Chapter 11
Friday night, as the sky turned salmon and gray and the moon was just peeking out over the horizon, Caleb headed toward the outskirts of Haywood Lake, the radio cranking out oldies while he tapped the beat on the steering wheel.
He was meeting several of the guys for drinks and dinner at the Rusty Anchor Tavern.
Apparently it was far enough off the beaten path that the pavement ran out a half mile back.
The place sat near an abandoned marina, a place he hadn’t known existed until now.
He pulled up beside a weather-beaten dock. The lot was full, although that wasn’t saying much since it was fairly small. There were a handful of trucks, a couple of battered Jeeps, a vintage Chevy that’d been restored to its former glory, plus a couple of mud-splattered Harleys side by side.
The tavern was a squat, low-roofed building with cedar siding faded from the sun and time.
Light spilled from the windows, creating uneven shadows across the parking lot.
A rusted tin sign that read The Rusty Anchor hung outside double wooden doors, its paint faded and the anchor graphic chipped.
The whole place gave off a vibe that you could either let down your hair or be smart enough to keep your wits about you.
Caleb stepped inside and glanced around.
The walls were paneled in faded knotty pine, something he hadn’t seen for a long while.
A row of mismatched barstools hugged a dented copper-topped bar, every one occupied.
Heads turned when he walked in, then everyone went back to drinking.
The place smelled of fried fish, cedar smoke, and cold beer.
High-top tables filled the middle of the floor; booths lined the sides.
He spotted Titus, Finn, and Ford in a corner.
And surprise, surprise, Nate Kinney had decided to grace them with his presence.
Nate had been tied up on a long-term security detail that had just finished.
Caleb barely knew the man even though they both had a cabin on the Brotherhood campus. He ordered a beer and headed over.
Titus lifted a hand. “About time. We thought you got lost.”
Caleb slid into the booth. “Didn’t realize we were going off-grid to get dinner.”
“Classy, isn’t it?” Ford said, grinning.
Caleb glanced around. “That’s one way to describe it. Although it’s got that old Florida vibe going.” He smirked. “Really old Florida.”
Nate nodded. “Yeah, it does. But Owen keeps the place tight. You cause a fight, you’re out.”
“Owen?” Caleb asked.
“Owner, Owen Fletcher,” Nate replied. “I’ve stopped in a few times after running training sessions near the creek.”
Titus arched a brow. “You making friends?”
“Hey. I have friends.” Nate shot him a look. “I said I know him. Didn’t say anything about singing ‘Kumbaya’ while braiding friendship bracelets.”
The guys chuckled. Caleb grabbed a menu. “Well, if you trust him, that’s good enough. Although I’d hate to arm-wrestle some of the guys here.”
“Ass,” Nate said, shaking his head. “Food’s solid. Beer’s cold. And nobody bothers anybody.”
Caleb leaned back. “Works for me.” He was just about to ask what was good on the menu when a voice cut in.
“Evenin’, gentlemen. You ready to order?”
He glanced up and nearly did a double take. The server standing beside their table was young, red-haired with freckles, pretty enough to stop traffic, but she moved like someone was going to jump out at her. Her blue eyes were sharp, clocking each of their features.
“What’s good tonight?” asked Titus.
“The grouper bites,” she answered. “Owen swears he caught it fresh, but he lies.”
She chuckled. “They’re still great. We also have a smoked brisket sandwich in addition to what’s on the menu.”
Ford grinned. “Well, I’m game for the grouper.”
Caleb nodded. “Grouper sounds good.”
She clicked her pen and took their orders and the menus. “Refills on the drinks?”
After she left, Caleb couldn’t help noticing Nate kept his gaze on her back for a moment longer than necessary.
“Friend of yours?” he asked.
“Nah.” Nate shrugged. “I’ve seen her here before. Norah Holt. She works a lot of shifts.”
“Thinking of asking her out?” asked Titus. “She’s a good-looking woman.”
Nate shook his head. “Just because some of you are pussy-whipped doesn’t mean the rest of us are looking to get hitched.”
Titus snorted. “If by pussy-whipped you mean I have to put up with a confident woman who knows the way to my heart, then yeah, guilty.”
