THE LAST BEAT

A JOHN MARZETT ADVENTURE

BRUNO MILLER

ABOUT THE BOOK

After years of working the streets of Miami, veteran detective Jon Marzet craves a quieter life. Taking a job as sheriff in the sleepy town of Big Pine Key seems like the perfect place to wind down his career.

But the town harbors dark secrets and corruption festers deep below the surface of what seems like paradise. Jon soon finds himself thrust into a battle against a powerful cartel determined to maintain its grip on his new hometown.

With his loyal dog, Max, by his side and the help of a few trustworthy deputies, Jon uncovers a dangerous web of violence and betrayal that reaches far beyond the peaceful façade of Big Pine Key. Each step closer to the truth brings him face-to-face with ruthless enemies who will stop at nothing to protect their empire.

As the stakes rise, Jon is forced to confront his past and push the limits of his resolve in a fight that could cost him everything. Caught between the life he wants and the battle he can’t walk away from, Jon must decide how far he’s willing to go to protect the people of Big Pine Key—and whether peace is something he’ll ever truly find.

The Last Beat

Copyright © 2025 Bruno Miller

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover design by The Killion Group

Want to know when Bruno’s next book is coming out? Join his mailing list for release news, fun giveaways, insider scoop and more!

http://brunomillerauthor.com/sign-up/

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

About the Author

Miami at night was a beast that never slept. The city buzzed with a rhythm all its own, neon lights casting vibrant reflections off wet pavement, bass-heavy music spilling out from clubs, and the occasional siren wailing in the distance.

But for Detective Jon Marzett, none of it mattered.

He sat parked outside the shattered remains of the jewelry store, going over notes and entertaining new ideas for his own life. It was the scene of a smash-and-grab at gunpoint that had taken place several hours ago and left three dead. The trail of blood and broken glass stretching down the sidewalk was still fresh.

The crew who’d pulled this job was bold—reckless, even. Hitting a jewelry store in broad daylight wasn’t just risky. It was a statement. It took guts, stupidity, or some twisted mix of both. But the brazenness, the total disregard for consequences, wasn’t what stood out most to Jon. He’d seen that plenty of times before.

What unsettled him now was how things had changed. Miami had always had its fair share of criminals, but over the years, they’d grown meaner, more desperate, more ruthless.

Jon thought back to when he first put on the badge. In those days, it seemed criminals at least followed some pretense of rules among those who called the underworld home.

But now? All bets were off. The lack of respect for human life wasn’t just shocking anymore—it was routine. And that terrified him more than he cared to admit.

The city’s moral compass was broken. It felt like humanity was teetering on the edge of a dark void.

Every crime scene he walked into seemed worse than the last. Each one pushed past the limits of cruelty and into something almost animalistic. It wasn’t just about greed or survival anymore; it was about violence for violence’s sake.

Evil was evolving here, and it was happening at a pace Jon felt he could no longer keep up with.

He lifted his head to stare out the car’s open window and catch a breath of fresh air.

He used to believe he could make a difference. That with enough grit and hard work, he could help clean up the streets of Miami. But that hope had been slowly replaced by something darker—something heavier.

Now it felt like he was bailing water out of a sinking ship, barely keeping the tide of chaos at bay. He wasn’t solving the problem anymore; he was just clearing the way, making room for the next savage thug to step in. The thought ate away at him like rust on steel.

That was exactly what was happening. He was eroding. Piece by piece.

Max, his semiretired K-9 partner, sat quietly in the back seat, his sharp eyes watching Jon through the rearview mirror. Max, a tall but sturdy, serious-looking, midnight-black German shepherd, rarely broke focus when they were on the job, but tonight, he seemed to sense Jon’s thoughts were elsewhere. And rightfully so.

Jon leaned back in his seat, the exhaustion of a miserable day clawing at him. Hours of chasing leads, interviewing reluctant witnesses, and combing through dead ends had left him drained, and he had nothing to show for it.

Three lives lost: a young store clerk, a security guard, and a woman who’d just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And for what? A handful of diamonds, some jewelry, and a quick payout that paled in comparison to the cost in human life.

The store owner had estimated the stolen goods to be in the six-figure range, retail. But Jon knew better. On the street, the thieves would get only a fraction of that, pennies on the dollar for the misery they’d caused.

But it wasn’t the loss of merchandise or money that bothered him—the place was insured. It was the cold reality that three people had died for nothing. For greed. For ego. For a haul that probably wouldn’t even last the thieves a week.

How many times had he seen this same story play out? How many more times would he have to see it again? How many more could he bear? Different faces, different victims, but the same senseless violence. It was the kind of thing that wore a man down, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but bitterness and resentment.

That wasn’t the future Jon wanted for himself.

“Hell of a way to make a living,” he muttered.

Max let out a soft whine, his ears standing up as a man on a scooter delivering pizza zipped past the car. The smell of sauce and pepperoni reminded Jon he hadn’t eaten anything real today. The granola bar he’d wolfed down earlier wasn’t cutting it.

This case wasn’t the first to rattle him, but it was starting to feel like it had the potential to be one of the last.

At fifty-three, with more than two decades on the force, he wasn’t sure how much more he could take. The late nights, the endless violence—it was changing who he was from the inside out, changing his outlook on the world in ways he hadn’t expected. Jon wasn’t naive, far from it, but the small glimmer of hope he once clung to was in danger of being extinguished.

He could feel the light growing dimmer with each breath of humid Miami air he took into his lungs, and his aspirations for a better life were fading along with it.

And then there was the mess at home.

Jon raked a hand through his graying hair, his jaw clenching as an image of his wife flashed unbidden in his mind.

One week ago today, he’d walked in on her half-undressed and kissing another man. Since then, they’d barely spoken. He’d thrown himself into his work, burying himself in the chaos of the job, but every quiet moment dragged him back to the same nagging thought: how had he missed the signs?

He kept trying to convince himself they could rebuild from the wreckage, but deep down, he knew it was a lie. Just like the one he told himself—that it was all his fault.

Sure, his dedication to this city, with its relentless demands and little gratitude, had driven a wedge between them. But it wasn’t all on him, even if it felt that way lately.

Jon exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if that would push the thoughts away. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. There were killers on the loose, and the only thing that would give him the faintest sense of control over his crumbling life was hunting them down and bringing them to justice.

As he sucked down the last drops of stale coffee in his cup, he felt the buzz of his phone in his pocket. Max tilted his head at the incoming call, desperate for any change to their current situation. Jon accepted the call but stayed quiet. The voice of Detective Leo Ortiz came through.

“Marzett, you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. What’ve you got?”

“Tip just came in,” Ortiz said, his tone cautious but hopeful. “Warehouse down on 12th and Bay. Witness says they saw a dark gray Chevy SUV matching the one from the jewelry store pull in about an hour ago. Three guys, all looking nervous and hauling duffel bags.”

Jon straightened in his seat, the new intel bringing him back to life. “Sounds promising.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Ortiz shot back. “Let me get there before you do anything.”

Jon hesitated, his eyes flicking to Max in the mirror. The dog was fully tuned into Jon’s every movement now, his ears pricked as if he sensed the tension.

“Be there in twenty,” Ortiz added.

“Yeah,” Jon replied, though he didn’t believe it. Ortiz wasn’t lazy or incompetent, but the man couldn’t get out of his own way sometimes.

Jon placed his phone on the passenger seat and started the car, the hum of the engine breaking the relative quiet. In the back, Max straddled the middle of the seat as his body trembled with anticipation. The dog’s energy was contagious, a tangible reminder of why they were here.

This city was relentless, unforgiving—a labyrinth of noise, chaos, and crime. For many, it was a place that demanded more than it gave, wearing them down over time. Jon was starting to feel that way, but in this moment of promise for retribution, he could put all that aside temporarily.

For Jon, this was where he found his purpose.

It wasn’t the danger, though he was no stranger to it. It wasn’t the adrenaline, though it coursed through his veins like fire every time he stepped into the fray. It was the purpose—the singular drive to right a wrong, to bring justice where it had been stolen.

There was a kind of clarity in moments like this, a focus Jon rarely felt outside the hunt. Catching these scumbags would never make things whole again. The victims’ lives couldn’t be restored. The grief carved into their loved ones would never fully heal. But it was something—something for Jon to hold on to, no matter how thin the thread.

He glanced at Max in the rearview mirror. The dog’s eyes gleamed with readiness, his body coiled like a spring. Max lived for the chase, just like Jon. The dog’s excitement wasn’t about vengeance or morality. It was about the job. The work. The oath they championed.

Jon wished he could simplify things the way Max did. Strip it all down to instinct, to action. Instead, his mind kept turning over the faces of the victims.

The young store clerk losing his life for what was probably a minimum-wage job. The guard bleeding out on the tile floor, protecting goods that no one would miss in the end. The bystander on the sidewalk who happened to be in the way of the escaping criminals and got too good of a look at them to be left alive, her purse still clutched in her lifeless hands.

They deserved better. Their families deserved better.

Catching these killers wouldn’t change anything—not really. That’s what bothered him the most. But it was a start. It was also all he had to give, and right now, it was enough to keep him going.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. “Let’s go get them, Max,” he said, his voice low and steady.

The old industrial district was quiet for a city this size, save for the occasional rumble of a passing freight train, mostly because it was a bad place to be this time of night. Or anytime, for that matter. The warehouse at 12th and Bay was one of many in the area, its faded gray walls and broken windows blending into the surroundings. Eventually, the whole area would be leveled to make room for apartments, but the city hadn’t gotten that desperate for real estate yet, leaving the decrepit structures for nefarious-minded people and those who sought out dark places to do bad things.

Jon parked a block away, his headlights off long before he brought the car to a stop. He slipped out and held the door for Max, who hopped over the seat and followed, his movements silent and precise.

A gray Chevy SUV was parked just outside the warehouse. There were two other vehicles parked nearby: a blacked-out Mustang and a sport bike. But Jon was only interested in the Chevy for the time being.

He discreetly made his way over to the SUV and felt the hood. The coolish sheet metal indicated the vehicle had been here for more than an hour, unlike what Ortiz’s witness had reported.

He peered in through the tinted windows but saw nothing of interest, then moved around to the side of the Chevy parked closest to the building.

“These are our guys, Max.” Jon ran his hand over the scratched and dented rear quarter panel.

Witnesses in the area of the robbery reported the gray Chevy sideswiped a box truck in the criminals’ haste to flee the scene. The intermittent stripes of white paint over the rear wheel well confirmed Jon’s suspicions about the vehicle. It has to be them. He crouched beside Max, his pulse quickening.

Max let out a low growl, his eyes focused on the warehouse.

“They’re in there, aren’t they, boy?” Jon pulled out his phone and dialed Ortiz. “I’m here,” he said quietly. “It’s them. Has to be.” He eyed the exterior of the building, spotting a slight trace of yellow light leaking from the edges of an opening that was poorly boarded up with a piece of plywood.

“Jon,” Ortiz warned, “wait for backup. I’m fifteen minutes out, tops.”

“I’ll do my best.” Jon hung up and glanced at Max. “Besides, I already have backup.”

Fifteen minutes was too long to wait, given his current level of patience. And it stood to reason that if the thieves had been here for a while, there was a good chance they’d be leaving soon. They were probably just here to divide up the loot before skipping town.

But Jon also wanted to confirm he had the right guys. The damaged SUV was a good start, but it was a big city, and Miami was bound to have more than one gray Chevy that had been in an accident.

With his phone, Jon grabbed a few shots of all three vehicles and their tags.

“All right, Max, nice and slow.” He noticed a small side door at the corner of the warehouse and crept toward the entrance. If he could find the men inside with the stolen property in their possession, this would be a slam dunk, and he could get on with his life.

That was about as exciting as it was true, but seeing these murderous thieves get what they had coming was all the motivation Jon needed.

Jon’s own safety wasn’t exactly a priority these days. It was a dark thought, one he’d never voice, but it lingered all the same. With his marriage on the rocks and a job that felt like it was bleeding him dry, Jon found it hard to muster much concern for himself anymore.

Whatever hope he’d once had in him felt thin, stretched too far over too many years of chasing the worst Miami had to offer.

The truth, though—the one he couldn’t shake—was that at this point in his life, he cared more about Max’s safety than his own. The dog had been his shadow for years, loyal and unflinching, no matter how bad things got. Max didn’t deserve to pay for Jon’s recklessness, and that thought was sometimes the only thing keeping Jon tethered to the edge of caution. But they had a job to do.

The rusty warehouse door was slightly ajar, and Jon helped it open farther with his free hand until he and Max could slip inside, his reliable Gen4 Glock G-21 drawn and ready.

The air inside was stale, heavy with the smell of motor oil and mildew. Rows of empty metal shelves almost reached the twenty-foot-high ceiling and formed long, shadowy corridors that stretched into the darkness like a dangerous maze.

Voices echoed from deeper inside. Jon moved carefully, his footsteps falling silently on the concrete floor. Max stayed close, his body low and tense, ready to explode on demand like a missile being launched. The dog knew the drill, though. He was a veteran when it came to executing stealthy approaches.

“Hell of a haul,” one voice said, followed by a burst of laughter.

“Better than last time,” another replied. “Can’t believe how easy it was.”

“Says the man that almost botched the getaway by running into a truck,” a third voice shot back.

“Hey, I got us out, didn’t I? And here we are, free and clear. You don’t like it? Feel free to leave your cut on the table,” the original voice answered.

Jon reached the edge of a wide-open space and crouched behind several dusty fifty-gallon oil drums. Three men were gathered around a table, counting wads of cash, inspecting stolen jewelry, and stacking a small collection of roughly formed cellphone-sized gold bars. Jon’s stomach twisted at the sight of it.

The men had taken mostly jewelry and diamonds, but there had been a safe in the store as well. According to the security footage, the clerk had given them access to the safe without hesitation. Sadly, his cooperation hadn’t been enough to spare his life. These men weren’t just criminals—they were a stain on humanity.

Jon’s grip tightened on his weapon as he sized up the threat. There was a tactical, bullpup-style shotgun lying against the wall behind the men, a large-caliber semiautomatic pistol near the pile of loot, and an AR-15 laid flat at the far end of the table they were using—the same weapons used in the heist.

The man in the middle started shoveling one of the divided piles into his bag. Then the others joined him, collecting their thirds of the ill-gotten gains into separate duffle bags. They were getting ready to leave.

Jon couldn’t wait for Ortiz or anyone else to show up. And with three vehicles outside, there was a good chance at least one of these animals would get away. It was now or never. If Jon didn’t act, this would end in a chase through the city, putting more innocent people at risk.

And these guys wouldn’t go down without a fight. They’d already passed the point of no return.

“Miami PD!” Jon barked, stepping into view. “Hands where I can see them!”

The men froze like cornered prey, but the reaction didn’t last long.

One of them lunged for the shotgun. Jon fired first, the crack of his Glock echoing through the warehouse. The man crumpled to the ground, managing to only knock over the shotgun while clutching his wounded arm.

The other two bolted, but not before they grabbed the pistol and the AR-15.

“Max, get him!” Jon motioned toward the man with the rifle as the man with the pistol seemed more interested in escaping than fighting.

The dog darted forward, his powerful strides closing the distance in seconds. He leaped, taking down the larger of the two suspects with a vicious bite to the arm as the man attempted to raise his rifle and take a shot.

The man screamed as he hit the ground, struggling against Max’s grip, while his AR-15 clattered onto the hard concrete and bounced out of reach.

Jon bolted after the third man, his boots pounding against the damp floor as the suspect made a break for the side door. The man twisted, raising the heavy pistol to fire, but he was too slow, the gun too cumbersome.

With a burst of speed, Jon closed the last couple of feet and drove into the man, slamming him against the wall with bone-jarring force. The impact rattled through Jon’s shoulders, but the suspect was hit harder, the gun falling from his grip.

Jon wrestled the man to the ground, shoving him face-first into the concrete as he attempted to get cuffs on him. “You’re done. Stay down.”

“Get off me!” the man yelled, but the impact with the warehouse wall had already bloodied his lip and knocked the wind out of him.

Jon had just gotten the runner restrained when Max let out a sharp yelp. He spun around to see the man Max had pinned down driving one of the gold bars into the side of the dog’s Kevlar vest, his knuckles white from the effort. The impact forced Max to release his grip on the man’s other arm, and in that split second, the suspect lunged for the shotgun lying on the floor.

Jon went to one knee and stabilized himself against the movements of the writhing body underneath him just as Max’s man brought the shotgun around to fire.

Boom… boom.

Jon shot twice, his .45 sounding like cannon fire in the cavernous warehouse. Both bullets struck the man in the chest. He staggered back, the shotgun slipping from his hands as he fell. Max stood back but looked ready and none the worse for the rib strike as he waited for Jon’s instruction.

“Max, watch him.” Jon got up off the floor, placing one foot on top of the man who’d made a break for the exit while keeping his weapon trained on the first man he’d shot in the arm. There was no need to worry about the guy who’d tried to hurt Max. The expanding pool of blood under his body was proof of that.

Wasn’t long before Ortiz and the backup team arrived, but by then, the chaos had settled. Jon had cuffed the surviving suspects and lined them up against the exterior wall of the warehouse. The criminals were loaded into patrol cars while the stolen goods were gathered and cataloged by the forensics team.

Jon leaned against the hood of his car, his hands trembling slightly. Max sat beside him, his ears twitching at the sound of distant sirens.

“Hell of a night,” Ortiz said, approaching with a tired smile. “You okay?”

Jon nodded, though his exhaustion must be written all over his face.

“You’re lucky,” Ortiz said. “Could’ve gone bad in a hurry.”

