Sterling leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suspected it, but I didn't know for sure until I was interviewed bycongress two years later. I was sworn to secrecy, and honestly, I didn't think anything of it until all this shit started happening.” He shifted his gaze. "And we're forgetting something incredibly important here. They came after Juniper, too. They put a gator on her porch. That might have been a warning. Or a distraction. But whatever it was meant to be, it was also a message that they know who she is, and it's one way to keep me in line."
Nick cocked his head. “All the more reason to tell Doyle you changed your mind and force them to come in hot.”
"I totally agree," Sterling said.
Juniper turned and crossed to the window. The morning sun hit the inlet hard enough to scatter light across the water. Calusa Cove looked peaceful, but she knew better. Out there, hidden in the murky water, was a town full of secrets.
She gripped the edge of the counter. If Doyle knew who she was, then the game had most definitely changed. "I need you to ask Mia to look into my handler."
"Why?" Sterling asked.
"What if my being placed here was to kill two birds with one stone?" She turned. "Or maybe three, since we just pulled in Nick."
Chapter Nineteen
Sterling pulled into Harvey’s Cabins with the windows down and one hand loose on the wheel. Everyone always told him he was too uptight. This was him trying to act casual. Trying to be just another guy going to meet an old friend.
Harvey's was the kind of place that reminded him of summer camp, except the accommodations were top-notch on the inside and comfortable as hell. Dawson and his wife had done an excellent job of remodeling when they'd taken over.
The property sat on the backside of one of the windy canals that fed into the Everglades. It had tetherball and a basketball court, and the guests could also launch kayaks into the water. It was a great find, and during the busy season, it was rare that there was a vacancy.
Sterling had lived in number six for a month before he bought his house.
He’d liked it here. The small porch. The smell of salt and vegetation that drifted in from the water. At night, he’d heard gators bellowing across the canal and Dawson’s wife, Audra, laughing with their children.
Back then, the quiet had made him feel out of place. But today, it had settled into his bones like he belonged.
Sterling parked in front of cabin four where Doyle sat on the porch with his boots propped on the rail and a beer loose in his hand. He wore cargo pants, a gray T-shirt, and an easy smile. He fit into Calusa Cove like he'd been born there. But you could stick that man in a city, and he'd blend in just as well. Sterling hated that about him.
Sterling killed the engine and stepped out.
Doyle lowered his beer. “Sterling Fox. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was driving home from work and thought I'd stop by instead of calling,” Sterling said.
“That doesn't sound overly friendly.” Doyle pointed the beer at him. “Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this?”
“Because you won't," Sterling said. "Mind if I have a beer?” The one thing Sterling knew about Doyle was that he liked attention, and Sterling never deprived him of it when they worked together. He hadn't gone out of his way to give it to him. He didn't call him before ops. Or even after them. But once in the same space, he made sure he treated Doyle just like any other man on his team.
Because Sterling had never thought being a dick was a good idea.
Still didn’t, even he didn't trust Doyle.
“That, I can help with.” Doyle dropped his boots off the rail and nodded to the empty chair. “Pull up a seat. Take a load off.”
Sterling climbed the three steps and settled into the chair, angling it enough to keep Doyle, the door, and his truck in the same line. Doyle would notice, but he wouldn't call Sterling on it, because Doyle would be doing the same exact thing in his place.
Doyle reached into a small cooler beside him and pulled out a bottle. “Still drink whatever’s cold?”
“My tastes have gotten pickier since I've gotten older, but that will do just fine.”
“As long as you've gotten all weird and fancy.” Doyle handed him the beer. "I see all these twenty-something kids drinking those vodka seltzers and shit. Mango, pear, and peach flavors. Weird stuff."
"The pear ones are pretty damn good." Sterling twisted off the cap and took a sip. A nice lager, cold enough to bite, exactly right for a cabin porch in Florida around suppertime.
Doyle eyed him over the neck of his own bottle. “So, what made you pull off the road and into this parking lot?"
Sterling leaned back. “I lived here when I first came to town.” He decided a little small talk might be a good idea. Get Doyle a little more curious because he knew as well as anyone that Sterling didn't just show up anywhere for no reason.
