Chapter 4
Chapter Four
By eight-thirty, the town wore the heat like a damp shirt. The Everglades buzzed across the street—cicadas drilling, frogs croaking, alligators moaning that low, steady breath that said the swamp was ready for anything.
Fallon locked her front door, slid her phone into her back pocket, and paused when it buzzed. She glanced at the screen.
Unknown number. No preview.
That was never good, but it also never stopped her from looking at the unnecessary spam that seemed to come across her cell weekly.
It didn’t matter that she’d done a purge of her passwords.
Somewhere, somehow, her data had been leaked, and she hadn’t been able to stop the influx of spam that assaulted her phone and email.
She thumbed the screen, and the words hit like a palm to the sternum.
You can’t save them all
No name. No punctuation. No call-back.
Training slid into place. She didn’t reply.
Didn’t poke it. She took a clean screenshot, saved it, and let the message sit there until the sick little pulse in her neck eased a notch.
She could send it to her boss, Keaton. Or to Dawson.
Maybe Buddy first—since she was heading there anyway—to get a read before she lit up anyone’s phone.
Because it was probably just spam.
She set off toward the Calusa Cove Café, one block down the sunbaked sidewalk, and looked forward to a bit of gossip with a few locals while getting her morning brew.
Dawson’s newest landscaper was out front of the Harvey’s Cabins in his floppy hat, hose arcing across the gravel.
A couple of tourists hauled coolers toward their trunks.
The OPEN sign in the office window blinked along like it had all the time in the world.
No matter the heartache this town had tossed at her over the years—her missing friend, who was still technically missing, and the loss of her parents—she still loved this place.
The café door chimed as it opened, letting out a wave of coffee and sugar. Ceiling fans pushed heavy air in lazy circles. Regulars were posted up like fixtures—bait shop guys, two retirees who played dominoes with a vengeance, a pair of nurses on night shift, and Silas.
Who didn’t love that crazy man?
“Hey there, Dynasty,” Silas said. “My wife wants to know if you’re coming to book club this month.”
“Tell her I’ll be there, and for the love of all that’s holy, please stop calling me that.”
Silas tipped his head back and laughed. “Not on your life. Besides, you kind of look like the actress who played the new Fallon on the newer version of that show.”
“She has red hair, and mine is brown. Not to mention her personality is more like Trinity’s.
I don’t even own a pair of heels.” She glanced down at her flip-flops and wiggled her toes.
Trinity would never. Yeah, her boss’s wife wouldn’t be caught dead in these.
Glancing up at, Silas, she added, “I can’t believe you watch that crap. ”
“Started watching all sorts of different things since my brother’s kid came to live here.
” Silas ran a hand over his white stubble.
“Cullen, he doesn’t want to watch anything military related.
Crime shows affect him negatively, so it's high family drama and screaming women when he comes over. It’s something different.
Wife likes it and Cullen’s lighter and he laughs more. Smiles more. And that’s the point.”
Cullen had grown up in Calusa Cove. He was closer to Trent’s age than Fallon’s, but she’d remembered Cullen from before he’d taken off for the Marines right after he turned eighteen.
He’d been an outgoing and outspoken young man.
He played a sport every season, he’d been popular, and no one would have ever describe him as shy.
But the man who’d returned a hero from the Marines was quite a different person. Quiet. Reserved. And a couple of years ago, he’d been afraid of his own shadow.
“I noticed he’s been spending some time with Trent.”
“Is there a problem with that, Dynasty?” Silas asked.
“Please. Quite the opposite.
“Good, because I’ve been encouraging it, which is funny because those two boys couldn’t stand each other when they were kids.
My brother and Trent’s mom had to go down to the high school at least twice because of fights between those two.
My brother and his wife didn’t know what to do. Cullen was normally such a good kid.”
“I’m a couple of years younger, but I can tell you that Trent was good at starting things and pushing people into finishing them.”
“Trent’s changed a lot since then. So has Cullen.
” Silas snagged his coffee from the counter, inched closer, and gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Your dad would be so proud of the person you’ve become.
” Silas smiled and then disappeared out the door.
God, she adored that man. He always said the perfect things at precisely the right moment.
“You look like you could use a coffee and a prayer,” Heather said, already reaching for a cup.
“Close,” Fallon said. “I need two. One black and one with oat milk. And whatever muffins didn’t get murdered by sunrise.”
