Chapter 17 #2
"Okay," Buddy said. “Doyle, who else knows Sterling was requested for this contract?”
“Just me and my boss, so far. But if you choose to accept, my entire team, and of course the client, will be informed.”
Sterling turned his bottle with two fingers. “The mission packet had my name. That had to be created by someone. Who?”
“I did that.”
“Convenient," Sterling said, his gaze still locked on the man with the hat and the hoodie.
The door swung open, and Dawson entered in jeans, boots, and a navy T-shirt. Jasper two steps behind him. Dawson scanned the patio first, then the bar. Once he found who he was looking for, he marched right toward him.
The chatter in the bar lowered, but not too much. However, everyone turned and watched.
“I didn’t do anything,” the man said, loud enough now for the words to carry. “I came in for a beer. What the hell?”
"Let's take this outside, nice and civil," Dawson said.
Thirty seconds later, the door shut behind them.
The bar erupted into whispers. Calusa Cove loved a wedding, a funeral, a good sandwich, and a public removal with equal enthusiasm.
Doyle picked up his beer. “What the heck was that about?”
"Dawson wanted him for questioning regarding something," Sterling said.
"Do you know what?" Doyle asked.
"Not the details." Sterling shifted. His mind had wandered to the parking lot, wondering what Dawson was saying to the man in the hoodie.
Sterling wished he were outside listening.
Too many questions. Too many things that didn't make sense.
And Doyle was still right in the middle of it, even though he wasn't.
"So, what do you think about the job?" Doyle asked. "Are you interested at all?"
Thing was, if Doyle hadn’t rolled into town and everything between the robbery to this point in time hadn't occurred, the job would still be a hard no. It wasn't that he didn't like working, because he loved his job. But he didn't want to work with Doyle again. Ever.
But there were things in his brain regarding the corridor that could never get out. Those things that Doyle had referenced that had never made it to paper hadn't been put in an after-action report for a reason.
And this was exactly why Juniper had been assigned to him.
Dawson stepped back inside and made his way to the patio door. He stopped at Sterling's table and stared down at him. “Got a minute?”
"Sure."
"Outside?"
"Both of us?" Buddy asked.
Dawson held up one hand. “I just need Sterling for now.”
"I feel so unloved." Buddy lifted his beer.
"I'll be right back." Sterling followed Dawson through the pub and out into the warm night.
The man in the hoodie stood near Dawson’s SUV with Jasper beside him. His hat was on top of the cruiser. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties. His face was thin, and he had sunburn across his nose.
“This is Owen Miller," Dawson said. "Lives two towns over. Works part-time at a boat rental place. No record beyond a drunk and disorderly from four years ago.”
Owen pointed at Sterling. “Yeah. This is the guy I was supposed to make sure saw me.”
Sterling arched a brow. "Excuse me?"
“He was paid quite a pretty penny to wear this hoodie and that hat and parade through the bar in front of you.” Dawson planted his hands on his hips. "Show him the email."
Owen handed Sterling his phone.
Sterling scanned the words on the page. He checked the date. The time. And the name. None of it made sense. He lifted his gaze. “Do you know who this is?”
“No idea," Owen said. “I'm sorry. It was easy cash.
And I really need the money. I mean, the dough was right where this guy said it was.
But as you can see from the email, if I didn't do what he said after I took the payment—well, I couldn't risk him coming after me. I got a sick kid.” Owen glanced over his shoulder. "I'm scared he's watching."
“I can't promise you whoever this guy is that he's not,” Dawson said. "But I can promise you that my department and your local one will keep an eye on you as long as you cooperate."
Sterling handed the phone back. “Ten thousand? That's a lot of money just to wear a sweatshirt and a hat.”
"I thought it was a joke until I opened the locker." Owen swiped his eyes.
“Did anyone approach you at the station?” Sterling asked.
“No. I used the code. Took the bag and left.” Owen shrugged.
“Cameras?” Sterling asked Dawson.
“Already calling Port Vista PD,” Dawson said. “We’ll pull station footage. Anna’s waking up a judge for what we need on the email. Jasper’s taking him in for a statement, and I don't see any reason to book him.”
"I don't, either," Sterling said, even though he wasn't a cop, and it wasn't his call.
“You recognize anything in the wording?” Dawson asked. "Anything that matches a case you're working on? Or something that can help me?"
“Not really. But let’s talk in private at my house tonight, okay?” Sterling glanced toward the pub. “This might be connected to the Crab Shack situation, and that could be connected to something else.”
“I can do that,” Dawson said.
"See you later." Sterling turned on his heels and made his way back to the pub with the email committed to memory.
He eased back into the booth and held Doyle's gaze. “Unless my boss has a reason we shouldn’t, I’ll take the job.”
Buddy’s brows rose. “I'd still like some more intel, and I want to be read in on everything, but I'll let you go on this one.”
"Great." Doyle rubbed his hands together. "I'm looking forward to working with you again. Just let me know what you need. And feel free to call my boss.”
“I'll do that,” Buddy said.
Doyle checked his watch. “Well, I better go find Tara. She's been dying to see this movie, and while I'm hanging around this town, I'm enjoying hanging around her.” Doyle picked up one last fritter and popped it into his mouth. “Anything else before I bug out?”
“I'll touch base with you in the morning,” Sterling said.
“All righty then." Doyle jumped to his feet and groaned, grabbing his calf.
"You alright?" Sterling asked.
"Old injury. Acts up every once in a while." He shook out his leg. "Talk to you boys then." Doyle lifted a hand toward Juniper through the window and disappeared into the crowd, favoring his right leg.
Sterling lifted his beer and took a sip, scanning the room, waiting until he saw Doyle and Tara leave, arm in arm. "Did you notice his limp?"
"I did," Buddy said. "But right now I'm more interested in what triggered you to come in hot and ready to work with Doyle?" Buddy asked.
“Someone, maybe Doyle, maybe not, is going to weird lengths to make me work with that dickhead again, so I might as well lean into it.”
Buddy gave him a long, unhappy look. “That is terrible logic.”
“It’s also the only logic currently making sense.”
“You realize this could be a trap.”
Sterling looked toward the street, where Dawson’s SUV pulled away with Jasper behind him. The patio lights buzzed above them. A gator bellowed somewhere down by the inlet, low and pleased with itself, as if the whole swamp had heard the conversation and approved of the terrible idea.
“Of course, it’s a trap,” Sterling said. “That’s why I want to see who built it.”