Jon didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the warehouse, his mind replaying the events of the night. The minutes ticked by impossibly slowly, as if the grime of the city had finally clogged the wheels of time itself. Jon stuck around for as long as he had to, but at the first opportunity to duck out, he and Max headed home.

JON REACHED his house well after midnight, the city finally starting to quiet down to a dull static of faint honking and the distant roar of the Metrorail. He and Max made their way inside, not bothering to turn on any lights. Jon grabbed a beer from the fridge and eyed the row of boxes in the hallway as he took a swig.

He’d started packing a couple of days ago in preparation for his move out of the house. But feeling like he didn’t belong here anymore had started long before that.

Jon shook his head at the thought of looking for an apartment and washed the thought away with another pull from the bottle as he opened the rear slider for Max and followed the dog outside onto the patio.

Jon leaned against a column and surveyed his failed attempt at growing grass. But it didn’t matter anymore. The sorry excuse for a backyard only served as a reminder of how good he was at destroying anything he touched. Max, somehow, was the exception. Thankfully.

Jon sank into one of the wicker chairs and took another pull on his cold beer while Max found a surviving tuft of grass nearby and promptly relieved himself on it.

“Oh, Max.” Jon chuckled. “It’s not all my fault you don’t have any grass to lay on, you know.”

Max kicked at the sandy ground with his back feet before moving on to investigate something he smelled, obviously pleased with his contribution to the yard.

But Jon’s smile quickly faded. The images from the day haunted him: the victims in the jewelry store, the panicked shouts in the warehouse, the suspects laughing over their stolen goods. It all felt like too much to be real. But it was real. His scuffed knees proved it. Jon was just glad Max hadn’t been hurt.

Then he thought about the past few weeks—his wife’s betrayal, the endless grind of the job, the violence that never seemed to stop. Miami had been his home for so long, but now it felt more like a cage.

“We need to get out of here, buddy,” Jon said softly as he pulled a business card from his pocket and read the name out loud. “Councilman Carlos Vega, Big Pine Key, Florida.” He ran his thumb over the embossed town logo. “Well, Mr. Vega. It looks like you’ve found yourself a new sheriff after all.”

Max wagged his tail faintly as he looked back at Jon, forgetting whatever had gotten his attention in the corner of the yard. And for the first time in weeks, Jon allowed himself to believe there might be better days ahead.

The Miami air was thick with humidity, clinging to Jon Marzett’s skin like a damp sheet. He’d gotten so used to it over the years that it barely registered anymore. The metallic scent of exhaust fumes, the tangy hint of salt water, and the faint, sour odor of decaying garbage from a nearby alley filled his nose.

He leaned against the weathered hood of his department-issued sedan, feeling the residual warmth from the engine seep through his clothing. His fingers tapped a steady tempo on the car’s hood, his eyes fixed on the row of neon lights flickering in the distance.

It was his last night on the job in Miami, and even after twenty-plus years in the city, he could still sense the chaos buzzing all around him. This place had a pulse—fast and reckless—that beat to the rhythm of every honking horn and every distant shout.

The radio in his car crackled to life, a burst of static followed by a voice: “Marzett, we’ve got the suspect moving southbound on Flagler. Backup’s en route. What’s your call?”

Jon reached into the car and brought the mic to his lips. “Stay back. I’ll handle it.”

His voice was calm and steady, although inside, he felt a familiar knot building in his chest. If it were any other day, he’d wait for help, but he’d been after this particular lowlife for quite some time now. He didn’t want any screw-ups. He wanted closure. Needed it. One more arrest, one more night, and he’d be done with Miami.

Finally.

He clipped the radio back into place, the bitter taste of hours-old coffee lingering in his mouth. He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, the texture rough against his fingertips.

His German shepherd, Max, who was already retired, unlike Jon, sat in the front seat, watching the world outside with calm, steady eyes.

The dog had paid his dues as a K-9 officer, but Jon often included Max on outings, especially after separating from his soon-to-be ex. And he found Max’s company to be reassuring, not to mention the dog’s capabilities in a pinch. He tried making sure Max stayed out of harm’s way, but the dog liked being part of the action, maybe too much for his own good.

Jon glanced back at him. “One more time, boy,” he muttered, more to himself than to Max.

The department didn’t necessarily condone Max riding along with Jon, but they didn’t forbid it, either. Instead, they turned a blind eye to the situation. Jon’s years of service and stellar record had earned him some leniency. Today was no exception.

As he slid into the driver’s seat, the worn vinyl creaked beneath him. The car had seen a few years, too, but the engine was in perfect working order.

The steering wheel was cool to the touch, a contrast to the heavy, warm air hanging in the night. He turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life—a low, steady hum that vibrated through his fingers as he gripped the wheel.

Miami’s streets were alive even at this hour. Neon signs buzzed overhead, the bright colors reflected in puddles from an earlier rain. The distant thump of bass-heavy music seeped out of the open doors of a nightclub down the block, mixing with the sounds of traffic. Faint laughter filtered through the air, along with the occasional shout from a group of tourists on the corner. Over it all, Jon heard the rhythmic beat of his own heart, steady despite the anticipation.

As he turned toward the warehouse district, the scents grew stronger. The water was close, and with it came the familiar, slightly metallic tang that always hovered over the docks. He slowed as the dark silhouette of a run-down warehouse came into view, its once-white walls stained with years of neglect and rust. A single flickering streetlight cast long, jittery shadows across the cracked pavement.

The business name painted on the side of the building had long ago faded in the Florida sun. What was left was now covered with creeping vines and layers of graffiti.

Jon killed the headlights and pulled over, letting the silence settle around him. Max sat up, ears perked as if he sensed the excitement in the air.

“Stay,” Jon said, resting a hand on the dog’s head before stepping out into the night. He closed the car door carefully, keeping the sound to a minimum.

The door to the warehouse was ajar, a sliver of light from inside spilling onto the pavement. Jon approached cautiously, every step deliberate, the soles of his shoes scraping softly against the concrete. The air was thick with the smell of damp wood and something acrid, almost chemical, mixing with the faint briny scent from the nearby water.

As he pushed the door open wider, the rusty hinges groaned in protest. He grimaced at the sound and froze, but seconds passed with no reaction, the squeak apparently unheard. Inside, the warehouse was dimly lit, the light overhead flickering in and out. Jon paused, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. Water dripped faintly somewhere in the back. Each drop echoed in the empty space, along with the shuffling sound of footsteps.

He stepped inside, hand resting lightly on the grip of his holstered weapon. “Come on out,” he called, his voice low but firm. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

There was no response at first, just the sound of footsteps retreating deeper into the warehouse. Jon moved forward, his steps crunching against the grit-covered floor. He passed stacks of old crates, their wood splintered and sagging from age. His breath came slow and even, but he could feel his pulse quickening.

Just ahead, something shifted in the darkness. A figure darted out from behind a row of ceiling-high shelves, making a run for the back door. Jon reacted instantly, sprinting after him. His shoes pounded against the hard concrete, his muscles tensing as he closed the distance.

In a single swift motion, Jon lunged forward, grabbing the man by the arm and dragging him to the ground. The suspect let out a sharp grunt as he hit the floor, dust and debris rising around them. Jon felt the man’s slick, sweaty skin beneath his grip as the struggle continued for a few more seconds. Finally, he wrestled the man into submission, pinning his arms behind his back.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Jon said, his voice low, almost calm, as he clicked the handcuffs into place.

The man squirmed beneath him, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “You don’t know what you’re getting into,” he spat, his voice trembling. “This is bigger than you. Bigger than this whole city.”

“Right.” Jon pulled the man to his feet, steadying him with a firm grip. “I’ve heard that before.” A faint smirk crossed his face as he pushed the man toward the door.

The night air hit them as they stepped outside, a refreshing contrast to the stale, musty atmosphere inside the building, even if it was humid. The not-so-distant wail of sirens greeted them, backup finally on its way. Moments later, the flashing red and blue lights cut through the darkness, reflecting off the slick streets and casting eerie shadows on the warehouse walls.

As the patrol cars pulled up, Jon opened the back door of his sedan and guided the suspect inside. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he muttered, not bothering to shut the door.

Max barked from the front seat, interested in their new passenger. Jon glanced at his dog, gave him a nod, and leaned against the car as the officers approached.

“Good catch, Marzett,” one of the younger officers said, jogging up to him. “Thought you’d take it easy on your last night.”

Jon rolled his shoulders back as the stiffness of the day began to melt away. “One more collar for the books,” he said, his voice edged with the weariness of a man who’d seen it all. Because he had.

He glanced at his watch. Just a couple hours to go. Then he was his own man. With a brand-new life ahead of him.

“He’s all yours, Officer, and make sure you read him his rights.” Jon caught a hateful gaze from the freshly apprehended man as he was pulled from the back seat. Things like that had never bothered him, but tonight, he actually smiled back.

While the officers loaded the suspect into a waiting patrol car, Jon took one last look at the cityscape around him. Neon lights still flickered, the music still thumped, and Miami—loud, chaotic Miami—kept moving, as always. He wasn’t going to miss this place or the seedy characters who called this city home.

“Almost done,” he whispered to himself, a mix of relief and something unshakable settling in his chest. Almost.

It was hard to believe his years-long career as a detective for the City of Miami was at a close. The moment should have felt different, or at least he thought it would. There was no big sendoff for a loner like him, no fanfare. No life-changing epiphanies, either. He’d had his share of those already.

These were his last hours on the job here, although in his mind, he’d headed south for Big Pine Key and his new position with the sheriff’s office there a long time ago.

Jon weaved his way through the back streets of Miami’s Little Havana district, the vibrant murals and late-night noise barely registering as he drove to the apartment he’d been reluctant to call home.

The car’s engine hummed in the background, a steady soundtrack to his swirling thoughts. He would file the final report on his last collar from his laptop tonight; his desk at the department was already cleared out, the drawers empty and bare.

There was no need to return to the station for a piece of generic sheet cake and a lackluster sendoff. The goodbyes that mattered had already been said—last weekend on an offshore fishing trip organized by the few close colleagues he trusted, a rare break from the concrete jungle that had been his life for so long.

He’d keep in touch with them. At least he intended to. Jon was only moving a couple hours south to the sleepy town of Big Pine Key. But even though the destination was close, it felt like he was leaving one world behind for another—a quieter, slower place where, if he was lucky, he could carve out some semblance of peace.

He was ready for that. Felt like he’d earned it, honestly.

At least the move itself would be easy. The movers would arrive in the morning, and he just needed to haul his already-packed belongings from the small studio to the back of the truck. He’d lived in this one-room apartment for only a few months, ever since the separation.

He glanced around as he parked outside. The place was just a temporary shell for a life that had, until recently, been neatly contained within a marriage that seemed like it would last forever.

The emptiness inside the apartment greeted him as he pushed open the door—the faint musty smell of a space that had never been lived in properly, only occupied. There were few comforts to be found; Jon had only unpacked the bare essentials. A stack of boxes stood by the door, ready for the movers. On the kitchen counter, unopened mail teetered in a small pile, ready to be tossed or ignored. Either way, a task for tomorrow.

With a sigh, Jon went to the refrigerator and grabbed one of the three beers keeping a box of leftover Chinese food company. The bottle hissed as he twisted off the cap, the sound bouncing off the barren walls. He hadn’t bothered to make this place a home—he’d never planned to stay longer than he had to. Too busy, too restless to settle into what felt like a waiting room for the life that was supposed to come next. He took a long drink, letting the cold bitterness hit the back of his throat.

This had always been how he lived. Jon poured himself into his work, time slipping through his fingers as easily as the hours on the clock. And the job didn’t lend itself well to nurturing relationships—he knew that.

Still, when his ex-wife’s infidelity had finally come to light, it hit him like a sucker punch. The signs were there long before he caught her. The late nights out, the distance in her eyes, the new clothes she seemed to wear only when he was at the station. But facing the truth and accepting it were two different things, and Jon had taken the blow head-on, letting it cut through whatever was left of their marriage.

He wanted to be angrier than he was, but deep down, he couldn’t ignore his own role in their unraveling. Nights spent chasing suspects, weekends consumed by cases that should’ve been time for the two of them. He’d sacrificed their time together for every lead, every collar. And it wasn’t just about the job; it was about justice, about duty. Jon didn’t know how to turn that off, not even for her.

Max’s nails tapped rhythmically against the cool tile floor as he padded toward Jon, his dark eyes searching for connection—or perhaps he sensed the tension Jon was trying so hard to conceal. The dog’s wiry, jet-black coat gleamed under the soft light as he pressed his sturdy body against Jon’s hand, a silent offer of comfort. Slowly, Max eased himself down onto his haunches, savoring the chill of the floor beneath him as Jon ran his fingers through his thick fur.

Jon had always been a man of duty. He didn’t know how to be anything else. Before joining the force, he’d served as a Pararescue Jumper in the Air Force. Several tours downrange, where the stakes were life and death every day, left him jaded and numb, feeling like he needed to change before he wound up in a hole so deep he’d never see daylight again.

Jon had become someone who didn’t know how to turn off that need to fix things, to make things right, no matter the cost. It was ingrained in him. A part of his DNA. If only he’d known then that he was trading one hell for another.

The beer went down fast, and he reached for a second, settling into the leather recliner that still sported a dangling tag from the store. He glanced at the laptop on the coffee table. The cursor taunted him, hovering over the blank document—the final report he was supposed to file before officially closing out his time in Miami.

It wouldn’t take long, but those last words felt like an admission to himself: this chapter was finally over. What was so wrong with that?

The separation was clean; Jon had let her keep the house, the furniture, everything that made a place feel lived in. She stayed there now with her boyfriend. Jon hadn’t met him—not officially, anyway—and didn’t intend to. The knowledge that someone else was living his life, sitting in his chair, waking up in his bed—it stung.

But Jon needed a clean break, a fresh start with no attachments or strings. Just him and Max.

And when it came to splitting up their lives, his soon-to-be ex-wife hadn’t fought him on keeping the dog. It hardly surprised him. To her, Max had always been more of a nuisance than a companion. She rarely spoke about the dog unless she was complaining about the fur tumbleweeds that collected in the corners of the house or the wet slobber patches that marred the cool, pristine tile floor of the sunroom, where Max loved to stretch out in the sun for his afternoon naps.

To Jon, though, those tumbleweeds and slobber marks were signs of life, reminders of the loyalty and companionship he got from Max—things that couldn’t be said for his ex-wife.

It was just as well. Max had always been his boy, right from the beginning, all wagging tail and boundless energy. Although they’d both accumulated some gray hairs over the years, Jon was still pretty sure Max could answer the call if the chips were down.

No, the plans to leave Miami had been in the works for a while, long before he knew the truth of her betrayal. Truth was, Jon needed the escape.

Big Pine Key was supposed to be that escape, a place where he could wipe the slate clean and start over, where his life could finally quiet down to a steady hum instead of the blaring sirens and chaos that Miami seemed to offer at every turn.

He imagined himself waking up to the sound of the ocean, walking the quiet streets, shaking hands with the locals who knew each other by name. He wondered if peace would come easy or if he’d find himself restless, searching for the next fight.

Jon put down the empty beer bottle, reached for the laptop, and placed it on his knees. The final report was just another document, a few pages of words to mark the end of an era. He’d spent his career chasing ghosts and shadows, bringing criminals to justice, and living a life that most couldn’t understand.

But for now, all he had to do was write a few lines, click send, and move on. Easy enough, right?

The cursor blinked, waiting.

Jon began to type, his fingers moving steadily over the keyboard. The words came quicker than he expected, flowing from his mind to the screen. He wrote about the last collar, the charges, the evidence. But in his head, he was already gone. The sights and sounds of Miami faded into the background as his mind drifted to the slower, quieter world that awaited him just a couple hours south.

Tomorrow would be a new day. A different day. And for the first time in a long time, Jon felt a sense of hope. He would step out of the grimy Miami shadows and into the clear light of Big Pine Key. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find the peace he’d been searching for.

With a final click, the report was sent. Jon closed the laptop, leaned back, and reached out to give Max a scratch on the head, letting the silence settle over the room. Their last night in Miami—an end to the chaos and a promise of something new.

Jon Marzett rolled down the window as he crossed the narrow causeway into Big Pine Key, the warm coastal breeze drifting into the car.

It was a far cry from the stale, exhaust-heavy air of Miami. Here, the salty scent of the ocean was clean, crisp, and it carried a hint of the mangroves flanking the road.

Max sat in the passenger seat, ever the faithful companion, unlike Jon’s ex, his ears standing tall as if he’d sensed the change, his nostrils flaring as he picked up on all the new smells.

Ahead, the small town unfolded before them—fishing boats rocking lazily in the marina, modest houses painted in pastel blues and greens, a scattering of local businesses that lined the main road. Looked like paradise to Jon.

He noticed a gas station, a general store, and a sign tempting motorists down a crushed limestone road toward a bar and grill called the Rusty Anchor. It was a hole in the wall but peaceful, the kind of place a person would expect to find in Big Pine Key. A place where you could hear the wind rustling through the palm trees and the distant calls of seabirds. He’d had a beer or two there on his last visit to town before committing to the move.

Might be his new local spot. A place where, eventually, they’d learn his name and he’d learn theirs. He wanted that. To fit in and belong. To become part of the community.

Jon continued south another hundred yards or so, then pulled into the gravel parking lot of the sheriff’s department.

He and Max had some time to kill. The movers hadn’t finished unloading the truck yet, not that it would take them very long. But Jon couldn’t sit still. He’d have to learn if he was going to survive in this place. There’d probably be a lot more sitting here than there had been in Miami, but that’s what he’d come for. The change of pace. He’d get used to it after a while.

