"This whole coast is beautiful. People forget about the Lowcountry until a hurricane reminds them it exists."
"Is that why you settled here? After..."
She trails off, leaving me room to fill in the blank or ignore it entirely.
"After I left the Teams." I choose my words carefully. "Blew out my knee on a training exercise. The kind of injury that ends operational careers. I could have taken a desk job, pushed paper until my pension kicked in. Instead I took a medical retirement and bought Second Watch from a fisherman who was dying of cancer."
"Why here specifically?"
"Because Cal Hayes was here."
Her eyebrows rise. "Someone else you owe a debt to?"
"Someone I served with. Years ago, different unit, but we ran overlapping operations. When I was looking for somewhere to disappear, he mentioned Tidehaven needed charter captains. Said I could make enough to live on and keep my head down."
"Is that what you've been doing? Keeping your head down?"
I consider the question. "I've been surviving. Building something small and quiet. Trying not to think too much about the man I used to be."
Sera turns to face me fully. The morning breeze catches her hair, blowing dark strands across her cheek. She doesn't brush them away.
"What kind of man was that?"
"The kind who followed orders without asking questions. Who completed objectives regardless of cost. Who told himself the ends justified the means until one day the math stopped adding up."
"And then?"
"And then someone handed me evidence of exactly how badly I'd been used, and I had a choice. Blow the whistle and burn everything down, or let someone else make the problem disappear." I hold her gaze. "I took the easy way. Priest buried the evidence. Your father held the marker. And here we are."
She's quiet for a long moment, processing.
"You could have lied. Told me you owed my father a gambling debt or a business favor. Something simple."
"You said you're good at spotting fakes." I drain the last of my coffee. "Figured honesty was a better bet."
"Honesty." She says the word like she's testing its weight. "From a man who spent years in black ops working for people who don't officially exist."
"The work was classified. The feelings weren't." I push off from the cabin housing and collect her empty mug along withmine. "Breakfast in twenty minutes. Then I want to check in with my contact in town, see if that boat is still anchored by the lighthouse."
"Am I coming with you?"
"No. You're staying on board while I run reconnaissance."
Her jaw tightens. "Because I'm cargo."
"Because two people are easier to spot than one, and I need information more than I need backup right now." I move toward the galley hatch. "There's a shotgun in the cabin, port side storage locker. You know how to use one?"
"Point and pull the trigger?"
"Close enough. Don't shoot me when I come back."
"No promises." But there's something approaching humor in her voice, and I'll take it.
Tidehaven proper isthirty minutes by boat, but I don't go to Tidehaven.
I go to the Boathouse.
Cal Hayes built Salt and Steel Security in a renovated shrimp cannery on the commercial side of the harbor, away from the tourist traffic and the cute shops and the locals who might ask uncomfortable questions. The building looks like nothing special from the water. Rusted siding, weathered dock, a couple of work boats tied up out front.
