“Here.” Cullen handed her a cold bottle of water before dropping the cooler behind her seat as he stretched out on her bow. His skiff bobbed beside her FWC boat, the line between them taut and neat. “You look deep in thought.”
“And you got a haircut.” She twisted the cap open and forced a smile. Her mother used to say she had a bad habit of redirecting conversations when they got too close to her heart.
Cullen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You noticed.” He ran a palm over his shorter hair, the gesture easy, unbothered. It barely brushed the back of his neck now.
“Been slowly cutting it shorter and shorter,” he said. “Needed to stop scaring the tourists. My uncle has been giving me a hard time about it. So has my aunt. But the real reason is I want to see my son, and my ex-wife won’t let me unless I show real effort in change, and looking like a human is part of that agenda.”
“How old is your son?”
Cullen smiled—prideful. “He’s six. Looks like me, but smart and kind like his mother. They moved to Jupiter with her family when I was medically discharged from the Marines. Tamara told me that as long as I’m working on myself, I can have supervised visits, so I go there twice a month. I’m hoping that soon, Tyler can come here and stay with me. But I need to deal with the nightmares.”
“told me Fletcher had them. That all the guys had them after being tortured and Ken being murdered.”
“Dawson’s had more than one conversation with me about it. So have Hayes, Keaton, and Fletcher.” Cullen shook his head. “My uncle’s been putting me in their path ever since I came to town. All I want is to be a good father.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“I don’t know. I got so messed up in the head that I didn’t know reality from fiction.” He tapped his temple. “But I’m getting the help I need. My Uncle Silas and Aunt Opal are amazing people. I’m so lucky to have family like that.”
She took a swig of her water. “Well, I like this hairstyle on you. Fits your face. Did you get it done in town?”
“Harley’s been doing it. We swap services. I’m making her a couple of pieces of furniture, and she’s been giving me free haircuts for a while.”
“That’s nice.” Fallon lifted her feet and stretched out her legs across the bench. “You two have been spending a lot of time together.”
“I’ve been out on the water a lot lately.” Cullen leaned back on the bow of the boat. “The addition to the bed and breakfast is done. Decker doesn’t have any local work for me right now and I don’t want to relocate to Fort Myers for his next job. That’s too far from my son. Fletcher and Baily have me work building some furniture, and Buddy, well, he hired me for this. But outside of that, Harley lets me hang out with her and help. She can’t pay me, but that’s okay. She bakes me cookies.”
Fallon chuckled. “You could get work at the pub. There’s a help-wanted sign hanging in the window. It’s washing dishes, but it’s something.”
“I don’t mind hard work.” Cullen stared out into the water. “But I still jump at certain sounds. Don’t like enclosed spaces, except my trailer, and even then, sometimes I still end up sleeping outside. Drives Silas and Opal crazy. They wish I felt comfortable inside their home. I keep telling them it’s not about their hospitality or anything about how I feel about my relationship with them, because they’ve always been awesome. It’s just being in enclosed spaces and wondering when something’s gonna explode.”
“I can relate.”
“While I know you're an outdoorsy type, I don’t see you wanting to sleep under the stars every night.”
“I’m just saying I can understand what it’s like to feel closed in by walls and convention.” Her cell buzzed from its perch on the console. “It’s Buddy. I'd better take it.” She dropped her feet to the bottom of the airboat and leaned forward. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Listen, I need you and Cullen?—”
Her radio crackled to life and Keaton’s voice boomed over the airwaves.
“Sorry, call coming over the radio. I gotta go. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” She snagged the mic. “This is Officer Reeves.”
“Reeves, I’ve got a report of a distress call from a kayaker,” Keaton said. “I need you to go check it out. Sending coordinates.”
“Got it. I’ll check in when I get there.”
Cullen was already in his boat, untying and firing up his engine.
Fallon eased the throttle forward, following the GPS marker Keaton had sent. The sun sat low enough to make the water glare white-hot, and the air settled thick against her neck. They cut through a narrow channel where the mangroves bent low, their roots curling into the shallows like black claws. This part of the narrow strait always reminded her of Sleepy Hollow.
“This isn’t a popular spot for kayaking,” Cullen called over the engines.
“Which means either they got lost, or they’re in trouble.” She squinted ahead. “Either way, we find them.”
The coordinates dropped them into a wide bowl of still water framed by cypress. Spanish moss hung low, stirring just enough to look alive. She slowed the airboat and pointed. “There. In the reeds.”
A lime-green kayak half-hidden by tall sawgrass rocked lazily with the current. No person. No paddle. No life vest.