The building was low and drab, a whitewashed structure that had probably seen better days. A faded American flag flapped half-heartedly in the tropical breeze, its edges slightly frayed. This wasn’t Miami, but that was the point.

He steered for one of the many open spots and parked the car, the crunch of gravel beneath the tires the only sound in the stillness. For a moment, he just sat there, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. He had been chasing this quiet—this stillness—for some time, and now that he had it, it almost felt… foreign.

Truth was, he was having second thoughts about his decision to walk away from his former life. But that was normal, wasn’t it? This was a big change. It would take some getting used to.

Max shifted in his seat, letting out a low huff, as if urging Jon to get on with it.

Jon smiled faintly. “All right, all right,” he muttered, stepping out of the truck and stretching his legs while Max unloaded through the same door. He might as well introduce Max, too. They were pretty much a package deal, and he’d already cleared Max’s presence with the powers that be.

If Jon stayed true to his nature, this place would likely be their second home. He rolled his shoulders, his joints protesting after the long drive, a reminder that fifty wasn’t going to be as easy as forty had been.

He worked out the kinks as he made his way to the front door and noticed a few locals milling about—an older man pedaling past on a bicycle, a woman walking her dog along the sidewalk. They gave him and Max quick glances, nods of acknowledgment. He was new here, and in a town this size, that meant people would notice.

He was all right with that. Citizens who paid attention made for easier policing.

The door to the sheriff’s office creaked as he pushed it open. Inside, it was even quieter. The faint hum of an old air-conditioner filled the small waiting area. The walls were bare, save for a couple of official-looking plaques and a bulletin board cluttered with flyers for community events. A row of worn chairs lined the far wall, and behind the desk sat a man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Sheriff Marzett?” the man asked, barely looking up from the magazine he was flipping through.

“That’s me,” Jon replied, walking up to the desk. “You must be Ray Dalton.”

Ray finally looked up, offering Jon a smile that seemed a little less than genuine. He was in his mid-forties, paunchy around the middle, with a neatly trimmed mustache that belonged in another decade but somehow paired well with his thinning hair.

He wore the department’s uniform, but there was a laziness in the way his shirt was tucked into his pants, and the badge on his chest looked more like a decoration than something he took seriously.

“Yeah, Deputy Dalton,” Ray said, standing and extending a hand. Jon shook it, noting the clammy feel of Ray’s palm. “Welcome to Big Pine Key, Sheriff. Glad to have you on board. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow. I’m afraid I’m the only one here at the moment.” Ray eyed Max. “And who’s this?”

“That’s Max.” Jon nodded, letting go of Ray’s hand. “I know we’re early but figured Max and I would swing by while the movers unload the truck. I’m looking forward to getting started.”

Ray’s laugh was too loud for the quiet room, “Oh, no worries. It’s not like Miami, Sheriff. Things move a little slower down here. No need to rush.”

Jon glanced around the small office, taking in the dust settling on the desk and the faded map of the Keys pinned to the wall behind it. The space looked forgotten. “Maybe so, but I’m not here to take it easy when it comes to the job.”

Ray’s smile faltered for a moment before he forced it back into place. “Sure thing. Let me show you around.”

The tour was quick. There wasn’t much to see. A handful of desks, most of them empty, a small locker room, and a holding cell that looked like it hadn’t been used in months. Overhead, the fluorescent lights hummed, their steady drone the only sound besides Ray’s voice as he explained the layout of the building.

“This is it.” He gestured to the small room that served as Jon’s office. “Your new command center. Like I said, things are pretty quiet around here. You won’t have much to worry about.”

Jon stepped into the office. The desk was bare, save for a dusty green banker’s lamp and a phone that looked about as old as the building itself. A dead potted plant rested on the ledge of the window that overlooked the parking lot. Beyond that was the town. He could see the Gulf of Mexico in the distance, the calm blue water glinting in the sunlight. A boat drifted past as a pelican soared closer, looking for fish.

Nice view. Better than the one he’d had in Miami.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jon said, though something about Ray’s tone didn’t sit right with him.

It was too casual, too relaxed. Jon had been in law enforcement long enough to know when someone was trying to sell him on something, and Ray was selling him hard on the idea that this town was trouble-free.

In Jon’s experience, towns like that didn’t exist because they were filled with people, and people never could stay out of trouble for long.

Ray cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll leave you to get settled. If you need anything, I’ll be at my desk.”

Jon nodded, watching as Ray made his way out of the office. Once he was gone, Jon took the chair behind the desk for a test drive. The leather squeaked under his weight. Max sat nearby, ready for anything. For a moment, Jon just sat there, staring out the window and taking it all in.

It was strange. He had wanted this—a sleepy town, the laid-back lifestyle—but something about Big Pine Key felt off. It was too quiet, too still, like the calm before a storm. He had been a cop for too long to ignore his instincts, and right now, those instincts were telling him there was more going on here than met the eye.

Maybe it was just something he’d have to get used to, but Ray was a lazy man—that much was painfully clear. Even worse, he stunk of something more nefarious than complacency. The man was hiding something. Whether or not it was of any significance remained to be seen.

Jon reached down and scratched Max behind the ears. The dog had lain down near his feet, already making himself at home in their new digs.

“What do you think, boy?” Jon murmured. “Think this place is as quiet as it seems?”

Max tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question, before laying his head back down on his paws.

Jon chuckled softly. “Yeah, me neither.”

He leaned back in the chair, letting his mind wander for a moment as the sounds of the town filtered through the thin glass of the window. Big Pine Key sure did seem like the idyllic tropical postcard town.

But looks could be deceiving. And they often were.

Jon squinted against the glare of the mid-morning sun as he stepped through the doors of the sheriff’s department. The day was already sticky hot, and the faint hum of the air-conditioner inside was a welcome relief. He made his way toward the dispatch desk, his boots echoing on the hard floor. He wasn’t expecting much of a conversation—just a quick introduction, followed by a handoff of some paperwork and maybe a cup of coffee if someone had brewed a fresh pot.

Then he saw her.

“Hey there, stranger,” the woman behind the desk called out in a voice that was equal parts sugar and Southern sass. She leaned back in her chair, denim overalls stretched comfortably over a faded Nirvana T-shirt, her vibrant pink hair tucked into a messy bun. A pair of glasses hung from a chain around her neck, but she didn’t seem to need them as her sharp blue eyes sized him up. “You must be the new sheriff in town.” She laughed. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Jon hesitated. “Jon Marzett.”

She slapped her hand on the desk and let out a laugh. “Good. I like a man who keeps it simple. Maggie More. Dispatcher extraordinaire, former public school bus driver, car whisperer, and your go-to gal if you ever need to outrun a bad guy. Which I wouldn’t recommend, by the way, but, you know, life’s funny.” She winked.

Jon wasn’t sure what to make of her. She looked like she could have stepped off a magazine spread for Retired Women Who Don’t Give a Damn, but the warmth in her grin disarmed him. Her age was hard to pin down, somewhere in her early seventies maybe, but there was nothing frail about her. Her overalls had grease stains on the thighs, and the faint scent of engine oil clung to her, like she’d been elbow-deep in a carburetor before clocking in.

“Nice to meet you,” Jon said cautiously, sliding the folder across the desk. “I’m just here to introduce myself and unfortunately drop these off.”

“Paperwork, huh?” She pulled the folder toward herself and flipped it open with a dramatic sigh. “My favorite. Did you at least bring a bribe? Donuts? Coffee? A winning lottery ticket?”

Jon blinked, unsure if she was serious. “Uh, no?”

Maggie waved him off. “Relax, kid. I’m just yanking your chain, though I wouldn’t say no to coffee. My daughter runs the café down the street—Sticky Buns. You should stop by. Best coffee in town and cinnamon rolls the size of your head. Tell her I sent you, and maybe she won’t charge you extra for being boring.” She flashed another grin, the kind that made him feel like she was already writing a mental file on him.

“Appreciate the tip,” Jon replied dryly. He motioned to the bright pink coffee cup sitting on her desk. “You don’t like the coffee here?”

“This swill?” Maggie held up the flamingo-themed mug like it was a cursed object. “Sheriff’s department blend. Tastes like regret and bad decisions. Don’t worry, I drink it anyway. Builds character.”

Before he could respond, Max padded into the room, his nails clicking on the tile.

Maggie’s face lit up like Christmas morning. “And who’s this handsome fellow?”

“That’s Max,” Jon said as the dog walked up to her desk, tail wagging.

“Oh, Max, you are a handsome boy, aren’t you?” Maggie crooned, digging into a tin on the desk and pulling out a bone-shaped treat. “Here you go, sweet thing. Homemade, by yours truly. Organic, no junk, just the good stuff.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “You bake dog cookies?”

Maggie shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve got a soft spot for the four-legged crowd. You? Jury’s still out. But Max? He’s welcome here anytime.”

Jon couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. “Noted.”

As Maggie scratched Max behind the ears, she glanced back at Jon. “You’ll figure it out, you know,” she said, her tone shifting to something quieter, almost serious.

Jon wrinkled his brow. “Figure what out?”

“Whatever it is you’re chewing on in that head of yours. You’ve got that look—man trying to solve all the world’s problems on his own. Don’t do that. World’s too heavy for one person. Trust me.” She gave him a knowing look, then snapped back to her usual smirk. “Now get outta here before I put you to work. And go see my daughter. Sticky Buns. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” Jon said with a nod.

Jon headed to his office, Max trotting happily beside him. He couldn’t decide if Maggie More was the town’s eccentric aunt or best-kept secret, but one thing was clear: he wouldn’t forget her.

He stood in the doorway of his new digs, taking in the sight of the sheriff’s department with a critical eye on his first official day at work. He sipped his coffee, which Maggie hadn’t lied about. It was barely mediocre.

The place was quiet—too quiet for him. But he’d moved here for the quiet, so it was on him to adjust.

The hum of the ceiling fan in the corner of the room did little to mask the stillness, and the faint smell of stale coffee mixed with the musty odor of the old building. Jon wasn’t expecting anything fancy, but this? It was worse than he’d remembered from his short visit a couple weeks ago.

He set his coffee cup on his desk and walked out into the bullpen.

Three deputies sat at their desks, two of them half-heartedly flipping through paperwork while the third stared blankly at a screen. Jon had the sinking feeling that if he wasn’t there, the man might be playing solitaire.

The clatter of a typewriter echoed from somewhere in the back. The only other sounds were the distant buzz of a radio and the soft shuffling of papers. And Max snoring loudly from under Jon’s desk.

Ray Dalton, the same deputy who had given Jon the lackluster tour the day before, sat at his desk with his feet propped up, flipping through a fishing magazine as if it was just another day in paradise and he had nothing better to do. His badge was slightly askew, and his uniform looked the same as it had last night: like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks. Or maybe even washed.

He glanced up, catching Jon’s eye before offering a lazy smile. “Welcome to the team, Sheriff. You’ll see, we’ve got it pretty easy here.” He tossed the magazine aside. “Not much happens in Big Pine Key.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, the words sinking in slowly. He was already tired of Ray’s casual approach to the job. “Easy” wasn’t exactly what he was after. He’d come here for a quieter life, sure, but not to become a figurehead while the department coasted on autopilot.

He’d worked too long and too hard to let his last few years slide by like that. Jon was here to make a positive difference in the community. Whether it was big or small made no difference to him.

“We’ll see about that,” he replied, his voice calm but firm.

He didn’t know the extent of the department’s problems yet, but it was clear that Ray and the others had grown too comfortable. Too complacent. That wasn’t how Jon had been trained, and it wasn’t how he’d run things here.

It certainly wasn’t the impression he wanted the community to have of him and his deputies.

He glanced around the room again. A few filing cabinets stood in the corner, dusty and old, with their handles slightly bent from years of use, a couple spots of rust here and there. A bulletin board behind Ray’s desk had only a few notices pinned to it, mostly flyers for local events, a few advocating for hurricane preparedness, and an outdated list of safety tips.

“Where’s the case board?” Jon turned his attention back to Ray. “I want to see what we’ve got pending.”

Ray shrugged, the lazy smile never leaving his face. “Not much to put on a case board. Like I said, not much goin’ on around here. We get a few petty thefts, some drunk and disorderly on the weekends, mostly tourists. Maybe an argument or two between the locals, but nothing big. You’ll see—Big Pine Key pretty much polices itself.”

Jon felt a flicker of irritation. He’d heard the stories before taking the job—how small-town law enforcement had a different rhythm than the city, how things moved at a slower pace. But what Ray was describing sounded more like neglect than peace.

“What about drug activity?” Jon asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Ray let out a short laugh. “Oh, we don’t see much of that. This isn’t Miami, Sheriff. Folks here keep to themselves. The tourists come in, do their thing, and leave. The locals aren’t the type to stir up trouble.”

Jon stared at him for a moment, digesting his complacency as it settled uncomfortably in his chest. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it in his bones, even if Ray couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see it.

He’d spent years dealing with criminals, corrupt politicians, dirty cops. He recognized misdirection when it was poorly sold, and Ray was a bad actor.

“Well,” Jon said, his voice even, “I didn’t come here to sit back and watch. Let’s start by pulling everything you’ve got on recent complaints, especially anything related to the docks or outlying areas. I want to get a sense of the bigger picture.”

Ray’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of mild confusion as his feet slid from the desk and hit the floor. “Bigger picture? Like I said, Sheriff, there’s really not—”

“I’ll decide what’s worth looking into,” Jon cut in, his tone hardening. “Pull the files.”

Ray blinked again, but this time, there was a hint of unease in his eyes. “Sure thing, Sheriff,” he said slowly. “I’ll, uh, get on that.”

As Ray turned back to his desk, Jon moved toward the far side of the room, where the other two deputies were seated. One of them, a younger man with sandy hair and a nervous expression, quickly straightened up as Jon approached. The other, an older woman with graying hair pulled into a tight bun, didn’t seem to notice.

“Deputy O’Connell, right?” Jon asked, looking at the younger man’s name badge.

“Yes, sir,” O’Connell replied, his voice a little shaky. “I’ve been here about six months.”

Jon gave him a nod, taking in the way the young deputy seemed eager to please, if not slightly on edge. “And you, Deputy Alvarez?” He turned to the older woman.

She finally looked up from her computer screen, her dark eyes sharp as they focused on Jon. “Yes, Sheriff,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “Been here nearly fifteen years.”

Jon nodded again. “Good. I want both of you to keep me updated on anything unusual. I’m here to make sure this department runs smoothly, but I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Alvarez gave him a curt nod, while O’Connell seemed to relax slightly. “Of course, Sheriff,” O’Connell said. “But, uh, like Deputy Dalton said, it’s usually pretty quiet.”

“We’ll see,” Jon muttered, glancing around the room, his gaze settling on the other empty desks.

“Detectives Thorne, Sullivan, and Cunningham.” O’Connell pointed to the corresponding empty desks as he rattled off the missing deputies’ names. “They’re on next shift, Sheriff.”

Jon nodded at the young deputy. At least one of his team was eager to help out. Too bad he probably knew the least about the place.

Something wasn’t right about this whole situation, but Jon wasn’t ready to jump to conclusions just yet. He knew better than to trust first impressions. There was a chance he was looking too hard, but he dismissed the notion in lieu of what his instincts were telling him.

Time to do some research. What was true and what wasn’t.

As Jon made his way back to his office, he paused by the window, staring out at the peaceful town beyond. The turquoise water shimmered in the distance, while boats bobbed gently in the offshore breeze. On the surface, Big Pine Key looked like paradise. But Jon had a gut feeling there was turbulence underneath the tranquil facade. Something was brewing.

He sighed. Was it possible he was so used to chaos around every corner that he was trying to invent some? Maybe. But it didn’t feel that way in his gut.

Max, who had been sleeping quietly under the desk, stood and stretched, his tail wagging slightly as Jon returned to the office. He scratched the dog behind the ears, feeling the soft, warm fur beneath his fingers.

“We’ve got work to do,” Jon said quietly, more to himself than to Max. “This place isn’t what they want us to believe it is. I can just feel it.”

Max looked up at him with steady eyes, as if he understood. Jon sat down at his desk, the well-used chair creaking beneath him, and pulled out a notepad. He had a job to do, and he wasn’t about to let Big Pine Key slip into complacency on his watch.

Assuming it hadn’t already.

The late afternoon sun glared off the cars in the parking lot as Jon Marzett stepped outside the sheriff’s department.

A mild breeze carried the familiar scent of salt water from the nearby Gulf. A few gulls squawked overhead. It was a peaceful day on the surface—just like every day had been since his arrival about a week ago. But he was too seasoned to accept that things were this simple and easy, especially after he got to know Ray a little more. The guy was shifty, and that was a compliment, considering what Jon was tempted to call the man.

Max trotted beside him, his tail wagging gently, his paws padding softly against the limestone gravel. Jon reached down and gave the dog a brief pat on the head as they made their way toward the patrol car.

“Come on, Max,” Jon said, his voice low. “Time to stir the pot a little.”

He’d spent the week fairly isolated in his new office with Max, hanging pictures, de-funking the place while he finished the remnants of a bottle of rum he found in the bottom desk drawer. When off duty, of course.

He kept his hand out of the day-to-day affairs as far as the deputies were concerned, hoping to give the impression that he had no desire to rock the boat after the initial shakeup of his first day.

He was a big fan of observing from the outside and decided keeping a low profile, at least for the time being, was a better approach when dealing with someone like Ray. A guy like that would always hang himself if given enough rope.

But he’d kept busy in the background, reviewing files, pulling whatever information Ray Dalton and the other deputies had reluctantly provided. As expected, it wasn’t much—just a handful of minor complaints, most of them dismissed as “nothing out of the ordinary.”

