Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Sterling pulled into Harvey’s Cabins with the windows down and one hand loose on the wheel. Everyone always told him he was too uptight. This was him trying to act casual. Trying to be just another guy going to meet an old friend.
Harvey's was the kind of place that reminded him of summer camp, except the accommodations were top-notch on the inside and comfortable as hell. Dawson and his wife had done an excellent job of remodeling when they'd taken over.
The property sat on the backside of one of the windy canals that fed into the Everglades. It had tetherball and a basketball court, and the guests could also launch kayaks into the water. It was a great find, and during the busy season, it was rare that there was a vacancy.
Sterling had lived in number six for a month before he bought his house.
He’d liked it here. The small porch. The smell of salt and vegetation that drifted in from the water. At night, he’d heard gators bellowing across the canal and Dawson’s wife, Audra, laughing with their children.
Back then, the quiet had made him feel out of place. But today, it had settled into his bones like he belonged.
Sterling parked in front of cabin four where Doyle sat on the porch with his boots propped on the rail and a beer loose in his hand.
He wore cargo pants, a gray T-shirt, and an easy smile.
He fit into Calusa Cove like he'd been born there.
But you could stick that man in a city, and he'd blend in just as well. Sterling hated that about him.
Sterling killed the engine and stepped out.
Doyle lowered his beer. “Sterling Fox. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was driving home from work and thought I'd stop by instead of calling,” Sterling said.
“That doesn't sound overly friendly.” Doyle pointed the beer at him. “Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this?”
“Because you won't," Sterling said. "Mind if I have a beer?” The one thing Sterling knew about Doyle was that he liked attention, and Sterling never deprived him of it when they worked together.
He hadn't gone out of his way to give it to him.
He didn't call him before ops. Or even after them.
But once in the same space, he made sure he treated Doyle just like any other man on his team.
Because Sterling had never thought being a dick was a good idea.
Still didn’t, even he didn't trust Doyle.
“That, I can help with.” Doyle dropped his boots off the rail and nodded to the empty chair. “Pull up a seat. Take a load off.”
Sterling climbed the three steps and settled into the chair, angling it enough to keep Doyle, the door, and his truck in the same line. Doyle would notice, but he wouldn't call Sterling on it, because Doyle would be doing the same exact thing in his place.
Doyle reached into a small cooler beside him and pulled out a bottle. “Still drink whatever’s cold?”
“My tastes have gotten pickier since I've gotten older, but that will do just fine.”
“As long as you've gotten all weird and fancy.” Doyle handed him the beer. "I see all these twenty-something kids drinking those vodka seltzers and shit. Mango, pear, and peach flavors. Weird stuff."
"The pear ones are pretty damn good." Sterling twisted off the cap and took a sip. A nice lager, cold enough to bite, exactly right for a cabin porch in Florida around suppertime.
Doyle eyed him over the neck of his own bottle. “So, what made you pull off the road and into this parking lot?"
Sterling leaned back. “I lived here when I first came to town.” He decided a little small talk might be a good idea. Get Doyle a little more curious because he knew as well as anyone that Sterling didn't just show up anywhere for no reason.
“No shit?”
“That cabin right over there.” He pointed. "The one with the two little boys sitting on the steps playing cards."
“I like it here,” Doyle said, looking out across the trees toward the thin silver flash of water beyond the cabins. “This whole town. It gets under the skin, you know. The peace and quiet. The way everyone smiles, waves, and looks you right in the eyes. Don't get that most places.”
“No, you don't.” Sterling took another drink and thought of Juniper.
How she fit in this town without even trying.
She'd told him earlier how she'd felt like a real phony.
But there wasn't one fake thing about her.
Not even when she was lying to him about who she was.
A strange fact that he'd so easily reconciled.
“Some places are worth letting in,” Sterling said. "This is one of them."
Doyle lifted his bottle. “I’ll drink to that.”
They sat quiet for a moment—a calculated decision on Sterling's part. He didn't want to appear too eager to deliver his news so when it landed, it seemed like he was genuinely cut up about it.
A cicada started up somewhere in the tree line. From the office, the old ice machine kicked on, rattled like it had bones inside, then settled into a low mechanical hum.
“You didn’t come here to talk about the charm of Harvey’s Cabins, or this little town of yours.”
“You're right about that.”
“Then hit me with whatever's on your mind.”