“Blueberry and banana nut. That do?”
“I’ll take one of each.”
Heather tipped her chin toward the TV mounted in the corner. Last night’s broadcast played on mute—Stacey Mohawk mid-smile, light brown hair shellacked into submission, the banner marching across the bottom: Snake Wrangler Saves Young Woman in Everglades Rescue.
Fallon pressed her tongue to her molars. “Why won’t any other station hire her?”
“I don’t know. But she could stand in front of a thunderstorm and report sunshine,” Heather said. “I didn’t watch the news last night but heard all about the rescue from Silas. Did Stacey even mention your name?”
“As a concept,” Fallon said. “Local FWC officer, assisting.”
Heather snorted. “Trent gets the hero cut, and you get the weather. I don’t get it. Stacey doesn’t even like Trent. I think she called him a Cobra once.”
“I’m not in it for the camera time.”
Heather laughed. “She’s in it for all of us.”
The bell over the door jingled again.
“Speaking of trouble wrapped in handsome with an ego the size of Texas.” Heather fanned herself. “Too bad I’m taken.”
Trent sauntered in with that sexy swagger that everyone mistook for arrogance.
He was anything but. Hat tipped back, jeans damp at the hem, grin fast and easy.
He smelled like the river and aftershave and the kind of choices people explained to their mothers later.
That kind of man used to appeal to Fallon, especially right after her parents had died.
She’d only been twenty, and all she could think about was feeling the pain while trying to numb it at the same time.
“Well, look at what the river brought in,” he said, hopping onto the stool beside her. “You want me to sign your muffin?”
“Sign your own sugar rush,” Fallon said, not looking at him.
He barked a laugh and jerked his chin at the TV. “I’d like to sign a snake and put it under Stacey’s seat.”
“Now, why would you want to do that?” she asked. “She made you look like a hero.”
“Don’t even get me started.” He leaned in. “Stacey ambushed me last night at Massey’s. Asked for an ‘exclusive sit-down.’ I told her the gator had more charisma and to go find him.”
“You’re going to end up on her enemies list.”
“Already there.” He grinned. “Pretty sure you are, too.”
“Please. She can’t spell my name.”
He glanced at her, humor softening. “You good?”
“I’m about to be caffeinated,” she said. “That’s as good as it gets.”
“Not what I’m talking about, and you know it.
” The creases in his forehead and around his eyes softened.
Trent had a wild streak, no doubt. He’d raised hell as a teenager and got into the kind of trouble that had given him a reputation he hadn’t been able to shed.
But deep down, Trent was a wounded man with a big heart.
She’d seen that side of him more than once.
“I’m hanging tough, just like always.”
He smiled, soft and subtle. Not the flashy grin that was meant to melt girls' hearts and charm them out of their pants. “Did you get my list of donations for the silent auction? And I can work more volunteer hours if you need me to. Just ask.”
“I will. And thanks.”
Heather slid over a drink carrier and tucked a warm paper bag on top. “Two larges and two muffins. And tell Buddy I said hello.”
Fallon reached for her wallet. “Who says I’m meeting Buddy?”
Heather made a face. “Only man I’ve ever known who gets a coffee with oat milk. And you take it black.”
Trent tipped his hat at Fallon with his best you’ll-miss-me-when-I’m-gone smile. “You and Buddy, eh? Why am I not surprised.”
“We’re in South Florida,” Fallon said. “Not Canada.” Focusing on anything other than his and Heather’s observations.
“Semantics.” His eyes sparked. “And mention to your friend Dove that it’s rude not to respond to texts.”
Fallon narrowed her stare. “You didn’t actually give her another chance after the whole python thing?”
“Just do me a solid and ask her to give me a call,” he said, pushing off the stool.
Trent was a lot of things, but he didn’t brag about his conquests.
Actually, he was a private man when it came to his short-lived affairs.
He might be a big flirt out in public, but once things got going, he was completely different. “See you at the fundraiser.”
She rolled her eyes and took the tray.
Outside, the heat slapped her. The cabins shimmered in the morning light, hose water beading on the gravel like scattered beads. She crossed the street, coffees steady in the carrier, muffin bag hooked over her wrist, sweat already tickling down her spine.
Halfway down the block, a dark muscle car crept by. Tinted windows. Engine too loud. It rolled slow enough to be noticeable, slow enough to catalog targets without revealing an identity.