“Same,” said Ford.
“Ditto,” said Finn.
A moment later, Owen came barreling out of the kitchen with a tray of food.
He looked to be in his late forties, solid build.
Blond hair was going gray at the temples, and a trimmed beard covered his tanned face.
His forearms were strong, and his eyes were sharp.
He planted the food on a nearby table, nodded their way and hollered.
“Kinney! You bring half the damn county with you tonight?”
“Tried,” Nate shot back.
Owen chuckled and disappeared again.
Norah returned with their drinks, setting them on the table. “Food’ll be up soon.”
“Thanks,” Caleb replied.
She nodded, gave them a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes and headed for another table.
Ford watched her go. “She seems nice.”
“Yeah,” Titus agreed. “But she’s got that look.”
Caleb cocked his head. “What look?”
“Like she’s waiting for something to go wrong,” Titus said quietly. “Or someone she doesn’t want to see walking in that door.”
Caleb didn’t want to admit he’d seen it too.
Nate didn’t say a word.
Ford took a swallow of beer and then nodded toward the now dark window. “Hard to believe this used to be a marina.”
Owen passed with a tray and snorted. “Weston family donated half the funding for it back in the day. County let it rot when they built the new one.” He shook his head. “Typical government bureaucracy.” He was gone before anyone could ask more.
Caleb frowned. “Weston?”
Nate lifted his beer. “Yeah. Ran across the name when I was researching training routes. They’re an old Haywood Lake family with more money than God.”
Ford raised a brow. “How’d they tie into a marina?”
“It wasn’t the marina,” Nate said. “It was a federal pilot program. After a bad hurricane season, FEMA funded something called the Weston-Haywood Lake Coastal Resilience Project.
“The state administered it. The counties executed it,” he went on. “The Weston family came in with matching funds, land access, and a whole lot of local pull. Their name went on everything.”
“What kind of infrastructure?” asked Finn.
“Emergency supply storage units,” Nate replied. “Food, ice, water, first-aid kits. Placed all along Haywood Lake’s evacuation routes, marinas, back roads, anywhere people might get stranded. Every unit logged. Every location mapped.”
“And the county just left them there?” Titus asked.
“Pretty much,” Nate replied. “Once the grant money dried up, maintenance stopped. Most are rusted shut. A couple are half-buried. Hell, the one I found looked like it hadn’t been opened in thirty years.”
Caleb tilted his head. “Why put emergency lockers in the woods?”
“Publicity,” Nate said. “Big name on a flashy project, then the whole thing dies the minute the cameras leave.”
“So just random metal boxes out there?” Finn asked.
“Not random.” Nate said. “Just forgotten.” He smirked. “They were built to withstand hurricanes and stay sealed. You get locked inside one of those now, no one’s hearing you. Hell, most people don’t even remember they exist.”
“Sounds charming,” Caleb said.
What a waste of money. Man, if he ever had that kind of money, he’d put it to use helping people. Not leave a steel box rotting in the woods.
“Here’s to the Florida version of wilderness,” Nate replied, lifting his beer. “Gators, snakes, abandoned marinas and storm lockers no one remembers.”
“Welcome to paradise,” quipped Finn.
The guys clinked glasses.
Norah passed by with a tray heading for another table, then drifted back toward the bar. Owen came out carrying a tray stacked with empties. He paused at their booth.
“You boys doing okay?”
“Good so far,” Titus said.
Owen nodded. “Food’ll be up in a few.”
He glanced toward Norah wiping down a high top. “If you need anything, flag her down. Girl’s a hard worker. Picks up shifts fast, doesn’t complain and keeps the drunks under control.” He huffed a laugh. “Wish I had three more like her.”
Caleb followed his gaze.
“Oh, she mentioned looking for extra gigs. Side work. Serving, bartending, whatever pays honest. If you boys hear of anything, send it her way.”
“Will do,” Caleb said.
Owen nodded and headed off.
Ford took a long swallow of beer and then set it down. “Extra gigs, huh? She looks tired as it is.”
“Times are tough,” Titus murmured.
But Caleb wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking about Mia. How she seemed to be scrambling to find last-minute help. Norah fit the bill.
He tucked the thought away.