But Jon knew better than to accept things at face value. In Miami, he’d spent years piecing together the small, insignificant details that others often overlooked. Most likely one of the reasons he was now single.

And those years of experience were telling him this town wasn’t as innocent as it seemed.

Today, he was headed to the docks to follow up on a call from earlier in the week—an incident that Ray had brushed off as just a “domestic dispute.” But something about the report had caught Jon’s eye. The fisherman who made the call had mentioned something strange, something about seeing unfamiliar boats docking late at night and hearing voices that didn’t sound local.

And the kicker? The fisherman’s nearly adult-aged daughter had gone missing shortly afterward.

Jon slid into the driver’s seat of his department-issue Chevy Tahoe, the warm leather pressing his sweaty shirt against his back. The department’s money had obviously gone toward vehicles, something Jon was thankful for as he started the engine and enjoyed the blast of cold air from the vents.

Max had already loaded up into the back seat. He seemed to prefer it in the spacious SUV. As long as the space wasn’t being used to haul a suspect, he could have it. It probably reminded him of his K-9 glory days.

The engine’s steady rumble filled the otherwise quiet interior as Jon pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the main road, heading toward the marina. The drive was short, and as he navigated the narrow streets, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. It wasn’t unusual in small towns like this—newcomers always drew attention—but there was something about the way people were staring him down.

Like they were sizing him up. Deciding if he was a threat. At the very least, getting a good look at the old sheriff’s replacement.

This was an elected position, but the job came up for grabs after Sheriff Engle disappeared without warning, let alone a formal resignation, several weeks ago.

Rumor was the man had left his wife and run off with a girlfriend to the Caribbean, but the official story was a medical discharge. Jon hadn’t heard a solid explanation that didn’t sound rehearsed, and he really didn’t care. Not yet, anyway. Nobody seemed to want to get into any details about the former sheriff.

Whatever the truth, Jon was filling the role until the next election, which, he’d been led to believe, he could win easily, leaving the position as his for the taking if he wanted it beyond the initial contract.

Jon pulled up to the dock, the smell of salt water and fish hitting him full force. Seagulls cawed overhead, and the sound of waves lapping against the wooden pilings created a rhythmic backdrop.

He stepped out of the Tahoe, letting Max out to join him. If the department wanted to play it loose, he was more than happy to oblige when it came to letting Max have a longer leash.

His shoes clunked against the weathered boards in cadence with the waves as he and Max walked toward the small cluster of fishing boats tied up at the end of the dock.

An older man sat on one of the boats, mending a fishing net. His leathery skin and faded cap made him look like he belonged to the sea as much as the boat. He didn’t look up when Jon approached.

“Afternoon,” Jon called out, his voice carrying over the sound of the water.

The man paused, glancing up from his work. His eyes were sharp, though his expression remained neutral. “Sheriff,” he grunted. “Didn’t expect to see you down here.”

Jon offered a nod, stopping a few feet away from the boat. “I heard you made a call earlier this week. Something about some unusual activity around the docks. Thought I’d check it out.”

The man squinted, clearly sizing Jon up. “That was nothing. Just some late-night fishermen, I think. Happens pretty often.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “You also mentioned your daughter, Rosa, had gone missing. That happen often, too?”

The man’s expression darkened, his hands stilling over the fishing net. “Rosa… she’s been running wild lately. Didn’t take off for long—came back after a couple days.”

“Still, it’s unusual for a teenager to disappear like that,” Jon pressed. “Especially right after seeing something suspicious down here.”

The man stood, wiping his hands on a rag. “Look, Sheriff, I don’t want any trouble. This town’s quiet. People keep to themselves for a reason.”

Jon caught the meaning in his words. Stay out of it. Leave things alone. It was the same message Ray had been trying to send all week, but Jon wasn’t interested in playing by those rules.

“I’m not looking to make trouble,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “But I’ve been around long enough to know when something’s off. You saw something down here that spooked you and suddenly you’ve had a change of heart?”

The man hesitated for a moment, then let out a heavy sigh. “All right, look. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I’ve been seeing boats come in late at night. Ones I don’t recognize. And the men aren’t from around here. It’s not just fishing—they’re moving cargo, and it ain’t the kind that belongs on a fishing boat.”

Jon felt his pulse quicken. Drugs? “What kind of cargo?”

“Containers with some kind of mark on them—got loaded right into a van. I don’t know where they went. But I didn’t like the look of it. Told Rosa and her friends to stay away from the docks at night, but you know how kids are. She’s stubborn.”

Jon nodded, taking it all in. The pieces were starting to come together—slowly, but they were there. Something was moving through Big Pine Key, under the radar, and the locals were too afraid—or too comfortable—to say anything.

“Did you see any faces?” Jon asked. “Anyone you recognized?”

The man shook his head. “No. They kept to themselves, stayed in the shadows. But I did hear something—Spanish, I think. Not Cuban. More Central American.”

Jon frowned, the familiar tangle of unease tightening in his gut. “If you see anything else, anything at all, you call me. Day or night.”

He offered his card, but the man refused it with a nod. “I got the number.”

Jon could tell the conversation was over. He tipped his hat and walked back to the patrol car, Max trotting along at his side.

As he slid into the driver’s seat, he let out a slow breath. The picture was still fuzzy, but it was clearer than it had been this morning. There was more to Big Pine Key than what Ray and the others wanted him to believe. The drug trade was bleeding into this place, and it was only a matter of time before it started spilling out into the open.

Drugs meant the peace here wouldn’t last long.

He glanced at Max in the rearview mirror. The dog was calm, watching the water with his usual quiet intensity, apparently very satisfied with his new role as Jon’s unofficial partner.

“You sense it, too, don’t you?” Jon muttered, rubbing his temple as the headache of the day began to settle in.

Of course, Max didn’t respond, but Jon already knew the answer.

The sun was starting to dip toward the horizon, casting an orange glow over the marina across the street as Jon pulled up to the sheriff’s department. The day’s heat lingered in the air, mixing with the salty tang of the ocean and the faint odor of hibiscus from a nearby bush in full bloom.

Jon’s mind still turned over the conversation he’d had with the fisherman as he climbed out of the truck. After letting Max out, he made his way inside the department, the air-conditioned coolness a sharp contrast to the warmth outside. The place was as dead as ever. Too dead. Ray Dalton sat behind his desk, feet still propped up, this time flipping through a sports magazine. The lazy thrum of the ceiling fan overhead seemed to match the lethargy of the place.

Jon shot him a disapproving look and made his way to his office, already feeling the stress of the day building in his shoulders. He didn’t want to deal with Ray right now—not when something was gnawing at him, a growing sense that he was just beginning to scratch the surface of a much deeper problem.

Once he and Max were inside his office, he closed the door behind him and sat down at the desk. The familiar squeak of the chair greeted him as he leaned back, staring at the file in front of him. It was thin—too thin for a case that involved mysterious boats, strange cargo, and a missing teenager. The whole thing stank, but he was missing crucial pieces—pieces he needed to find before he could even attempt to put this puzzle together.

Max lay down beside the desk, his presence a steady comfort. Jon absentmindedly scratched behind the dog’s ear as he flipped through the pages of the file again. Ray had insisted there was nothing unusual going on in Big Pine Key, but Jon had learned over the years that when something was so eagerly discounted, it usually meant trouble.

The phone on Jon’s desk buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. Maggie’s voice followed almost immediately, crackling through the intercom. “Sheriff, got a call for you. Some girl—wouldn’t give her name. You want me to tell her you’re out wrestling gators or something?”

Jon sighed. “Thanks, Maggie. I’ll take it.”

There was a pause before a quiet, trembling voice came through. “Sheriff, it’s Rosa Morales. You don’t know me, but… I think I’m in trouble. I saw some things at the docks the other night.”

Jon sat up, instantly on alert. “What kind of things?” The tension in his shoulders hardened into something sharper. “Go on,” he said, keeping his voice calm.

“The same boats. And they weren’t fishing, Sheriff. I saw crates being loaded onto one of them. I tried to get closer to see, but one of the men spotted me. I ran… I didn’t know who else to call.”

Jon’s pulse quickened, his gut confirming what he’d already suspected. This wasn’t just a case of teenage angst running wild. Something bigger was happening here. She was clearly afraid.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“I’m at a friend’s house,” Rosa admitted. “Listen, I overheard the guys at the dock talking about the old fish processing plant just down the road from the marina. But that’s when they saw me. I was able to get away, but I’m scared, and I didn’t want to go home in case they followed me.”

“What’s the address? I’ll come get you.” Jon sat on the edge of his chair, ready to hang up the phone and run out the door.

“No, I’ll meet you near the fish processing plant.” Rosa hung up without giving Jon a chance to say anything else.

He grabbed his Glock .45 from the desk and slid it into its holster, his fingers brushing the cool composite as the anticipation of what Rosa had to share with him grew. He glanced down at Max, who had already stood up, ears perked up.

“Not this time, boy,” Jon said quietly. “Stay here. Keep an eye on Ray.”

Max tilted his head, but Jon shut the door behind him and made his way out into the parking lot, moving with purpose. He hated leaving Max behind but didn’t want to drag the dog into a bad situation unprepared. There was no telling what was waiting for him at the fish processing plant. It was obvious now that Rosa’s father had been lying about her return. And if Max was going to start getting involved with the investigation on an intimate level, Jon would have to get him some gear first. At the very least, a Kevlar vest.

Ray looked up as Jon passed, lowering the sports magazine slowly. “Something going on, Sheriff?”

“Just following up on a lead,” Jon replied, his voice clipped.

“You’re not taking Max?” Ray couldn’t hide the disappointment in his eyes.

“Not this time.” Jon almost smiled. Leaving Max behind would have an unintended benefit. There was no way Ray would be tempted to snoop around Jon’s desk with the big German shepherd there.

Ray raised an eyebrow but said nothing. His eyes narrowed slightly as Jon pushed the door open and stepped outside. He could feel Ray watching him as he crossed the parking lot, but he didn’t care. He wanted to keep whatever was going on under wraps for the time being, but more importantly, he didn’t trust Ray any further than he could throw his lazy butt.

Jon followed his GPS, driving down the narrow road toward the fish processing plant, his eyes scanning the quiet streets for any sign of Rosa as the sun continued to sink lower in the sky. The shadows grew longer, and the town seemed to settle into a deeper silence, as if it were holding its breath.

Jon spotted a girl standing near the intersection ahead, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked younger in person than she did in the picture on file. More vulnerable. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her eyes were wide with fear.

He approached slowly, trying not to startle her. “Rosa,” he called out gently. “Rosa? Are you okay?”

She let her arms fall to her sides, her shoulders slumping slightly in relief. “I didn’t know what else to do, Sheriff. They were down there, loading up those boats from a truck I’ve seen parked there.” She pointed down the road at the fish processing plant. “I’ve seen them a couple of times now, but this time… this time, one of them saw me. That’s why I had to hide.”

Jon parked and got out, stepping closer, his eyes scanning the area around them, always alert. “Do you think you’re being followed?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. But I’m scared, Sheriff. My dad doesn’t want me talking to you about this. He says it’s too dangerous and that we need to stay out of it.”

Jon nodded, understanding all too well the fear that kept people quiet in places like this. “Your dad’s right to be cautious, but if something’s going on here, I need to know. Do you remember what the men looked like? Anything that stood out?”

“They were dressed like fishermen, but… I don’t know. They didn’t act like it. One of them had a tattoo on his neck—a scorpion, I think.” She paused, looking over her shoulder as if expecting someone to appear out of the shadows.

Jon sensed she had more to say but was holding back. “What is it?”

“We used to party at the old fish processing plant down the road there, but not in a while. There’s been stuff going on there lately and the place got fenced off. And I’ve seen the trucks that get loaded and unloaded at the marina using this road.”

Jon’s mind raced, piecing together the information. A tattoo like that could be tied to a cartel or some other organized group. He’d seen similar markings during his years in Miami. But it could also be nothing. “You’re doing the right thing—coming to me with this. But you need to be careful. If they think you saw something, they might come after you.”

Rosa nodded, biting her lip. “I don’t think so, but what should I do?”

“Go back to your friend’s house, stay there and stay out of sight until I can figure out what’s going on. Or better yet, get out of town for a while if you can. I’ll look into a possible safe house for you if it comes to that, but let’s not jump to any conclusions yet. Just lay low for now. I’ll take it from here.”

She hesitated but finally gave a small nod. “Okay. But please don’t tell my dad we talked.”

“I won’t say a thing. You need a ride somewhere?”

“No, I’m good. Got somebody waiting.” Rosa backpedaled, seemingly eager to put distance between them.

Jon wanted to thank the girl, but she was already too far away, and he didn’t want to draw any attention to her. He watched as she hurried back toward the main road to a waiting car, his hand resting on the grip of his gun.

This wasn’t just about local fishermen trying to make an extra buck. This was organized, and it had the marks of something much bigger than business as usual in the sleepy town of Big Pine Key.

Once she was out of sight, he drove the rest of the way out to the end of the road, where asphalt met dirt and eventually led toward the plant.

The once-bustling building was now abandoned and crumbling with age. Vines snaked up the cracked walls, and broken windows gaped like empty eyes staring out at the road. Palmettos cropped up in what had once been manicured beds. The place had been closed for years, long enough for nature to start reclaiming it.

He scanned the area for any signs of activity. The air was still; the only sound was the occasional cry of a seagull in the distance. But the quiet felt wrong, like the calm before a storm. Suddenly, he regretted leaving Max at the office.

At least the sun would set in a few more minutes. Dusk would provide him some cover.

Jon parked the Tahoe in a shaded clearing out of sight from the property and set out on foot to cover the last couple hundred yards.

He crossed a set of tire tracks and stayed on them until he ran into a locked gate. The entrance had clearly been used recently, although it was chained up tightly at the moment. Someone had also taken the time to hang fairly new no-trespassing signs along the perimeter.

Jon worked his way around the place until he discovered a section of fence that had been pulled back, allowing access to the rear of the property. He picked his way through the weed-choked opening and jogged across the open yard between the fence and the building, a dimly lit back door in his sights.

It took him less than a minute to pick the lock on the old door. Then he quickly traded the small case of tools for his sidearm. The door’s hinges groaned in defiance of his attempt at stealth as the smell of damp surfaces and old fish hit him full force.

The interior was dark. The only light came from the cracks in the ceiling, where the last rays of the setting sun filtered through. Jon’s footsteps echoed in the empty space as he moved deeper into the building, his senses on high alert.

And then he saw it—a shelving unit stacked with large plastic storage containers marked with a black scorpion. Jon traced the markings with his finger, then used his pocketknife to pry the lid open carefully, revealing what he’d suspected all along.

Drugs—blues. Fentanyl, to be precise. Jon passed the blade of his knife through the sea of loose pills. There must be thousands of them here. He took a step back and eyed the find, counting the Tupperware-like containers branded with the black scorpion. Working some quick numbers in his head, Jon figured he was looking at around a hundred grand worth of product.

He exhaled slowly, a deep, shaky breath that seemed to carry the weight of the world. His eyes shut, if only for a moment, as he wished desperately that this was some twisted nightmare—but it wasn’t. And neither was the grim reality of what these drugs would unleash.

Jon knew the numbers, the chilling statistics and the average age of the lives these blues would claim. He’d seen too many overdoses, consoled too many grieving parents. This discovery cut him to the core. The people responsible for bringing this poison into his new town? They were the ones he hated more than words could ever express.

His heart raced as he grabbed a few photos with his phone before closing the container he’d just pried open. While the magnitude of the discovery settled over him, he almost didn’t notice the stack of wooden crates in the corner of the room.

He moved toward them with purpose. It wasn’t more drugs—weapons of some sort. He didn’t want to push his luck by staying here too long, but he had to see for himself what the crates held.

Using his pocketknife again, only this time like a small prybar, Jon convinced the lid to give way. Once he could get a few fingers into the gap he’d created, he was able to lift the wooden top easily.

“Well, well. Now it’s a party.” Jon stood back and counted off across the top row of mint-condition M240 machine guns. Heavy hardware. Too heavy for small-time criminals.

He was tempted to pull one out and see if they were the real thing or knockoffs but settled for a few more pictures instead. It didn’t matter anyway. They were just as dangerous, whatever they were.

And he didn’t want to risk disturbing anything the cartel might notice. Not yet, anyway. This wasn’t just some small-time smuggling operation. This was organized crime moving through the town, right under everyone’s noses.

And now it was his problem.

The sun had long since disappeared by the time Jon returned to the sheriff’s department. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed like an accusation as he stepped inside, the air still carrying the faint scent of old coffee and dollar-store air freshener.

Max greeted him with a quiet wag of his tail from the corner of his office, but Jon didn’t pet him for long. His mind was busy mulling over his recent discovery at the old fish processing plant and what it all meant.

He hadn’t been in Big Pine Key for very long, and already, with a little investigating, the quiet, unassuming town had revealed its darker side.

The quantity of blues suggested something more substantial than a small-time smuggling operation—it was evidence of something bigger, something that could tear apart the very fabric of the town.

Now Jon found himself entangled in something he couldn’t walk away from. The kind of problem that wouldn’t let him rest until every thread was unraveled, every truth exposed.

As he sat at his desk, flipping open his notepad to jot down what he’d uncovered, the door to his office creaked open. Ray Dalton leaned against the frame, his mustache twitching as he finished eating whatever it was that had also left an orange stain on his shirt. Jon resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Ray studied him for a moment longer, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Long day?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with something more.

Jon went back to his notes. “You could say that.”

Ray stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. “Word around town is you’ve been stirring things up.”

Jon closed the notepad and returned his gaze to Ray. “Just doing my job. You should try it sometime.”

