Chapter 17
The marina office smelled like sun-bleached paper, diesel fumes, and worry.
Baily sat at her desk, trying to pretend she wasn’t counting the minutes to the end of the day.
The morning had started off deceptively quiet—no suspicious boats, no broken equipment, no late-night fuel thefts.
Just a stack of invoices, an overworked coffee pot, and a new knot in her stomach that she couldn’t untangle.
For the first time since her father had passed, she’d missed a payment.
Not once had she been late with that damn loan.
Sure, she’d postponed things like the mortgage, but she knew the lender at the bank.
Known him her entire life. She could call him on the phone, make a deal for a partial payment, and he’d get off her back for a day or two.
She’d take a hit with a late fee for her phone.
She’d worked out deals with other business associates because they knew at the end of the day, Baily would always hold up her end of the bargain.
However, because she had no idea who owned that loan, she’d never once messed with it. Never once taken a chance.
The only good news had been that Fletcher and the boys had won the bid for the Crab Shack. That was something. However, she knew that would trigger a chain reaction with the Barbaros. They’d wanted that land, and they’d lost. Worse, they’d been betrayed.
By Decker. By John.
But she’d been betrayed by her own brother.
That was worse. Fletcher kept telling her that maybe Ken had been stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Maybe there was something they all didn’t know.
Fletcher was so caught up in the idea that he’d been painstakingly going through the rooms of his parents’ house, one by one, searching for anything. He’d become obsessed.
She wasn’t so sure anymore.
She reached for the old ledger she kept as a backup—just in case their digital system failed.
Habit, she supposed. Or superstition. She stared at it for a long moment, thinking about the good old days.
The days when she hadn’t a care in the world.
The days when all that had mattered were sunsets with Fletcher while she’d waited for her parents to fall asleep so she could sneak into Fletcher’s bedroom.
But even those days had been filled with Ken scheming.
He’d always been looking for ways to skirt doing his chores around the marina.
He’d complained about having to work for free, but the reality had been that their father had paid them in other ways.
They’d been able to use the marina boats anytime they hadn’t been rented out, and there had always been at least one readily available.
Money might’ve always been tight, but they hadn’t really wanted for anything. At least she hadn’t. But Ken? He’d wanted the world. He’d always itched for what he didn’t have. A bigger, better boat. A fancy car. Money in his pockets.
Her cell rang. She snatched it up and pressed it against her ear. “Mitchell’s Marina, this is Baily.”
There was a pause, followed by a soft crackle of static, then a man’s voice—sharp, efficient, slightly amused. “Miss Mitchell, this is a courtesy call regarding the pending balance owed on your marina loan.”
Her spine straightened. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her breath hitched. “I’ve already submitted documentation to the holding company. We’ve initiated a dispute—”
The man cut her off from her well-rehearsed speech that Enzo had given her and that she’d practiced with Fletcher all morning.
“You’re in default. Payment was due yesterday, and if you read the fine print, there is no grace period.
As of the close of business today, you owe the entire balance in full.
If you do not make this payment, the deed to the marina belongs to the holding company. ”
Her fingers tightened around the receiver. “I’ve spoken to a lawyer, and that’s not legal.”
The man laughed. “Our contracts are legal, standard, your father signed it, and you’ve been paying. The law is on our side, so if you want to keep your marina, you’ll make that payment. Otherwise, you’re in default and you’ll either have to pay the entire thing or lose it.”
“There’s no signature from me on a default trigger,” she said, voice rising. “And the holding company has been unresponsive to a formal inquiry.”
“Then I suggest you stop wasting time with formalities.” His tone dipped—still smooth, but with a sharp edge now, like glass beneath silk. “You pay, or you forfeit the marina. Simple.”
“I—who the hell are you?” she snapped. “What company do you represent?”
“You don’t need my name. You need cash.” Another pause. “And maybe a little common sense. Your place? It’s not worth the trouble you’re courting. Walk away while you still have a choice.”
The line went dead.
Baily stared at the phone like it might explode.
Then she was on her feet, moving on instinct, shoving open the door. Warm, humid air swept over her like a wave. The early morning haze hadn’t yet lifted, and the sky had that gray, watery glow that warned of a late afternoon storm.