"This isn't easy for me to say." Sterling turned the beer bottle between both palms. “But I’ve got some bad news.”
Doyle’s smile stayed where it was. “That so?”
“I've reconsidered the job."
Doyle sat forward, elbows on his knees. “Dude. You can’t do that to me.”
“I’m sorry, but I can't take it.”
“I already told my boss. He’s excited about working with the Aegis Network. Loves the reputation. Loves Buddy’s background. Loves the whole Everglades Division thing you’ve got going.” Doyle spread one hand. “He’s hoping this is the beginning of a beautiful new partnership.”
“It was a good pitch, but I still can’t take it.”
Doyle set his beer on the table with a soft thunk. “Why not?”
“The more I thought about it, the more I realized I can’t touch anything near that corridor.”
“That’s the reason?” Doyle leaned back and folded his arms. “The corridor? That's lame as shit and you know it.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Come on, man. This is an easy assignment. More grunt work than anything. You've worked through worse.”
“I have, and that's the point," Sterling said.
“You built half your career walking into things nobody else wanted to go near.”
“That was when the government asked me to do it.”
Doyle tipped his head. “This is threat verification and protection. Private side, sure, but clean. Frost is scared. He has reason to be. You know better than anyone that pieces from that pipeline didn’t vanish just because we pulled one man out of Bogotá.”
Sterling kept his face relaxed. “I know.”
“Then help me.”
“I can’t.”
Doyle rubbed both hands over his face. “Does this have anything to do with Nick being in town?”
Sterling expected a lot out of this conversation, but that wasn't one of them. “How’d you know Nick was in here?”
“Small-town gossip, I guess.” Doyle shrugged. “What’s he here for, anyway?”
“Dove and Trent’s wedding," Sterling said. “He and Dove worked a couple of ops together years ago, and I guess Nick knew her uncle, who was with the Marshal's office.”
“Right, because Nick knows everybody.”
Sterling chuckled before taking another sip. “I really am sorry. I hope there are no hard feelings. I was looking forward to working with you again.”
“Then work with me. Take the fucking job.”
“I told you, I can’t.”
“You keep saying that, but you haven’t given me a real reason.”
Sterling tapped his temple with two fingers. “You know why.”
"Your memory isn’t a valid reason.”
“It is, when the things in there belong to the government.”
“You’re not selling state secrets on a street corner. You’d be helping a client identify whether old corridor ghosts are coming for him.”
“Those ghosts have names.”
“Exactly. Names you might remember.”
Sterling lowered his chin. “And the government wouldn’t like me pulling them out for a private job.”
“They won’t find out.”
“But they already have." Sterling arched a brow. “Remember how I thought you might have been sent here to warn me? Or check up on me?”
Doyle shook his head. “Nick?"
Sterling laughed. “Like the government would trust that crazy motherfucker with an assignment like that."
Doyle’s mouth tipped. “He always was a little unstable.”
“I won't argue that.” Sterling set his beer on the porch between his boots. “But seriously, I can’t do it. I’m sorry.”
Doyle picked at the label on his bottle. “This puts me in a bad spot.”
“I wish things were different.”
“My boss doesn’t love surprises.”
“Most bosses don’t.” Sterling stood. “Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him Buddy reviewed the circumstances, and I had to bow out.”
"Because my boss would believe that line of crap." Doyle sighed, waving a finger toward the dirt pavement. "Looks like we're getting a visit from the local police chief."
Dawson strolled down the road wearing jeans and a faded Calusa Cove Police Department T-shirt.
His badge clipped to his belt loop. Gun holstered on his right side and flip-flops on his feet because Dawson Ridge could walk into a murder scene dressed like he was taking out the trash and still make people listen.
He lifted a hand. “Howdy fellas.”
“Hey, Chief,” Sterling said.
Dawson paused at the edge of the porch. “Mind if I have a word, Sterling.”
“About?” Sterling asked.
“The gator incident at Juniper's. I got some information. I just need to go over some of it with you, in private.”
"No problem." Sterling turned. “I'll talk to you later.”
“Stay in touch," Doyle said.
“I will.” And this time, Sterling actually meant it.
Sterling followed Dawson down the steps and across the dirt drive toward Sterling's truck. He didn’t look back right away. He waited until he reached the driver’s side door.
Doyle had taken out his cell and pressed it to his ear.