Ray gave a short, humorless chuckle. “Sheriff, you’ve only been here a week. Trust me when I say there are certain things you don’t want to get involved with. This town runs just fine without too many questions being asked.”

Jon leaned back in his chair, studying Ray, wondering just how involved the man was. “You telling me to turn a blind eye?”

Ray’s eyes shifted slightly, the lazy smile fading from his face. “I’m telling you that Big Pine Key has its way of doing things. People here… they don’t like change. They don’t want the attention of the outside world. This is a ‘if it ain’t broke, no need to fix it’ kind of place. If you catch my drift.”

Jon felt his jaw tighten. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard someone try to sell him on the idea of “letting things be,” but it still rankled him. He’d left Miami to find peace and a slower pace, yes, but not at the cost of justice. He wasn’t about to let this town turn a blind eye to drugs and crime, especially not under his watch.

He’d seen the side effects. He wasn’t letting that happen here.

“And how long have you been letting things slide, Ray?” Jon asked, his voice low, but there was an edge to it. “How long have you been looking the other way, and at what cost to the people here?”

Ray’s face darkened, and he crossed his arms, taking a step closer to Jon’s desk. “I’ve been in this department fifteen years, Sheriff. I know how things work around here. You don’t. You’re an outsider, and the more you push, the more you’ll find yourself alone.”

Jon stood, meeting Ray’s gaze evenly. “I may be new here, but I’m not blind. And I’m not about to sit back while this town lets criminals run the show. I don’t care how long you’ve been comfortable with it, Ray. That’s not how I do things.”

The silence between them was charged with anger. Max whimpered softly, but Jon held his hand out, calming the dog. Ray’s eyes flickered with something close to malice, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he let out a slow breath and straightened his shoulders, as if trying to regain control.

“I’m just giving you some advice, Sheriff,” Ray said quietly. “For your own good. The folks here… they don’t take kindly to outsiders making waves. Just think about that before you start kicking the hornet’s nest.”

Jon didn’t back down. “You let me worry about the hornets.”

Ray stared at him for a long moment before finally giving a small nod, his expression unreadable. “Suit yourself,” he muttered, turning to leave. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

As Ray walked out, Jon felt a sense of regret pour over him. What had he gotten himself into? He had expected resistance, but not from within his own department. Ray was actively protecting the status quo. And the worst part? Jon wasn’t sure how many of his own were involved. How many others in the department were looking the other way? How deep did this corruption go?

Deep enough, apparently, to give a man like Ray the brazen confidence to challenge Jon openly—his own boss, the man meant to lead the department. The very thought made Jon’s blood run cold.

Ray’s complete lack of decorum—and his casual indifference to the rot he was a part of—was staggering. It was like the lines between right and wrong had vanished for him, leaving behind only shades of self-interest and greed. Ray didn’t flinch at the dirty deals, didn’t blink at the lies, and certainly didn’t care about the destruction left in the wake of his decisions.

A chill rippled through Jon. Ray wasn’t just complacent—he was complicit. And the man didn’t seem the least bit worried about what would happen if Jon found out just how far that complicity stretched.

Jon sank back into his chair, running a hand over his face as Max padded over to him and rested his head on Jon’s knee. Jon scratched behind Max’s ears, finding some comfort in the dog’s steady presence.

“This place is worse than I thought,” Jon murmured.

Max’s tail thumped softly against the floor, a quiet show of support.

Jon had a choice to make. Like Ray had suggested, he could fall in line, keep his head down, and ride out the rest of his career in relative peace. Or he could push back, dig deeper, and risk stirring up something sinister.

Of course, there was no choice for Jon. It wasn’t even a question.

He grabbed his phone and dialed the fisherman’s number. The phone rang a few times before a gruff voice answered. “Hello?”

“It’s Sheriff Marzett,” Jon said. “I need to meet with you again. Tonight.”

There was a pause on the other end. Jon could hear the hesitation in the man’s voice when he finally responded. “I already told you what I know, Sheriff. I don’t want any trouble.”

“There’s more going on than you realize.” Jon kept his voice firm but not harsh. “We need to talk. Meet me at the Rusty Anchor in an hour.”

Another pause, longer this time. “Fine,” the fisherman muttered. “But you’re playing with fire, Sheriff.”

“I know. See you there.”

Jon hung up, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline. He wasn’t about to let this go. Not now.

As he stood and grabbed his jacket, Max looked up at him expectantly. Jon gave him a sly smile and knelt down to give the dog a quick pat.

“I better drop you off at home, boy. I’ve got some things to take care of.”

Max let out a soft huff and followed Jon as he left the office.

The night air was cooler now, the breeze rustling the tops of the nearby palm trees. Jon’s thoughts raced as he made his way toward home to drop off Max and put on something less conspicuous.

He was new here, an unknown face to most. He planned on using that to his advantage for as long as he could, although it wouldn’t last long if this thing was as big as he feared. Whatever was going on in Big Pine Key, it was deeper than just a few boats smuggling drugs. The corruption ran through the town, and it wasn’t just the criminals who were involved.

Jon left anything that would identify him as a lawman at home with Max. Except for his Glock, which he hid under his shirt in a concealed holster. He’d use his own vehicle tonight; the well-used Ford F-150 would complete his below-the-radar approach and help him blend right in with the usual clientele that frequented the Rusty Anchor.

“Be a good boy, Max. I’ll be right back.”

Jon patted the dog’s head, trying to ignore the disappointed look on his best friend’s face, then locked the door behind him. He sat behind the wheel of his truck for a few seconds, contemplating where all this would lead him and how much had changed in just a few days on the job. So much for a slower life. No point overthinking it, though. Otherwise, he might change his mind.

Pulling out of the driveway, Jon found himself cruising through the quiet streets of Big Pine Key, that familiar sense of isolation creeping in. He was an outsider here, and Ray was right about one thing: the more he pushed, the more alone he would become.

But Jon never backed down from a fight. And just because he’d accepted a job in paradise didn’t mean that would change.

The Rusty Anchor was a place Jon had already become familiar with in his short time in Big Pine Key. It sat on the edge of town, just before the road gave way to points south. The building was worn down, its paint peeling in long strips that fluttered in the wind like dead skin, but it still drew a crowd.

Fishermen, locals, and the occasional out-of-towner with no better place to go filled the tables and the bar. The hum of conversation and clinking glasses greeted Jon as he pushed open the door, stepping into the low-lit interior.

The smell of fried food and beer hung heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of salt water and sweat that seemed to permeate the place. The soft twang of a guitar and the melancholy lyrics of a country song droned from an old jukebox in the corner.

As Jon crossed the room, he felt curious eyes tracking his every step, each stare sizing him up, assessing him with a silent, wary scrutiny. Conversations dipped and paused, a ripple of apprehension sweeping through the crowd like a held breath.

But just as quickly as the pause had come, it passed; voices resumed, laughter rose, and the familiar hum of clinking glasses and bustling movement swallowed up the brief silence that had hung in the air. The room had taken him in, made its judgment, and moved on, slipping back into its usual rhythm.

Maybe someday, he’d qualify as a regular. Then again, he might never be considered a local with the storm he was about to unleash.

Jon spotted the fisherman, Miguel Morales, seated at a small table near the back, nursing a beer. His weathered face was drawn in tight lines as he scanned the room nervously like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

Jon made his way over, weaving through the crowd. As he approached, Miguel glanced up, his eyes flicking briefly toward the door before settling back on Jon.

“You shouldn’t have called me here,” Miguel muttered as Jon slid into the seat across from him. “This ain’t the kind of town where people go talking to the law.”

“I don’t care what kind of town it is,” Jon said, his voice low but firm. “You’ve got information, and I need to know what’s really going on at those docks.”

Miguel sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. He took a long swig of his drink, draining nearly half the contents. The remaining beer sloshed around in the glass as he set it down hard on the table. “You’re pushing against something you don’t understand, Sheriff. The people running those boats… they’re not just local guys trying to make a quick buck. They’re dangerous.”

Jon’s jaw clenched at the confirmation of what he’d suspected. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Cartel? In Big Pine Key?”

Miguel nodded slowly. “I’ve seen them. They’re not just moving drugs, Sheriff. There’s more to it. Guns, too. I don’t know who’s buying or how deep it goes, but the shipments keep coming, and no one’s talking.”

Jon’s pulse quickened as what he already knew was confirmed. Hearing it only made it worse. Drugs and guns moving through a small town like Big Pine Key. He frowned. So much for paradise. “Who’s in charge?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Miguel admitted. “But there’s one guy who comes in with them sometimes. Tall, dark hair, tattoo of a scorpion on his neck. I’ve seen him with the others, but he doesn’t get his hands dirty.”

Jon leaned back in his seat, feeling the pieces click into place. The man Rosa had seen—the one with the tattoo. “You said no one’s talking. Why?”

Miguel’s eyes shifted uneasily. “You think people in this town don’t know? They know. They know to keep their mouths shut or bad things happen. The sheriff’s department… most of them are in on it, or at least looking the other way. Ray’s been on their payroll for years.”

Jon’s stomach twisted. He’d already suspected as much about Ray, but it still made him sick. He’d known the man was complacent, but corrupt and on the take? That was another level. “And what about the others? Alvarez? O’Connell, Sullivan, Cuningham, and the other one.” Jon drew a momentary blank. “Bryson Thorne?”

It was no wonder he’d almost forgotten about Deputy Thorne. The guy was as good at blending into the background as Ray Dalton was at being lazy.

Miguel shrugged. “Alvarez is smart. She keeps her head down. O’Connell’s young, too green to know what’s happening. But Ray… he’s the gatekeeper. You’re not going to get anywhere without going through him, and trust me, he’s not letting anyone mess with his cut.”

Jon clenched his fists under the table. The scope of the corruption ran deeper than he’d thought. If Ray was involved with the cartel, it meant Jon wasn’t just fighting criminals—he was fighting his own department.

Miguel leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Sheriff, if you keep pushing, they’ll come after you. These guys don’t play by the rules. You’re not in Miami anymore.”

“Who says they play by the rules in Miami?” Jon huffed.

His eyes met Miguel’s. He could see the fear in them, the same fear that kept the rest of the town silent. But fear wasn’t enough to stop Jon.

“I’m not backing down,” he said quietly, his tone measured. “And neither should you. This town deserves better.”

Miguel stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head slowly. “I’m an old man with a daughter to think about. And you’re gonna get us both killed.”

Before Jon could respond, the door to the bar swung open, letting in a gust of cool night air. A group of men walked in, their voices loud and their movements casual, but Jon immediately felt the energy of the room change. One of them had a tattoo peeking out from under his collar.

A scorpion.

Jon’s hand instinctively moved closer to his concealed pistol, stopping just a few inches away. The man with the tattoo scanned the room. His eyes briefly landed on Jon before moving on. He didn’t seem to recognize Jon as the sheriff—yet.

Miguel went pale, his fingers tightening around his glass. “That’s him,” he whispered, barely moving his lips. “That’s the guy I told you about.”

Jon kept his eyes on the group, watching as they made their way to the bar. They laughed loudly, exchanging words in Spanish. Jon couldn’t make them out over the noise of the crowd, but their demeanor was unmistakable: dangerous and confident, like they owned the place.

“Stay here,” Jon muttered to Miguel as he stood.

Miguel grabbed his arm. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Jon gave him a look. “I’m just going to have a word.”

Miguel let go, and Jon made his way toward the bar, moving slowly but deliberately. He wasn’t sure what his plan was yet. Confrontation didn’t feel right, but neither did walking away.

The men’s voices grew louder as he approached, the sound of their laughter grating his nerves. The man with the neck tattoo glanced at him again, his eyes narrowing slightly, and Jon could feel the shift in the air. The man tilted his head toward him, speaking softly to the others. They turned, all of them watching Jon now, their expressions cold.

Jon stopped a few feet away, his stance relaxed but ready. “Evening,” he said, his voice calm.

The man with the scorpion on his neck gave him a slow, appraising look. “Sheriff Marzett, right?” His voice was smooth, but Jon heard the threat clear enough.

Jon nodded. “That’s right. And you are?”

The man put on a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just a visitor. Passing through.”

“Funny,” Jon said, squaring up on him. “You seem to be here often.”

The smile faded slightly, and the man’s eyes darkened. “I don’t like being watched, Sheriff.”

Jon’s muscles tightened. He felt the cool polymer grip of his gun press against his skin, the familiar presence a comfort, but this wasn’t the time for force. Not yet. “I’m just here to keep the peace. And lately, I’ve been hearing a lot about certain… visitors stirring things up around town.”

The man’s smile disappeared completely now. His eyes bored into Jon’s, cold and calculating. Jon had seen eyes like that before—on men who killed without a second thought. “I suggest you stick to keeping the peace, Sheriff. Don’t get involved in things that aren’t your business.”

Jon met his gaze evenly. “Everything that happens in this town is my business.”

For a moment, neither man moved. The noise of the bar seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the heavy silence between them.

Then the man with the tattoo took a step closer, his voice low and dangerous. “This town doesn’t belong to you, Sheriff. And if you keep pushing, you’re gonna regret it.”

Jon didn’t flinch. “We’ll see about that.”

The man held Jon’s gaze for a long moment, then turned and signaled to his companions. They moved toward the door, leaving behind an atmosphere so charged Jon could almost taste it.

As the door swung shut behind them, Jon let out a slow breath. The danger wasn’t just lurking in the shadows anymore—it was out in the open. So much for flying under the radar. Now it was only a matter of time before things escalated. Jon had always preferred to sit anonymously in the background, observing until he had all the facts, but Mr. Scorpion made him the moment he entered the bar.

Jon returned to the table, where Miguel looked pale and shaken. “You see what I mean now?” Miguel whispered. “They’re not afraid of you, Sheriff. They own this town.”

Jon sat back down, his pulse still racing, although he knew it didn’t show. “Not for long.”

Miguel didn’t look convinced, but Jon had made his decision. He was in this fight now, and there was no turning back.

He talked with Miguel for a few minutes longer before saying goodbye. As he left the Rusty Anchor and stepped out into the cool night air, Jon felt his aspirations for a simple, quiet, small-town life slipping through his fingers. The feeling settled over him like a dark cloud.

He needed to find out who was running things. Who was he really up against? The town? His own department? A system that had let corruption fester for far too long? It felt like all of them at once right now. And it was a fight he and the innocent folks that called Big Pine Key their home couldn’t afford to lose.

The next morning, Jon arrived at the sheriff’s department early, the air still relatively cool and fresh with the scent of tropical flowers, though the heat was already beginning to rise.

Max padded beside him as he opened the door, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing in the quiet space. The building felt as lifeless as ever. The low hum of the ceiling fans was the only noise, save for the occasional clatter of a keyboard from the far side of the room.

Ray Dalton sat at his desk, feet up as usual, a mug of coffee in his hand. His eyes flicked up as Jon entered, and he offered a lazy nod. “Sheriff. You’re in early.”

Jon didn’t respond. He’d spent most of the night turning over the conversation with Miguel Morales and the encounter with the man at the Rusty Anchor. There was no mistaking it now—there was a major operation in Big Pine Key, and it was happening right under the noses of his own deputies.

Some of them were undoubtedly well aware of the nefarious activities unfolding in this place, while others remained oblivious, caught in a haze of innocence or willful ignorance. The challenge, however, would be discerning who was involved and who was not—the million-dollar question. Jon was determined to answer it soon.

He needed to know who he could trust and who he needed to watch. The stakes were high, and every clue mattered. Separating friend from foe would either bring him closer to the truth or lead him deeper into the tangled web of deception surrounding him.

Ray sipped his coffee, unfazed, as if Jon’s silence, or their conversation last night, didn’t bother him. “Something on your mind, Sheriff?”

Jon set his bag on the desk and glanced out through his open office door at Ray, his tone sharp. “We need to talk.”

Ray raised an eyebrow but slowly set his feet on the floor, leaning forward in his chair. “All right. Talk.”

Jon walked back to the threshold of his door and leaned against the jamb, his voice calm but firm. “Last night, I went down to the Rusty Anchor. Had a little chat with a guy who’s been making regular trips to our docks. Tall fellow, dark hair, Scorpion tattoo on his neck. Sound familiar?”

Ray didn’t flinch, but his eyes narrowed slightly. Enough of a tell that Jon understood Ray was familiar with the man. “Not really. You know how it is around here. Lots of people passing through, especially down at the marina. Boats coming in and out all the time from all over the place.”

“I’ve been hearing rumors,” Jon continued. “Drugs, guns, the cartel. And from what I’m seeing, it looks like our docks are being used to run all of it right under our noses.”

Ray leaned back, a faint smile creeping onto his face. “Sounds like you’ve been listening to too many stories, Sheriff. This is a quiet town. We get some drug activity from time to time, but it’s small time, nothing we can’t handle.”

Jon’s gaze didn’t leave Ray’s face. “Is that right? So why is it that the people I’m talking to say otherwise? They say there’s a whole lot going on, and some of the folks in this department are happy to turn a blind eye.”

Ray’s smile faltered. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Jon stood up straight, his voice hardening. “I’m saying that I’m not turning a blind eye, Ray. And if I find out you’ve been covering for these guys, we’re going to have a problem.”

Ray rose slowly from his chair, his eyes meeting Jon’s. “You’re out of your depth, Marzett. You think you can come down here from Miami and clean up the whole town like you’re some kind of big shot? You don’t know how things work around here.”

Jon’s jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin. “I know corruption when I see it.”

Ray took a step out from behind his desk, his voice dropping low. “You’ve got no idea what you’re getting into. These people, the ones really running things around here—they don’t care about badges or titles. They’ll chew you up and spit you out if you keep digging.”

