I look closer at the boat. “Adeline. That’s a beautiful name. Where did it come from?”
Hannah hesitates, her expression dampening. “Scott named it after his wife.”
I blink. “His wife?”
“Hislatewife,” she clarifies gently. The sparkle in her brown eyes dims. “She passed away a few years ago… in a diving accident. Scott was with her.”
“Oh.” The gravity of her words sinks in.
I want to ask her more, but a strong voice cuts through the air, pulling my attention to a man speaking to a cluster of people gathered at the end of the pier.
“That’s Mark Glassier,” Hannah whispers, leaning closer. “He’s a Coast Guard lieutenant. The lead here in Maverick Key. His coast guardsmen are the only thing keeping our waters from spiraling into chaos.”
Mark radiates composed authority, his calm voice softening the rigid edges of his unyielding expression.
“This area is restricted. If you don’t have the proper permits, you’ll need to leave the pier.”
A man shoves a piece of paper at him. “I’ve got a permit right here.”
Mark glances at it. “That’s a fishing permit, not clearance to dive Carter’s Drop. Sorry, this isn’t negotiable.”
Another man raises his voice in frustration. “We didn’t come all this way to get blocked by red tape. We’re just here to swim, man.”
Mark doesn’t flinch. “The rules are in place for a reason. Carter’s Drop isn’t a recreational dive site. If you want access, get the proper permits and come back.”
Grumbling ripples through the group, but eventually, they stomp off.
“Mark and Nathan were college buddies. You’ll want to connect with him.”
I start to walk over when Hannah’s hand on my arm stops me. Her voice drops to a whisper, and her eyes brighten with excitement. “There he is.”
“Who?” I ask, but it’s obvious who she’s spotted by the way she’s bouncing on her heels.
Hannah’s eyes lock onto another gathering of people at the checkpoint. At the center stands a man who commands attention. Tousled, rust-blond hair, and sharp, chiseled features give him the air of someone who thrives in the spotlight. His eyes sweep over the pier, lingering on Mark before scanning the rest of the scene. He moves with the confidence of someone accustomed to being noticed—and accommodated.
“That…” Hannah breathes, awe in her voice. “Is Wes Harrington. Internet sensation, modern-day explorer.” She giggles. “And some say a pain in the ass.”
Wes hands Mark a set of neatly folded documents, his movements thoughtful and precise. His smile is winsome, but it has a polished edge. It’s practiced.
Mark scans them. “Welcome to Maverick Key, Wes. It’s been a while.” Wes shakes his hand. “You’re cleared for Carter’s Drop.”
“Much appreciated,” Wes replies, his tone easy as he claps one of his crew members on the shoulder. “All right, let’s go.”
“Stay out of trouble.” Mark gives him a stern look and frowns when Wes salutes him with a grin.
As his team heads toward their boat, Wes straightens as his eyes lock on Scott.
“Rickter,” he calls, his voice carrying over the buzz of the pier.
Scott turns, his expression unreadable. “Harrington.”
Wes saunters closer, hands tucked in the pockets of his windbreaker, every movement deliberate and calculated. Provocative like he’s daring Scott to react.
“Still running your operation like clockwork, I see.”
Scott’s shoulders go rigid and a muscle ticks in his cheek. “Some of us focus on work, not cameras.”
Wes chuckles, low and amused. “My cameras pay for the work. You should try living in the big leagues one day. You might like it.”
