Dove leaned against a piling, folding her arms across her chest. The wood was warm against her back, sun-soaked and rough. "I need information about someone you grew up with."
Cullen's expression didn't change. "That's not a long list. Calusa Cove isn't exactly a sprawling metropolis. Who?”
"Karl Simpson."
Cullen shifted his gaze and stared out at the water where the heron had finally speared something and was working on swallowing it whole. "Now there's a name I try not to think about. What's he done now?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." Dove lowered herself to the dock, sitting cross-legged, because no way was she going to dangle her feet over gator-infested waters while she contemplated what to tell Cullen. "He came to see Trent about a month ago. Wanted him to get involved in some operation—illegal poaching, from what Trent said. Clients with money. Specific needs. Trent turned him down."
“Sounds like something Karl would get involved in. He was always doing something shady, and unfortunately, back in the day, Trent wasn’t too far behind.”
“Yeah, well, someone breached Mallor's Landing and killed Bonnie."
“I heard about that.” Cullen let out a long breath. “The gators that come and go from the natural habitat on Mallor’s Landing are like Trent’s kids. I’m sure that hit him hard.”
"He's doing well enough.”
"He's always been good at pushing things down.” Cullen's voice had a bitter edge that surprised her. "Even when he shouldn't have to—and he’s done that many times where Karl’s concerned. I get Trent has no loyalty to Karl anymore, but he still keeps the past close to his vest.”
Boy, did Dove understand that. “I’m trying to figure out if Karl could be connected to whoever was lurking in the shadows at Linda’s funeral, or Bonnie, or even if he could have something to do with the couple putting a little pressure on Trent to sell Mallor’s Landing. I figured you might have some insight, since you all grew up together."
Cullen laughed—a short, sharp sound. "Grew up in the same town. That's not the same thing as growing up together." He set down the water bottle and stretched out his legs. "Karl and Trent were tight back in the day. Did all kinds of stupid shit together—Python Challenge, gator hunting, whatever scheme Karl had cooked up that week. Me?" He shrugged. "I was on the outside looking in. Different crowd. Different priorities. Different everything, really."
"But you knew them."
"Enough to get into fights with them, sure." A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Karl had a mouth on him. Liked to run it when he should've kept it shut. He also had a temper with a massive chip on his shoulder." The smile faded. “Trent was a little kinder, but he and I nearly came to blows a few times.”
"So you weren't friends."
“Definitely never friends with Karl. Trent and I were close when we were little, but that changed as we became teenagers and more or less just tolerated each other.” Cullen leaned forward, bending his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. "I left for the Marines right after graduation. Couldn't wait to get out of this town. Thought I was going to see the world, be somebody, do something that mattered. All that bullshit they sell you at the recruiting office, and for a while it was good, until it wasn’t.”
Dove didn't say anything. She knew this part of the story, or at least the broad strokes of it. She'd lived her own version.
"Saw the world, alright." Cullen's voice had gone flat—the kind of flat that meant emotions were being held at arm's length because letting them any closer would be dangerous. "Saw things I can't unsee. Did things I can't undo. Lost people I can't get back." He was quiet for a moment, staring at something only he could see. "When I came home, I wasn't right. Wrong in the head. The VA gave me pills and told me to talk about my feelings. My family walked on eggshells, pretending everything was fine. My ex—she tried so hard, but how do you help someone who doesn't know how to be a person anymore?"
"You can't," Dove said quietly. "They have to find their own way back."
Cullen looked at her and nodded. The acknowledgment of someone who'd been to the same dark place and somehow found the exit. "Yeah. That's the thing, isn't it?" He rubbed a hand over his face, stubble rasping. "I spent a while living on the edge. Literally. Out in the Glades, away from people, away from anything that reminded me of what normal was supposed to look like. Lived in a shack, ate what I caught, and waited to either get better or die. Wasn't picky about which."
"What changed?"
"Trent." The name came out soft. "He and Fallon. They kept showing up, kept dragging me back to civilization whether I wanted it or not. Bought food. Bought beer. Brought company that didn't ask me to talk about anything I didn't want to talk about." He shook his head slowly. "I told them to leave me alone. Told them I was fine. Told them some pretty ugly things, actually, hoping they'd give up. They didn't. Just kept coming back—every week, sometimes twice a week. My uncle would join sometimes. Then half the damn town, honestly. This place wouldn't let me disappear."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It was." Cullen laughed, a rough sound. "But it worked. Slow, like growing bone back after a break, but it worked." He met her eyes. "Trent gave me that. He saw something worth saving when I couldn't see anything at all."
The water lapped against the pilings, filling the silence. A mullet jumped somewhere nearby, silver flash and splash, and the heron's head swiveled to track it.
"Now, I'm focused on staying steady," Cullen continued. "Getting my head on straight. Making sure I can see my son, Tyler, regularly.” Cullen’s face lit up. “He's got my eyes and his mother's good sense, thank God. My ex—she worries. About the PTSD. About whether I'm stable enough, whether something might trigger me when I'm alone with him." He lifted one shoulder. "I don't blame her. She's protecting our kid. That's her job. I just have to keep proving that I'm someone he can count on."
"Sounds like you're doing the work."
"Every damn day. Some days are harder than others." He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. "But you didn't come here to listen to my sad story. You came to ask about Karl. Specifically whether I think he'd do something to hurt Trent if Trent didn't play along with whatever he wanted."
Dove nodded. "Would he?"
“Outside of taking a few potshots at someone, Karl's not violent. He's the kind of guy who starts fights and lets other people finish them."