Jon took a step forward and crossed his arms. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Ray stared at him, his eyes narrowing, sizing Jon up with more than a hint of disdain. After a long, tense silence, he shook his head. A dark, bitter chuckle slipped through his teeth. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But you’re a fool if you think you can clean up Big Pine Key on your own. Go ahead. Your predecessor, he thought he could do the right thing, too, right up until he crossed the wrong people.”

“Oh, you know something more about that, do you?” Jon took an accusatory tone while he stepped toward Ray.

The smirk faded from Ray’s face almost instantly, his eyes widening in alarm as if he’d just swallowed a bug and was now choking on it. He’d almost said too much, and he knew it.

Jon didn’t blink. He’d faced men like Ray before—men who hid behind their smug arrogance and threats, believing fear alone would do their dirty work. Ray’s brand of intimidation was all too familiar. He wanted Jon to feel cornered, to give up. But that slip-up about the former sheriff only confirmed Jon’s suspicions. The panic that followed fueled his resolve. The gauntlet had been thrown, and Ray’s untouchable attitude was the type of barrier Jon was eager to break through.

Ray finally turned away, walking back to his chair with a dismissive wave. “Do what you want, Sheriff. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Jon watched as Ray sat back down, the conversation clearly over in Ray’s mind. But for Jon, this was only the beginning.

As he returned to his office, Jon felt the complexity of the situation settling over him. Ray wasn’t just trying to hide details from Jon; he was involved and benefiting from whatever arrangement he’d made with whoever was running things in Big Pine Key.

Jon was sure of it. Ray was obviously one of the ones he had to keep an eye on, but who else in the department? Or was Ray working alone? Jon wanted to believe that was the case, but his experience and gut instinct told him the chances were slim.

Everything he previously thought and now knew about Ray aside, Jon had been given fair warning about the man. And that warning had come from the man partly responsible for getting Jon this job in the first place: County Commissioner Carlos Vega.

Something about Vega seemed odd, though. He’d been almost too enthusiastic about Jon taking the job. Maybe because Ray had been the only other applicant. Jon hadn’t known Ray long, but it came as no surprise that he wasn’t very well-liked around town.

Max sat beside his desk, watching him with quiet eyes. Jon bent down, giving the dog a quick scratch behind the ears, finding a brief moment of calm in Max’s steady presence. “Looks like it’s just you and me on this one, boy,” he murmured.

Max wagged his tail softly, his eyes following Jon’s every move as he stood and grabbed the folder he’d started compiling. He wasn’t going to wait for Ray to slip up again. Jon would dig on his own, gather whatever evidence he could find, and bring down whoever was running this operation.

He spent the rest of the morning reviewing records, scanning through case files and incident reports that had come through the department over the past few years. He focused on anything that seemed even remotely connected to the docks—missing persons, disturbances, unexplained violence.

The deeper he dug, the clearer the pattern became. There were gaps, holes in reports that should’ve been followed up on but weren’t. Incidents at the marina that had been written off as “routine” without any further investigation. Names that kept popping up: fishermen, dockworkers, and locals who had connections to the docks but were never questioned.

Jon’s frustration grew with every page he turned. It wasn’t just that people were being paid off. There was a system here, a carefully constructed network of silence that kept the whole thing running smoothly. And whoever was at the top had made sure to keep things quiet, to keep the right people looking the other way.

Around midday, Jon’s phone buzzed. He picked up, glanced out through the glass in his door, and saw O’Connell staring at him with the phone up to his ear.

“Sheriff?” O’Connell’s voice crackled through the line. “We’ve got something down at the marina. Looks like there’s been an accident. One of the dockworkers was found in the water. Looks like he’s been there awhile.”

A chill ran down Jon’s spine. “I’m on my way.”

He grabbed his hat and headed out, Max running after him as they made their way to the Tahoe. The marina wasn’t far, but Jon’s mind was already racing ahead, piecing together the implications of what O’Connell had said. A body in the water wasn’t just an accident. It was a message.

When Jon arrived at the marina, he found Alvarez already on the scene. A few onlookers had gathered, their faces pale and uneasy as they watched from a distance. The smell of salt water and decay hung heavy in the air, mixing with the low murmur of the building crowd.

Alvarez met him at the edge of the dock, her face grim. “Sheriff, it’s bad. They pulled him out about an hour ago. The coroner’s on the way, but from the looks of it, the victim’s been dead awhile.”

The crunch of gravel got Jon’s attention. O’Connell had arrived.

“Thought I’d come down and see if I could help out.” O’Connell clipped his radio to his belt and made his way across the parking lot toward Jon and Alvarez. Jon wasn’t sure which of his deputies could be trusted yet, but he was beginning to think Alvarez and O’Connell were all right. He didn’t have any real proof to back that up, but both seemed eager to assist.

Jon glanced down at the tarp-covered body. A pair of legs stuck out from beneath the dirty plastic sheet, the skin bloated and discolored from too many hours in the water. “Who is it?”

O’Connell hesitated. “His name’s Enrique Castillo. He worked security here at the marina, mostly night shifts. One of the old-timers.”

Jon frowned, recognizing the name from the files he’d been reviewing earlier. Enrique had been mentioned in connection with a few incidents at the docks, but nothing serious enough to warrant further investigation, apparently—until now.

“Anyone see anything?” Jon scanned the faces of the crowd that had gathered near the edge of the dock.

Alvarez shook her head. “No one’s talking, and I get the feeling no one will. They’re scared, Sheriff. We searched his vehicle but didn’t find anything.” She motioned with her head toward a Cadillac SUV in the parking lot, its doors and tailgate still open from her efforts.

Jon knelt beside the body, lifting the edge of the tarp just enough to see the face and upper torso underneath. Enrique’s eyes were swollen shut, his lips cracked and broken. There were bruises around his neck and arms—evidence of a struggle.

But Jon was willing to bet the coroner’s report would show the man had overdosed on fentanyl. Whether he had taken the drugs willingly or had been coerced into it was still uncertain. They’d have to wait for the report, but Jon was pretty sure he knew the answer.

He stood slowly, his mind working through the possibilities. Either Enrique had been part of whatever was happening at the docks or he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to.

But the brand-new Cadillac Escalade sitting in the marina parking lot and the gold-capped teeth protruding from his purple lips didn’t exactly fit. A more likely scenario was that Enrique had tried to back out of a deal, making himself a liability, or he’d gotten greedy and wanted a bigger cut for whatever services he was providing.

But regardless of the circumstances that had him and two of his deputies staring down at a bloated body, this wasn’t just a case of drugs or guns being moved through the town. People were dying under Jon’s watch. And the deeper he dug, the more dangerous this situation was becoming.

As he stood at the edge of the dock, the responsibilities he’d accepted by taking this position were thrust front and center. This was his mess to clean up. It didn’t matter that he’d inherited the problem. The cartel, the corruption, the fear that gripped Big Pine Key—it all pointed to one inevitable truth.

Jon Marzett would not find the peace and quiet he’d been seeking, at least not until he brought justice to the men responsible.

And there was no turning back now. He was in too deep.

The sun had climbed steadily into the southern sky, casting sharp shadows across the docks by the time Jon Marzett left the scene. Enrique’s body had been taken away, but the unsettling image of the bloated face, marred by bruises, stayed with him.

The message was clear. The cartel would do whatever it took to maintain its power over Big Pine Key and its residents.

Back at the sheriff’s department, the afternoon heat hung heavy in the air, making the building feel more like a prison than a place of work. Jon walked into the main office, the sharp clack of his boots breaking the silence. His mind was racing, already forming plans, trying to piece together the puzzle.

Ray was at his desk, pretending to be engrossed in paperwork. Jon knew better. Ray didn’t so much as glance up when he walked in, but the apprehension stiffening his posture was telling. Jon could feel the nervous shift in Ray’s demeanor in spite of the man’s attempt to appear casual.

Jon wasn’t waiting for Ray to show his hand any more than he already had. He would force Ray into a corner, and he would do it soon. He just needed to come up with a plan.

Jon stepped into his office, letting the door close behind him with a faint thud. Max trotted to his bed in the corner, flopped down with the kind of carefree grace only a dog could muster, and let out a contented sigh. Jon wasn’t so lucky. He barely had time to sit at his desk before the phone buzzed.

He picked it up. “Sheriff here.”

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine today,” Maggie said without missing a beat. “I’ve got an update on that safe house you asked about.”

Jon leaned back, already bracing for her report. “Let me guess. It’s worse than I’m expecting.”

“Bingo!” she chirped. “Turns out we do have one, but I don’t think it’s been touched since acid-wash jeans were in style. If you’re looking for charm, functionality, or, I don’t know, a roof that won’t collapse in a stiff breeze, this isn’t it.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Figures.”

“I sent you an email with all the details, and I put the key in your inbox. Not that you’ll need it. The door’s probably rusted shut or already fallen off its hinges. Either way, if you go, bring a tetanus shot.”

Jon chuckled despite himself. “Thanks, Maggie. Do me a favor, though—keep this between us.”

“You got it. Mum’s the word,” Maggie said solemnly. “Oh, Sheriff, I almost forgot! Miguel Morales is on line two. Insisted on talking to you instead of one of the other deputies.”

Jon was already reaching for the line button. “Got it. Thanks again.”

As he waited for the other line to connect, he glanced at Max, who had rolled onto his back, legs in the air, snoring like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Yeah, buddy,” Jon muttered under his breath. “I wish I had your job.”

Max twitched an ear but didn’t even bother to look up.

“Miguel.” Jon lowered his voice again.

Miguel’s voice was almost a whisper. “Sheriff, there’s something going down tonight at the marina.”

“Talk to me, Miguel. Tell me what you know.”

“I just did. That’s all I can say. Please, Sheriff, leave me out of this. I don’t know anything else.” The phone went dead.

Jon slowly lowered the receiver, placing it back into its cradle with a click as he mulled over the information he’d just been given. Now, what to do with it?

Ray was still trying unsuccessfully to keep an eye on him from the bullpen. Jon flipped open the case files he’d spent the morning reviewing, but just for show while he weighed his options.

It wasn’t enough to have suspicions—he needed evidence. Something concrete to tie Ray and the rest of the corrupt network to the cartel. Something that would link them to the guns and the drugs he’d found at the old fish processing plant on the Gulf side of Big Pine Key.

And that meant setting a trap.

Jon would need some help. He reached for his desk phone again but paused for a moment, the receiver in his hand. Alvarez was his first choice, but she was too hard to read. Jon was taking a chance bringing O’Connell into all this when he still wasn’t sure who at the department was working both sides. But the rookie was an unlikely pawn in whatever games Ray was playing. Plus, the kid seemed far too eager to help. Jon didn’t think he could be involved in something dirty. What he was about to set in motion would prove if his hunch was accurate or not.

Jon hit the button linking him to O’Connell’s desk. The younger deputy answered on the first buzz, sounding tentative. “Sheriff?”

“I need you to help me out with something,” Jon said, keeping his voice low. “But you’ll need to keep it quiet. We’re going to do some off-the-books work tonight.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. Then O’Connell spoke, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. “What’s going on, Sheriff?”

“I’ve got a lead, and I need your help. Can’t say more than that, and I can’t involve anyone else. Can I count on you?”

Another pause, longer this time. Jon could almost hear the wheels turning in O’Connell’s mind. Then, finally, he answered. “I’m in, Sheriff. Whatever you need.”

“Good.” Jon looked up from his desk and made sure Ray caught his gaze, then spun around in his chair so the man couldn’t see his face. “Tell me you’ll meet me down at the Rusty Anchor tonight. Do it now.”

“The Rusty Anchor? Okay, I’ll meet you there tonight. What time?”

“I’ll call you later on your cell with more details. Remember, tell no one about this.”

“You got it, boss,” O’Connell answered.

Jon hung up the phone. The seed had been planted, and his mind was already focused on the plan ahead. He knew Ray was watching him, keeping tabs on his movements, but that’s exactly what Jon wanted.

Ray needed to believe Jon was digging on his own. And in the wrong direction. That was how Jon would lure Ray—and whoever else was working with him—into a false sense of security and out into the open.

Jon spent the rest of the afternoon going over maps of the area, including alternate routes from the marina to the fish processing plant, and familiarizing himself with the safe house location. If he knew one thing from his years on the force, it was that criminals always returned to the scene of the crime.

The docks were the perfect place to move drugs, guns, and money. And they were also the perfect place to get the missing proof he needed to link Ray and Mr. Scorpion to the drugs he’d found. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d catch an even bigger fish.

A vibrant wash of pinks and oranges settled in over the town outside Jon’s window as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. He grabbed the new Kevlar vest that had just come in for Max.

“Just in time, boy.” Jon tucked the protective gear under his arm, along with a folder he’d chosen specifically for Ray’s benefit, and headed out.

He paused, waiting for Max to slip through the office door behind him before turning the lock with a quiet click. He moved deliberately, every step purposeful, as he passed Ray’s desk, the corner of the folder peeking out just enough to catch the deputy’s eye. The label was barely visible, but that was intentional—a case tag for an old stolen vehicle incident at the Rusty Anchor.

Jon could feel Ray’s gaze shift, curiosity tugging at him. Jon didn’t look back, but he caught the flicker of interest out of the corner of his eye. He let a faint, knowing smile slip onto his face as he neared the door, the trap carefully set.

Ray’s eyes remained fixed on the file, his brow furrowing in the way Jon had seen a hundred times before: a hint of suspicion mixed with something else—worry. So far, so good.

The night came quickly, a heavy blanket of darkness settling over Big Pine Key under a felon moon, like a predator stalking its prey. The streets were quieter than usual, the locals keeping to themselves, as if they had some way of knowing tonight was a bad night to be out and about.

Jon pulled into the parking lot of the CVS just off Key Deer Boulevard. He’d phoned O’Connell a little while ago and asked the rookie deputy to meet him here in plain clothes, but with his weapon.

O’Connell was waiting for him, standing by his car. His face was drawn with tension, nervous fingers tapping the roof of his Mustang.

“Sheriff,” he said, his voice low. “What’s all this about? I thought we were meeting at the Rusty Anchor.”

Jon looked around quickly. No one in the vicinity. “Hop in. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

The two drove the short distance to the marina. Jon shared just enough about the evening’s plan to pique O’Connell’s interest, keeping the details vague to avoid revealing too much.

Parking on a side road just shy of the marina’s property, Jon got out and opened the back door for Max, letting the dog unload. Max’s tail moved faster than his tongue, the excitement of the new vest fueling his enthusiasm. He was clearly happy to be back on the hunt.

“Grab the camera bag and follow me,” Jon instructed his deputy.

O’Connell snatched the backpack off the console and caught up to Jon and Max. The three of them scooted through a section of broken fence and entered the marina near the far end by the fueling dock. There were plenty of places to hide, and they settled in behind a stack of pallets and discarded netting.

Scanning the area, Jon allowed his eyes to adjust to the light as he took in the rows of quietly bobbing vessels lining the marina. It seemed they were alone, but he kept his voice down anyway. “We’re going to watch the place. I want to see who comes in tonight and what they’re moving.”

O’Connell nodded, though Jon could see the unease in his expression. “And who are we watching for?”

“I’d rather not say just yet, but if my suspicions are right, you’ll find out soon.” Jon tilted his head, listening.

O’Connell’s brow wrinkled. “And if they see us?”

“They won’t,” Jon said, confidently. “We’re going to stay out of sight. This isn’t about confrontation—it’s about gathering intel.”

O’Connell took a deep breath, his nerves showing through. “Whatever you say, Sheriff.”

Jon and O’Connell settled quietly into their hiding spot. O’Connell pulled a camera with a zoom lens out of his bag.

The night air was still with silence, broken only by the occasional creak of a boat or the distant call of a seabird. They waited, their breaths shallow, eyes trained on the marina’s darkened expanse. Minutes ticked by with an agonizing slowness, stretching into hours. Jon’s mind began to wonder, was it possible Miguel had fed him bad information? Or, worse, had he been played from the start? But soon, Jon had his answer.

“Let me see that for a sec.” He borrowed the camera from O’Connell.

He noticed a small boat in the distance, operating without running lights. His eyes narrowed as he adjusted the optics on the glasses until the vessel was clear. He recognized the silhouette of the man at the helm. There was no mistaking the driver of the boat for anyone other than the man he’d confronted at the Rusty Anchor, even if he couldn’t see the neck tattoo.

“That’s them,” Jon whispered.

“Who, Sheriff?”

“Big Pine Key’s resident cartel kingpin,” Jon grumbled.

The approaching boat made its way into the marina and headed for a slip at one of the finger piers furthest out toward open water. The boat backed into the dock. Two men jumped out, their movements swift and practiced as they tied the boat off and took positions along the pier, close to the boat. Neither of the men held weapons, but Jon would put money on both being armed.

He could see them clearly now, the tattoos on their arms, the way they moved with quiet efficiency. This wasn’t some small-time smuggling operation. This was organized. They were disciplined soldiers there for muscle, protecting Mr. Scorpion and whatever was in the duffle bag at his feet.

The man with the tattooed neck checked his watch with a frequency and uneasiness that indicated he was waiting for someone.

He signaled to O’Connell to stay put, then slowly shifted to get a better view. As he did, a car pulled up near the dock, its headlights cutting through the darkness. The door opened, and Jon felt a jolt of recognition tainted with disgusted validation as Ray Dalton stepped out, his expression calm and unreadable.

O’Connell’s eyes grew wide. “Dalton? What’s he doing here?”

Jon turned toward O’Connell with a finger to his lips. “I think we’re about to find that out.”

Ray walked to the end of the pier, approaching the men on the dock and exchanging a few words before glancing around the area, his eyes sweeping the docks as if looking for something—or someone.

Jon’s pulse quickened. This was it. This was the moment he’d been waiting for.

