Shadows in Calusa Cove (The Aegis Network: The Everglades Division #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

One Month Earlier

Trent Mallor shifted his pickup into park and stared at Karl Simpson’s truck, which was crooked in Trent's driveway. That told Trent everything he needed to know about how this conversation would go.

Karl leaned against the driver's side door, arms crossed, with that easy grin that used to mean trouble was about to get fun. Now it just meant trouble.

Slipping from behind the wheel, Trent made his way across the gravel drive, doing his best to keep his attitude in check.

"Mallor." Karl pushed off the truck and spread his hands wide. "Looking good, brother."

Trent stopped a few feet away, keeping distance between them. “I’m not your brother.” The last time they’d seen each other, about six months ago, it hadn’t gone well. “What do you want?"

"Can't a guy visit an old friend?"

“We stopped being friends the moment you took a gator from my property.”

Karl's grin flickered but didn't die. He was a big man, gone slightly soft around the middle but still carrying the kind of muscle that came from wrestling reptiles for a living. His sun-weathered face was a map of every bad decision he'd ever made, and there'd been plenty.

"Come on. That was years ago. Water under the bridge."

“I don’t think so.” Trent laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Besides that, I spent six months on probation because I took the heat for you. Had to grovel to every conservation officer in the state to get back in their good graces. And what did I get from you for my trouble ? Nothing except the expectation that I’d do it again. ”

“Not true, and I said I was sorry."

"You said it was a misunderstanding."

Karl shrugged. "Semantics."

They'd been friends once. Good friends, even.

They'd done the Python Challenge together three years running, hauling invasive Burmese pythons out of the Glades for bounty money and bragging rights.

They'd pushed boundaries, cut corners, done things that came close to crossing lines that shouldn't be crossed.

Young and stupid and convinced they were invincible.

Then Karl had gotten greedy. Started dealing in animals he had no business dealing in. When the wildlife officers came knocking, it was Trent's name on the paperwork, not to mention he’d been caught with an illegal python kill by Karl, because Trent decided to clean up the mess.

He'd taken the heat. Kept his mouth shut about Karl's involvement because he still believed in loyalty back then. Still believed that the code meant something.

It didn't. Not to men like Karl.

"Look," Karl said, dropping his voice like they were co-conspirators instead of former friends. "I didn't come here to rehash old shit. I came here with an opportunity."

"Not interested."

"You haven't even heard what it is."

"Don't need to." Trent crossed his arms. "Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying."

Karl stepped closer, his eyes bright with the kind of excitement that always preceded disaster.

"I've got clients. The kind with deep pockets and specific needs.

They're looking for someone with your skills—the snake work, the gator handling, the whole package.

We're talking more money than either of us has ever seen. "

"No."

"Just hear me out—"

“I’ve heard more than I wanted to already.” Trent's voice went flat and hard. "My days of skirting the law are over. I've got a business to run. A mother to take care of. I'm not throwing that away to help you make a quick buck off whatever shady deal you've cooked up this time."

Karl's expression soured. "You've gotten soft. That's what this is. Gone all respectable." He said the word like it tasted bad.

"Maybe. Or maybe I just got smart enough to stop making the same mistakes."

"This isn't a mistake. This is the score of a lifetime."

"Then go find someone else to help you score it." Trent jerked his chin toward the truck. "Get off my property. And don't come back."

For a moment, something ugly flickered behind Karl's eyes. The kind of look that made Trent's instincts sit up and pay attention. But then it was gone, replaced by that easy grin again—though it didn't reach his eyes this time.

"You're making a mistake." Karl climbed back into his truck. "A big one. But hey—your funeral."

The engine roared to life, and Karl backed out of the driveway with more speed than necessary, kicking up a spray of gravel and crushed shell.

Trent watched until the truck disappeared around the bend, then stood there a moment longer, letting the tension drain from his shoulders.

The last thing his mom needed was him coming in with a shitty attitude.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Dove: On my way with food. Tell Dolly to keep her mouth shut when I cross the bridge.

Despite everything, Trent smiled. Dovelynn Quinn had a way of doing that—cutting through the noise, making him forget, even for a second, that the world was full of men like Karl Simpson.