She scanned the marina yard, eyes locking on Fletcher. He was crouched near one of the airboats, tightening a bolt with a socket wrench, sleeves rolled up, muscles flexing as he worked. His bandaged arm did not appear to hinder him at all.
“Fletcher!” Her voice cracked.
He turned instantly, standing and striding toward her, the concern already etched into his face. “What is it?”
She handed him her phone. “Just got a call. Someone demanding payment in full, or I lose the marina by the end of the day. Said I’m in default.” She blinked. “I shouldn’t have come and found you, but I was just so stunned.”
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Is this the number that’s on the bill?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, and I don’t know who it was. He wouldn’t give a name. Just threats wrapped in fake professionalism.”
Fletcher took the phone and tapped the screen. “Got it.” He snapped a screenshot, sent it to himself, and then pulled out his own cell. “I’m sending this to Dawson. He’ll trace it.”
“Do you think it was one of the Barbaros?” she asked quietly.
Fletcher looked up, his expression hardening.
“Could be. Hang on, it looks like Dawson is texting back.” Fletcher tapped his toe and exhaled.
“Okay. Dawson said the number for the shell company you provided earlier routes through a dummy network. This one? Well, it’s not that.
It might give us something real. He’s gonna dig deeper, but it’ll take some time to do that. ”
Baily crossed her arms, hugging herself against the weight of it all. “They’re not playing games. This is real, and they’re gonna take my marina.”
“No,” Fletcher said. “They can try, but as Enzo said, they don’t have a legal leg to stand on.”
“But if I fight them on this, they’ll…they’ll…”
Fletcher curled his fingers around her biceps. “They want you scared. That’s what this is.”
“It’s working,” she whispered. “I’m really frightened. They tried to drown me. They shot you, and they poisoned Decker. What’s next?”
“I won’t let them take your marina or hurt you.”
“This is bigger than Massey’s operation.
We know that,” she whispered. “And in some ways, it’s worse than how Dewey terrorized this town.
My brother was in on this. He knew what they were planning.
My own brother, Fletcher. He betrayed me.
He betrayed all of us.” She looked out over the docks, the quiet water stretching toward the horizon.
Boats bobbed, ropes creaked, and somewhere nearby a gull screamed.
This was her home.
“We’re going to beat them at their own game,” Fletcher said softly. “I need you to trust me.”
“I do,” she whispered. “And the Barbaros, they’ll have to rip this place out of my cold, dead hands because I won’t let them win.”
Fletcher paced the narrow strip of floor in his guest room, the carpet worn thin from boots and restless nights.
He’d emptied the closet, tossing out old linens, dusty boxes, a stack of mismatched throw pillows that had no home, and still—nothing.
Just air, walls, and silence that pressed too heavily on his shoulders.
He couldn’t shake the feeling.
Something was here. Something Ken had left behind.
The bastard had been on his porch more times than Fletcher could count, even during years when he should’ve been visiting his own family. And then there was Ray—that damn notebook he’d handed over like it was nothing. Like it hadn’t taken years off his life.
He sank to his knees, running his hands along the baseboards. Nothing. No scuff marks. No loose panels. He dragged a hand through his hair and blew out a frustrated breath.
Behind him, Baily’s voice drifted in from the doorway. Soft. Cautious. “Fletch…maybe you should take a break. You’ve been at this for hours.” She’d not only lost any faith that they’d find something, but she no longer believed her brother had possessed a single ounce of dignity or loyalty.
Fletcher held out a shred of hope because in all the years he’d served with Ken, one thing had always held true—Ken had always had his six. He’d never failed to save his ass. He’d always been right there in the line of fire, ready and willing to take a bullet for each one of his teammates.
Ken had been a different man on base than when Julie or her family had been lingering in the background, pulling his strings, telling him what to do, how to act, even what to say half the time.
But there’d always been something lurking in Ken’s eyes.
Something that Fletcher hadn’t ever quite been able to put a finger on.
At first, he’d thought it had to do with Audra and how that had all gone down.
Then he’d figured it was Julie and how she just hadn’t taken to Navy life and the boys.
But it was deeper. Darker. More dangerous.