“Get some shots. I want close-ups of all of them,” Jon ordered.

O’Connell worked the camera while the man with the scorpion tattoo abandoned the duffle bag and joined the others on the dock. Jon crouched lower, keeping his eyes on Ray as he watched the exchange unfold.

Mr. Scorpion handed Ray a thick envelope, but Jon didn’t need to see what was inside to know what it was. The exact amount of cash stuffed into that envelope was anyone’s guess, but whatever the sum, it was more than enough to convince Ray Dalton to leave his principals at home—assuming he’d ever had any in the first place.

Jon had caught the man red-handed. The undeniable evidence of Ray’s corruption was now being tucked into his back pocket.

But before Jon could decide their next move, something shifted. One of the men on the dock suddenly stopped and looked directly in Jon’s direction, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Jon froze, his breath catching in his throat. The man muttered something to Ray, and Ray’s expression changed—his eyes searching the darkness, his body tensing.

They knew.

“Sheriff!” O’Connell whispered urgently. “They see us.”

Jon’s mind raced. They had been careful, but it wasn’t enough. He had pushed too far, dug too deep, and now the trap had been sprung—only it was Jon and his rookie deputy who were caught in it.

Ray turned slowly, his hand moving to his gun as he called out into the night, his voice echoing across the docks. “Marzett! I know you’re out there!”

Jon’s grip tightened on his gun as he slowly rose from his hiding spot, his eyes locked on Ray. O’Connell stood beside him, white as a ghost but determined, his own gun drawn.

Ray smirked, his voice dripping with condescension. “You should’ve listened to me, Sheriff. This isn’t your fight.”

Jon stepped forward, his voice measured despite the imminent danger. “It is now.”

Ray’s eyes flicked to the men beside him, and Jon could see the decision forming in his mind. This wasn’t going to end without a fight.

The seconds passed like minutes as the whole world seemed to stand still.

Jon Marzett faced Ray Dalton and the two cartel men on the docks. The man with the tattoo had already reboarded the vessel he and his two henchmen had come in on, disappearing below deck. Jon was set on bringing them all in tonight, but he and O’Connell had their hands full.

The low buzz of a flickering light near the fuel pumps and the water lapping against the boats were the only sounds, but even those felt distant. The moon cast the scene in silver hues, highlighting the cold, sharp glint of Ray’s sidearm as his fingers brushed against it.

The two cartel soldiers held their ground, but Jon could read their body language; he could see the intent of their stances, hinting at their eagerness to draw their weapons when the moment presented itself.

“Let’s not make this any worse, Ray,” Jon called out, his voice calm but edged with steel. “You don’t have to do this.”

Ray smirked, but the smile faded just as quickly as it appeared. “You don’t get it, Sheriff. This town—it’s been running like this long before you came along. People know their place. They know when to keep quiet. You think you can change that?”

“I don’t care how long it’s been this way. It ends tonight,” Jon replied, his finger hovering over the trigger of his gun, ready but steady.

One of the cartel men stepped forward, his tattooed arms flexing, a dark smile spreading across his face. “You’ve made a mistake coming here, Sheriff. You should’ve walked away.”

Jon’s eyes flicked to the man, taking in the broad, muscular frame and the casual way he rested his hand on a sidearm protruding from his belt, as if daring Jon to make a move. “Maybe. But I don’t walk away.”

The cartel man nodded to Ray, his voice low and threatening. “Take care of your sheriff. We’ve got business to finish.”

Ray hesitated, his face tightening as he glanced between Jon and the men he’d sold out to. Doubt flickered in his cold eyes, but it was quickly replaced by resolve. There was no turning back now—not for Ray, not for Jon.

Ray widened his stance, his feet dragging across the pavement as the two soldiers began to move for cover. He lifted his chin. “Last chance, Jon. Walk away.”

Jon shook his head, his grip firm on his own gun. “You know I can’t do that, Ray.”

Ray’s eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched. “Well, if that’s the way you want it.” The sound of Ray drawing his weapon ended their conversation.

And in the blink of an eye, the scene exploded into motion.

Ray raised his gun, and Jon dove to the side, rolling behind a stack of crates just as the sharp crack of a gunshot echoed across the docks. Wood splintered where the bullet struck, sending shards flying in all directions. O’Connell ducked behind cover a few feet away from Jon, visibly rattled by the close call, but his eyes were wide with determination.

“Stay low!” Jon barked, his voice tight with focus.

The cartel men moved swiftly, flanking Ray as they began firing in Jon’s direction. Bullets ricocheted off the metal containers, sharp and deafening in the quiet night. Muzzle flashes temporarily blinded Jon. He kept Max behind him, assessing the situation, pulse pounding in his ears.

He fired back, aiming for the closest cartel soldier. His bullet grazed the man’s arm, who grunted in pain, staggering back but still in the fight. Jon could see the determination in their faces—they weren’t here to take prisoners. This was about survival now—for both sides.

“We’ve got to take them down fast,” Jon muttered to O’Connell. “Cover me.”

O’Connell nodded. His hands trembled slightly but remained steady as he fired off a few rounds toward the second cartel man, forcing him to take cover behind a cluster of steel barrels.

“Stay.” Jon gave Max the command, then used the momentary distraction to move, sprinting low and fast toward a better vantage point. As he did, Ray fired again, the bullet whizzing past Jon’s shoulder, close enough that he felt the air move.

O’Connell fired two more rounds. One of them struck the first cartel man Jon had wounded in the chest. The man dropped his weapon in a spray of blood that faded as he sank behind a dumpster.

“You’re just making things worse, Ray!” Jon shouted, ducking behind an ice vending machine. “You think these guys are going to protect you? You’re nothing to them.”

Ray’s voice rang out, laced with anger. “I don’t need protection, Jon! You never understood. This town survives because we keep things balanced. You come in here, thinking you can clean it up, but you’re just going to tear it apart.”

Jon fired another shot. This time, his aim was true, and his bullet connected with the second cartel man center mass. The man dropped to his knees, clutching the hole in his chest, a waterfall of blood spilling over his hand as he fell with a grunt. Jon considered him down but still a possible threat. If he was still alive and tried anything, Max could be on him in seconds.

“Last chance, Ray,” Jon called out, his voice rising over the chaos. “Put the gun down. It doesn’t have to end like this.”

There was a brief pause, a hesitation, and for a moment, Jon thought Ray might listen to reason. But then the moment passed.

Ray stepped out from behind his cover, his eyes wild with desperation. “It’s already over, Jon!”

He raised his gun again, but Jon was ready for him. Without hesitation, Jon fired. The bullet hit Ray square in the shoulder, spinning him around counterclockwise. Ray cried out in pain, his gun clattering to the ground as he staggered several feet. Then he fell to his knees, clutching the wound.

“Stay down!” Jon shouted, keeping his gun trained on Ray.

Ray gritted his teeth, glaring back at Jon, his face contorted with pain and rage. “You think this changes anything? You think they’re going to let you walk away from this?”

Jon kept one eye on the wounded soldier he’d shot. The man had dropped his weapon, but the pistol was only a few yards from where he lay on the ground. Glancing back at Max, he was tempted to let the dog make sure the man was down for the count, but it wasn’t safe yet. The man with the scorpion tattoo was still inside the cabin of the boat, a detail Jon had almost forgotten.

“O’Connell, watch the boat—and him—while I get to Ray.” Jon was now worried about Ray’s safety as much as their own, but only because he was a witness. Once the cartel men realized Ray would be captured alive, they’d most likely try to change that.

“Sheriff, look out!” O’Connell shouted, but Jon had already noticed movement in his peripheral vision.

The cabin door of the cartel’s boat burst open with a crash, slamming back against the cabin. The man with the scorpion tattoo emerged into the pale moonlight and stood on deck, cradling a heavy machine gun at his hip. He gripped the weapon firmly, using both hands to swing the barrel in Ray’s direction.

Jon was already halfway to Ray when the eruption of automatic gunfire opened up across the marina. The machine gun rounds tore through the asphalt parking lot, walking their way toward Ray, who was still on his knees. Jon reached Ray moments before the line of churning pavement reached them, throwing himself onto the man and rolling them both to relative safety behind a shed.

Crack… crack… crack.

O’Connell fired back until the man turned the weapon on his location. Chunks of pavement mixed with wood splinters as the weapon chewed through O’Connell’s cover bit by bit until the shooting suddenly stopped. Jon scrambled to his feet and cautiously rounded the corner of the shed, ready to unload his Glock. But as he brought his weapon up, an engine roared to life, shattering the recent stillness. Within seconds, the cartel’s sleek speedboat was cutting sharply through the dark water, its bow aimed toward the open sea and gaining distance rapidly as it churned up waves in its wake.

Jon followed through with his weapon, mostly out of frustration, and squeezed off a few rounds, the muzzle flashes lighting up the night. The shots scattered uselessly against the vastness. Hitting anything at this range, in these conditions, was a long shot. Besides, he’d already secured what he needed.

As the boat faded into the darkness, Jon let his gun drop, his emotions in check. He already had what he came here for. And although the night hadn’t turned out the way he’d hoped, he’d take the win.

The docks fell silent. The only sounds were Ray’s labored breathing and the excited cries of the resident seagulls. The fight was over.

“Max, here,” Jon called out, eager to confirm the dog was all right. Then he immediately felt guilty about not checking in with O’Connell first.

“Yeah, I’m all right, too.” O’Connell and Max stepped out from behind a stack of chewed-up pallets.

“Good—Max, stay.” Jon turned to face Ray, who was still sitting on the ground where Jon had shoved him out of the way. He approached the man slowly, keeping his gun at the ready. Ray’s face looked gray in the dim light, his shirt stained with blood as he pressed a hand to his shoulder, trying to stop the bleeding.

“It didn’t have to end like this,” Jon said quietly, his voice filled with regret. “But you made your choice.”

Ray’s eyes flickered with defiance, but there was also something else—something like fear. “You’re a dead man, Jon. The cartel… they’ll come for you.”

“And you.” Jon holstered his gun, standing over Ray with a calm that belied the storm of emotions raging inside him. “As for me… let them try.”

O’Connell stepped forward, his face still twisted with concern but his hands steady.

Jon gave him a nod. “Get him cuffed. We’ll get him to the hospital. Then he’s going to jail.”

O’Connell moved quickly, securing Ray’s wrists with a pair of cuffs that made him wince in pain. Jon stepped away, taking a deep breath as the adrenaline began to ebb from his system and his pulse slowed.

The night felt cooler now, the breeze from the bay carrying away the heat of the fight and the smell of burnt gunpowder. Jon stood at the edge of the dock and stared out over the water, his mind churning with everything that had just happened. The cartel was still out there, and Ray’s warning seemed to hang in the air—they would come for Ray, who was now a liability to them. They’d come for Jon, too, and anybody else who tried to stand in their way.

Big Pine Key was far from safe.

Max padded up beside Jon, nudging his hand with his nose, and Jon scratched the dog’s head absently, grateful that his best friend had made it through the firefight unscathed.

As the distant wail of sirens grew louder, signaling the arrival of backup, Jon stood tall, his resolve hardening like iron. No matter what came next, he would see this through. The town needed him, even if it didn’t know it yet.

Jon stood at the edge of the marina, still a little high from the adrenaline of the firefight. The distant flicker of red and blue lights danced across the water, growing brighter as backup arrived. Max sat quietly at Jon’s side, his eyes focused on the scene unfolding before them.

O’Connell had Ray Dalton slumped against a stack of crates, his hands cuffed behind his back. Beads of sweat ran down the man’s brow as he sat hunched over, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Jon could see the anger and pain etched into Ray’s features, but there was something else there, too—a sense of resignation.

“You really think you’re doing something, don’t you, Marzett?” Ray muttered through tight lips. “You think taking me down changes anything? If anything, you’ve made things worse—more dangerous for the people in Big Pine Key.”

Jon walked over and crouched in front of him, his expression hard but calm. “Not hardly, Ray. And I’m not that naive, but it’s a start. You and your cartel friends may have run this town for a long time, but people like you never think it’s going to end. You’re not untouchable, Ray. The cartel’s not untouchable.”

Ray let out a hollow, bitter laugh. “You don’t know how deep this goes, Marzett. You take me down, and someone else will take my place. These people don’t care who wears the badge. They own this town, and they’ll keep running it, no matter what you do.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed, his voice slow and rough. “That may be true. But I’ll be here to do whatever I can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

The sounds of approaching vehicles cut off any further response from Ray. Moments later, the sheriff’s department’s backup cars screeched to a stop near the docks.

Alvarez arrived first and hurried out of her cruiser, her face a mask of confusion and shock as she took in the scene—the cartel men lying motionless on the ground, the spent cartridges scattered around like shells on a beach, and soon-to-be former Chief Deputy Ray Dalton in handcuffs.

“Sheriff?” she asked, her brow wrinkled. “What the hell happened here?”

Jon moved out of earshot from Ray, not that it mattered much. “Ray’s been working with the cartel. They’re moving drugs and weapons and who knows what else through Big Pine Key on a regular basis. We’ve got evidence, and now we have Ray. There’s an ambulance coming for him. We’ll take him in after he’s treated.”

Alvarez’s eyes widened as the gravity of Jon’s words sank in. She looked from Ray to Jon, then back to Ray, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. “Ray…?” She took a step forward, shaking her head. “I can’t believe this…”

“Believe it.” Jon pulled the cash-stuffed envelope out of Ray’s back pocket and slapped it firmly into Alvarez’s hand.

Ray didn’t say anything. He just glared at her, a mix of anger and shame flickering in his eyes.

Jon turned his attention to O’Connell, who still looked a little worse for the encounter. “You did good tonight, Deputy,” Jon said quietly. “You kept your head, and we got what we needed.”

O’Connell gave a small nod, though he looked as if he could puke at any moment. “Thanks, Sheriff. I… This was more than I expected.”

Jon placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You’re in this now, whether you expected it or not. Keep your eyes open. This is far from over.”

O’Connell nodded again, swallowing hard as he glanced over at Ray. No doubt, the reality of what had happened tonight was beginning to sink in for him, just as it was for Jon. The cartel was bigger than Ray and the men they’d met tonight, but Ray was the first step in dismantling their grip on Big Pine Key.

As the paramedics arrived, Jon stepped back to let them tend to Ray. He watched as they carefully loaded him onto a stretcher, his face twisting in pain as they tended to his wound. Despite the pain, Ray never looked at Jon again. There was no final exchange, no more words of defiance. Just a long, silent ride to the hospital—and, eventually, to jail.

Alvarez approached Jon, her voice light, defying the mood. “Next time you boys plan a night out, how about including me?”

“Noted, but I wasn’t sure who I could trust. Still not,” Jon replied.

“Well, you can count on me, Sheriff.” Alvarez stood a little straighter, joining him at the edge of the pier.

Jon crossed his arms, his gaze shifting out over the water. He’d need the help, that was for sure, and he always had a good feeling about Alvarez. She was quiet at first, but who could blame her? She had a desk next to Ray’s.

“There’ll be plenty of chances to get your hands dirty,” Jon said, his voice resolute. “Ray’s arrest is just the beginning. We need to follow the money, find out who else is involved—both inside and outside the department.”

Alvarez nodded slowly. “You really think there are others in the department?”

Jon glanced back at her, his eyes sharp. “There’s no way Ray was doing this alone. He’s been in on it for years. I haven’t counted how much is in there, but that’s enough blood money to bring at least a few more sharks to the feast.”

Alvarez fidgeted with the radio on her belt. “I’ll do whatever you need, Sheriff. But this… this is going to turn the town upside down.”

Jon sighed. “This town is already upside down, Deputy. They just don’t know it yet. Big Pine Key’s been living under the thumb of people like Ray for too long. This isn’t just about taking down a few bad apples. It’s about rooting out the corruption that’s been allowed to fester.”

Alvarez’s expression hardened with determination. “I’m with you. Whatever it takes.”

Jon gave her a nod. “Good. We’ll start tomorrow. For now, get a statement from O’Connell, and I’ll get in touch with state authorities. We need to start building a case. This is going to go further than we can handle on our own.”

He raised his hand to stop her from leaving just yet. “Oh—and, Deputy? There’s about a hundred grand worth of fentanyl and a few crates of weapons at the old fish processing plant. The credit’s all yours, but we better get it picked up.”

“Yes, Sheriff.” Alvarez did the best she could to hide her excitement as she moved to gather the necessary information from O’Connell.

Jon remained at the edge of the dock, Max sitting patiently beside him. He scratched the dog behind the ears, finding a moment of peace in the midst of everything that had happened. This was a good opportunity to try and come to terms with what he’d gotten himself into.

But his mind couldn’t rest.

Ray had been right about one thing. The cartel wouldn’t back down easily. They’d come for Ray now that he was in custody, and when they did, they’d come for Jon, too. A return to peace and quiet in Big Pine Key wasn’t a sign of safety. It was a deep breath before the plunge into something far more dangerous.

Jon turned to head back toward his truck, the events of the night playing over and over in his mind. His footsteps felt heavy as he walked, but it wasn’t a physical weight slowing his pace. The battle ahead was pressing down on his shoulders. He wasn’t afraid, but he had to be ready for what was coming.

As he opened the door to his truck, Max quickened his step and hopped in, settling comfortably in the back seat as if it had been any other night. But Jon knew better. What had gone down at the marina tonight changed everything. It meant looking over his shoulder from here on out. It meant not letting his guard down around town.

It also meant being more careful here than he’d been in Miami.

As he slid behind the wheel and started the engine, the low rumble of the car felt reassuring, but it couldn’t shake the thoughts racing through his mind. The cartel had a grip on this town, and they wouldn’t let it go without a fight.