Trent: She's not the one you need to worry about. It's the little ones that'll sneak up on you.

Dove: Sometimes I really hate you.

He chuckled, and it felt so damn good.

Trent: See you soon.

He pocketed the phone and headed toward the house just as the hospice nurse stepped out on the porch. “I thought I heard you come home.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She had a good afternoon. Didn’t eat much but tried. We talked for a bit—she was lucid, in good spirits."

“It sounds like there’s a but in there.”

"Her vitals are declining. Slowly, but steadily." She touched his arm, the gesture practiced but not unkind. "I know I've said this before, but—it's time to start thinking about final arrangements. Having those conversations while she's still able to participate in them."

He rubbed the back of his neck. “My mom’s always been a planner and she’s let me know what she wants.”

"Good. That's good, because she really doesn’t have much time left.” She squeezed his arm and let go. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Call if anything changes overnight."

He watched her stroll to her little SUV and drive away. He stood on the porch for a long moment, watching the sun bleed out over Mallor's Landing in shades of orange and copper, spilling across the water like something wounded.

The gators were settling in for the night, their dark shapes drifting through the moat like fallen logs come to life. Somewhere in the cypress stand, an owl called out—one low note, then silence.

Inside the house, his mother was sleeping. Or pretending to sleep. It was hard to tell the difference these days, and he'd stopped asking.

The sound of an engine tickled his ears. Seconds later, Dove’s truck rolled down the drive.

His heart beat a little faster as she emerged from her vehicle and walked across the bridge, glancing left and right, all while scrunching her forehead.

It was adorable. The trained Army sniper, an expression of fear and awe sweeping across her face.

It was rare for Dove to show any vulnerability, but he saw through her defenses.

Through her tough exterior. They weren’t all that different, except he retreated, where she surrounded herself with people.

She appeared at the bottom of the steps, a plastic container in her hands and a careful smile. "I can't believe I'm bringing food to an alligator farm."

“Technically, the farm is the commercial side. This is a natural habitat.”

“That makes it worse. They’re wild, and you let them come live here by choice.

He chuckled. “They can’t get to the house.”

“Right, but I had to cross that damn bridge, and all I saw were eyes in the water. One of them opened their mouth,” she said, with a shudder. Lifting the container, she said, "Chicken and rice. Nothing fancy, but it’s good for the soul.”

Trent took the container, the heat of it seeping through the plastic into his palms. "You didn't have to do this."

"I know."

"I mean it. You've already—"

"Trent." She said his name the way she always did—like a period at the end of a sentence. Final. Not up for debate. "Take the soup. Feed your mother. Stop arguing with me."

“Yes, ma'am."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something soft underneath the gesture. She was so beautiful, with her blond hair, blue eyes, petite frame, and toned muscles. She might be only five-foot-five, but no one should let her size fool them because she was a lethal weapon all by herself.

She was also sweet and kind.

He opened the door, and it creaked on its hinges the way it had since he was a kid.

The cicadas were loud tonight, their chorus rising and falling in waves that washed over the property like a pulse.

Out in the moat, one of the gators bellowed—probably Dolly, complaining about the heat or the humidity or whatever else gators complained about.

Dove hesitated and chose not to step inside.

That didn’t surprise him.

"How is your mom? Really?"

Trent glanced over his shoulder toward the living room, where his mother was propped up on the couch with a blanket over her legs despite the warmth of the evening. She grew thinner every day. Fading like a photograph left too long in the sun.

"She has good moments," he said. “Though, fewer of them."

Dove nodded slowly. She didn't offer platitudes. Didn't tell him it would be okay or that miracles happened or any of the other useless things people said when they didn't know what else to say. She just stood there, solid and present, and let the truth of it sit between them.

"I appreciate everything you've done," he said. "The soup. The company. Sitting with her when no one else was around.” He shook his head. "You didn't sign up for any of this."

“It’s what friends do.” She reached out and squeezed his arm, her grip firm and warm. "I'm here for you. And for her. Whatever you need—I'm just a phone call away."

Friends. When it came to Dove, that word confused him. He set the soup on the table by the door and looked at her for a long moment. The light was doing something to her face, softening the sharp edges.