smoked a dozen cigars after fighting a fire.

He knew he smelled like ash. It probably clung to him for days.

He coughed, set his helmet on the side of the engine truck, and took the water his captain offered, chugging vigorously, as if he’d been depleted of every ounce of hydration.

“Do you mind doing the primary and secondary search?” Bear arched a brow. “We have to go through the motions.”

“I don’t mind.” Hayes nodded. “Can I have Carter at my six?”

Bear shook his head. “He’s still going through investigator school.

He needs the experience with Jenson, and we still need to figure out what caused this fire.

” Bear pointed his finger. “Your buddy, the Chief of Police, is here. I don’t have a problem if you take him with you.

” He shrugged. “He’s a cop. He won’t do anything stupid. ”

Hayes laughed. “You don’t know him like I do.”