Jon drove home through the once-again quiet streets of Big Pine Key, the evening’s chaos finally starting to settle over him like a shadow. Ray was in custody, and that was a victory, but the real war had just begun. The cartel, the corruption, the silent whispers of fear that ran through the town—they all loomed large on the horizon, waiting for the right moment to strike.

When that decisive moment came, Jon would be ready. He had to be. For the town.

And for himself.

The early morning sun cast a golden tinge over Big Pine Key, illuminating the sleepy streets as if nothing had changed overnight.

But to Jon, things felt different. The air had a telling stillness to it, as if the town was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

After a nearly sleepless night, he stood in the kitchen of his small apartment, a cup of black coffee in his hand. The bitter taste lingered on his tongue as he stared out the window, watching the gently swaying palm trees in the distance.

Max lay at his feet, his tail occasionally thumping against the floor as if he sensed Jon’s unease. The dog had always been able to read him like that.

The events of the previous night replayed in Jon’s mind like a film stuck on loop. Ray’s betrayal. The gunfight at the docks. The cold realization that the cartel was more entrenched in Big Pine Key than he’d ever imagined.

Ray had been patched up at the hospital and was currently behind bars, but having the man in custody didn’t really change anything. Not yet, anyway. If Ray was smart, he’d tell Jon everything he knew about the cartel, but Jon wouldn’t hold his breath. The man had been defiant up until the bitter end, although a night in custody had a way of breaking a person’s resolve.

Especially when they realized they were out of options.

Jon’s phone buzzed on the counter, pulling him from his thoughts. He picked it up and glanced at the screen. Alvarez.

“Sheriff?” Her voice was steady but loaded with apprehension. “We’ve got a problem.”

Jon’s stomach tightened. He refilled his travel mug with more coffee. “What is it?”

“The state authorities are here. They’ve taken Ray into custody for transport, but there’s talk of a cartel hit on him. Word’s spreading that they won’t let him live long enough to talk.”

Jon let out a deep sigh. The hit on Ray wasn’t unexpected, but things were moving fast, and this added an unwelcome complication. Ray was the key to unraveling the cartel’s operation, and if they silenced him, Jon would lose the upper hand, however slight it was. Ray was his most direct link to the people controlling the town.

“I’m on my way,” Jon said, already moving toward the door, phone in one hand, cup in the other. Max stood up, sensing the shift in Jon’s energy. “Do your best to stall them.”

“I’ll try, Sheriff, but they’re not exactly taking requests,” Alvarez replied. “I don’t think they trust local law enforcement because of him anymore.”

“Just stall.” Jon hung up, threw on his hat, and grabbed his keys, his mind turning over the ramifications of losing control of the case. The state authorities might be right not to trust the locals. After all, he was sure Ray hadn’t been working alone. But rushing Ray out of town put the cartel in the driver’s seat and might very well play into their plan to eliminate the man.

Jon wasn’t about to let that happen. Not if he could help it.

He stepped outside, the morning air already humid and warm against his skin. The town was still asleep, quiet, almost deceptively peaceful as Jon let Max into the back seat of the Tahoe.

“It’s going to be an interesting day, boy.” Jon gave the dog a rough head scratch and closed the door. Interesting didn’t even begin to describe the concerns running through Jon’s mind.

As he drove toward the sheriff’s department, he downed the last of the morning’s second coffee. He’d been fighting battles his entire career—corruption, organized crime, violence—but this felt different.

The cartel was ruthless, and their reach extended far beyond what he could see. If the cartel was confident enough to try and spook the state authorities into moving Ray, there was no telling what else they’d attempt. Jon was positive that word of the cartel’s plan to eliminate Ray was no accident. The whole thing felt too planned, too deliberate.

When Jon pulled up to the sheriff’s department, two black SUVs were parked outside. Uniformed officers, as well as a few in suits, stood near the vehicles, their faces blank but their postures tense. There’d be no stopping the transfer, but that didn’t mean Jon had to watch from the sidelines.

He put the windows down before turning off the engine. “Wait here, Max. I won’t be long.”

Alvarez was waiting for him near the entrance, her face drawn tight with concern. “I did what I could, Sheriff. But they’re not wasting any time,” she said as Jon approached.

“Well, we can’t stop them,” Jon replied. “But maybe it’s for the best. The longer Ray’s here, the more at risk he is. And we need him alive if we’re going to take down the cartel.”

She nodded, glancing toward the SUVs. “I don’t trust anyone right now, Sheriff. If there’s going to be a hit on Ray, it could come from anywhere.”

Jon knew she was right. The cartel had their hands in everything, and they wouldn’t hesitate to send someone to do their dirty work, even in broad daylight. “We need to keep our eyes open,” he said, his voice low. “We need to be ready for anything.”

As they walked into the department, Jon spotted Ray through the small interrogation room window, the door flanked by two state officers. The man’s face was somber, his shoulder bandaged from the gunshot wound, but his defiant nature was still evident.

Ray was either in denial about his predicament or had come to terms with his fate. Jon believed the man was somewhere in the middle, between desperation and the hard realization of the consequences to come. Ray had been living his double life in a bubble, protected and unchallenged by anyone or anything here in Big Pine Key.

But the stakes had changed overnight. So had the rules under which this town had been operating.

Jon stepped closer to the bars, his eyes locking on Ray’s. “You’re being moved to a safer location,” he said, his voice flat. “But you know the cartel won’t stop until you’re dead. If you want to survive this, you’re going to give us everything.”

Ray’s eyes flickered with something like fear, but he quickly masked it with his usual bravado. “And what’s that going to get me? They’ll kill me in prison, or they’ll kill me before I even get there.”

Ray was delusional, thinking that his lack of cooperation with authorities would save him. The cartel wouldn’t rest until the man was dead, whether he talked or not. They wouldn’t take any chances on a man who’d already proven his loyalty could be bought.

Jon leaned in slightly, his voice hard. “Maybe so, but that’s going to be the case whether you talk or not—and you know it. You’re a liability to the cartel, Ray. If you want to live, you’ll cut a deal. That’s your only chance—your only way out.”

Ray stared at him for a long moment, his jaw clenched. Then, finally, his expression softened with a sinister smile. “You can’t protect me. Nobody can. You think you can stop them?”

Jon cut him off. “I can stop them. But I need names. I need locations. And I need them right now.”

Ray hesitated, his eyes darting between Jon and the state officers waiting impatiently outside the door to the room. “It’s too late for that, Marzett. I don’t think—”

Before Ray could say more, the door to the holding area opened, and the state officers stepped inside. “We’re moving him now.”

“Can you give us a few more minutes?” Jon felt like he was getting through to Ray. Or had been about to.

“No can do, Sheriff. We’re under strict orders. We’ve been here too long already thanks to your deputy’s inability to find the right paperwork,” the officer said with a knowing look.

“You’ve had your chance. He’s ours now,” the second officer stated.

Jon grudgingly stepped back, giving the officers room as they unlocked the cell and pulled Ray to his feet. He watched as they led the defeated man toward the exit, along with Jon’s immediate chances at getting any answers about what was really going on in Big Pine Key.

As the officers escorted Ray out of the building, Jon turned to Alvarez. “This isn’t over yet. We don’t know when or where they’ll make their move. I want you and O’Connell to get down to the marina and let me know if there’s any activity happening there. I’m going to make sure Ray gets out of town without any trouble, then head out to the safe house with a few provisions and make sure the place still exists.” He raised his brow. “I have a feeling we may be needing it soon.”

“You got it, Sheriff.” Alvarez nodded, then looked at O’Connell, who nodded back at her and Jon before they all went their separate ways.

Jon stepped into his office, intending to grab his hat and head right back out. But he barely made it two steps before the unmistakable scent of fresh coffee hit him, and there was Maggie, leaning casually in the doorway with a steaming cup in hand.

“Now there’s a face that says, ‘I could really use some caffeine,’” she said with a grin, holding out the mug like it was a peace offering.

Jon smiled despite himself. “You’re a lifesaver, Maggie.”

“And don’t you forget it, Sheriff,” she shot back, stepping aside just enough to let Jon and Max pass. But Max, always the opportunist, stopped dead in front of her, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air around her pocket.

“Oh, look at this charmer,” Maggie cooed, reaching into the pocket of her overalls. “He knows what’s up. Don’t worry, Max, I’ve got you covered.” She pulled out a bone-shaped treat. “Only the best for my favorite deputy.” She crouched down and held it out.

Max took the treat gently, tail wagging in pure joy, while Jon raised an eyebrow. “You bake for my dog, but I get coffee and a side of sass?”

Maggie smirked as Max munched happily at her feet. “What can I say? The dog’s got charm—and better manners.” She leaned against the doorframe and added, “But if you ever want a breakfast sandwich from Sticky Buns, I can pull some strings. Best bacon, egg, and cheese on the island, you know. Renee makes them herself.”

Jon gave her a knowing look. “And there it is.”

“There what is?” she asked innocently, though her grin gave her away.

Jon shook his head as he grabbed his hat. “I know how this works, Maggie.”

Maggie shrugged, entirely unapologetic. “You can’t blame me for trying. I mean, you’re a decent guy, and Renee’s too busy running that café to meet anyone on her own. I’m just… nudging fate along. You don’t believe in fate, do you?”

“Not particularly,” Jon said dryly, settling his hat on his head. “But I’ll keep your breakfast sandwiches in mind.”

“Uh-huh, you do that,” Maggie said, clearly unconvinced. She handed him the coffee with a wink. “Tell you what—next time you stop by Sticky Buns, say hi to Renee. You never know. Maybe fate doesn’t need much convincing after all.”

Jon chuckled, taking the coffee as Max nudged his leg, eager to move. “Thanks for the coffee, Maggie. And the matchmaking.”

“Anytime, Sheriff,” she called after him as he and Max headed out. “Just remember, if you ever do marry my daughter, I expect a front-row seat at the wedding. And Max can be the ring bearer!”

Jon shook his head, smiling as he headed for the exit. “What do you think, Max? You ready to be a ring bearer?”

Max wagged his tail, looking far too satisfied with his treat to give an unbiased answer.

Jon laughed quietly to himself. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

He quickly caught up to the state officers, who were already out in the parking lot. His eyes scanned the area, every instinct on high alert. He doubted the cartel would try anything right here, but all bets were off once the state vehicles hit the road.

He stood by and watched, squinting against the morning sun as it glinted off the blacked-out SUVs. The sound of the engines rumbling to life filled the air. Then Ray was unceremoniously loaded into a back seat. Moments later, the convoy began to pull out.

Jon wouldn’t have jurisdiction for more than a few miles, and he’d already been officially relieved of his responsibilities when it came to protecting Ray’s life, but there was no way he was taking eyes off his former chief deputy until he had to.

There was trouble in the air this morning, and Jon was betting it would rear its ugly head before he finished his current and third cup of coffee.

As the state officials got on with their extraction of Ray from Big Pine Key, Jon climbed into his Tahoe. Max moved to the center of the back seat for a better view of the action.

Jon followed at a discreet distance. He didn’t necessarily care if the boys from the state saw him, but they weren’t his real concern. His eyes constantly flicked to the rearview mirror and his surroundings as he scanned for anything out of the ordinary.

The drive was uneventful so far, but they weren’t out of danger yet. The road stretched ahead, flanked by thick palms and mangroves, their leaves rustling softly in the onshore breeze. The town was starting to come alive, oblivious to the potential danger that lurked beneath the surface.

The calm was shattered about a mile out from Spanish Harbor Bridge and the town limits of Big Pine Key.

A black van with a heavy-duty bull bar mounted to the front appeared from a side street, barreling toward the convoy at full speed. Jon knew the vehicle was trouble from the moment he laid eyes on it. His heart leaped into his throat as the van swerved wildly, avoiding traffic and finding a clear path to the lead SUV. The squeal of tires ripped the air as the SUV tried to veer out of the way, but it was too late. The van slammed into the side of the vehicle, sending it spinning off the road and into a ditch.

“I knew it!” Jon slammed his foot down on the accelerator, trying to make up the distance he’d given the state convoy as Max barked in the back seat.

The second SUV screeched to a halt, coming to rest between the incapacitated Suburban and the van that had skidded to a halt broadside some thirty yards away. State officers began piling out with weapons drawn, but the van’s side door slid open, revealing a man crouched down behind some kind of mounted machine gun.

Jon recognized the weapon right away. It was the same one from the other night. And the man behind it was Mr. Scorpion.

He wasn’t just here for Ray. He was here for revenge.

Jon smashed the brakes, sliding onto the righthand shoulder of the northbound lane through the smoke of his own tires.

He got on the radio and requested backup but didn’t bother sticking around for a reply. Before he could free the AR-15 mounted to the center console and grab a few spare magazines for the carbine, the sound of automatic gunfire rang out.

Fortunately, the man running the mounted M240 machine gun seemed only interested in the two black Suburbans several yards ahead of Jon on the highway. The state officers scattered like ants in a downpour, taking cover wherever they could.

Jon spilled out onto the pavement, leaving the door open for cover while he readied his rifle. They were outgunned and maybe outmanned. He hadn’t lingered to count the additional cartel soldiers emerging from the van’s back doors. But he’d seen at least four men unload from the vehicle and scatter, all of them armed with automatic weapons.

“Down, Max!” Jon yelled the command without checking back to see if the dog had already retreated to the floor of his SUV.

Max would be safest inside the vehicle for the time being, but Jon wasn’t happy with his own current level of exposure, so he started searching for a better shooting position while looking for shot opportunities.

Before he could move or find a target, several bullets struck the driver’s door window over Jon’s head, raining glass fragments down onto the brim of his hat. He returned fire blindly while scrambling to the back of the Tahoe and around to the passenger side of the vehicle that was angled away from the cartel van.

The gunfire was deafening as it echoed off the dense mangroves and scrub brush lining this section of the Overseas Highway. Fortunately, they were outside the more populated area of Big Pine Key. Behind Jon was nothing but salt flats and open water. Beyond the cartel-occupied side of the road, opposite his position, was nothing but marshland for miles, all the way to the Gulf of Mexico.

Jon took a position behind the right front wheel and peered over the hood of his truck through the AR-15’s sights, trying to keep track of the chaos.

Crack… crack… crack… crack…

He dropped one of the cartel men dead in his tracks as he made a run for the first bullet-riddled Suburban, which was now smoking from the grill as it sat empty in the middle of the road. Everyone from the state had fallen back to the Suburban holding Ray, except for one officer who hadn’t been so lucky.

Jon ducked behind the hood of his truck as several rounds from the M240 pierced the Tahoe’s windshield. Then the weapon abruptly stopped. Jon took his chances and threw his AR back over the hood, finding the man with the scorpion tattoo in his sights. The mounted M240 had run out of belt-fed ammunition. The man panicked when he noticed Jon lining up on him and reached for his sidearm, but it was too late.

Crack… crack… crack.

The man’s body jumped in rhythm with the bark of Jon’s weapon. He held on to his pistol for a second more before dropping the gun and slumping over the M240, a trickle of blood running from his mouth.

Jon watched the man take his last breath, confirming he was down, then dropped back behind the Tahoe. He could see Ray in the second, bullet-scarred Suburban, his ghost-white face barely visible behind the dark tint of the window as the officers tried to shield him from the bullets and return fire at the cartel.

But the cartel wasn’t interested in taking prisoners. They were here for Ray’s life, and anyone who got in their way was collateral damage.

Jon had seen one of the state boys on his radio. There’d be backup on the way, from the department and the state. But there were still plenty of cartel soldiers left, and they weren’t letting up.

He fired another shot in desperation. The van was still blocking the road, and the gunmen were using it as cover, pinning down the convoy.

“We need to get Ray out of here!” he shouted to the nearest state officer.

The officer nodded, ducking behind the vehicle as bullets peppered the side. “We’re pinned down!”

If they didn’t move soon, Ray would be dead. They’d all be dead.

He glanced at Max, who was still safely inside the Tahoe, his ears back and eyes focused on the action. Jon gritted his teeth, adrenaline surging through his veins. If he didn’t take matters into his own hands, they’d all die out here.

“Cover me!” Jon shouted to the officers as he sprinted toward the Suburban.

The officers fired off a barrage of shots, forcing the gunmen to duck behind cover for a few seconds.

It was all Jon needed.

He reached the SUV and yanked open the door, grabbing Ray by the arm. “Get down!” he ordered, dragging Ray out of the vehicle and onto the ground.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ray sputtered, panic in his eyes.

“Saving your life,” Jon snapped, pulling Ray toward the ditch on the side of the road. “Stay low and keep moving.”

Gunfire continued ringing out around them, but Jon’s focus was on getting Ray to safety. He practically dragged the man across the hot asphalt, through a hail of gunfire, toward the ditch with the lead Suburban.

The state officers had exhausted their magazines covering Jon and Ray and needed to reload. One reeled backward and hit the ground, hard, as he took a bullet to his thigh. Jon thought he’d improved their odds by taking out the machine gunner, but the remaining cartel soldiers were on a suicide mission. They wouldn’t stop until they killed everyone on this side of the highway—or died trying.

Jon pushed Ray ahead of him, shoving him down as they reached the shoulder of the highway, and slid into place along the ground below the crest of the road. Smoke seeped out from under the hood of the second Suburban now—the one he’d just pulled Ray out of. Reinforcements might be on the way, but Jon didn’t think they would arrive soon enough to matter. If they continued to take this kind of fire, the two state SUVs would no longer be safe to use as cover, let alone stand near.

Jon needed to get Max out of the Tahoe. He should have been parked far enough away from both damaged Suburbans to weather the blast should one of the vehicles explode, but he was in no mood to take chances.

His Tahoe was expendable. Max was not. Besides, Jon intended on getting himself, Max, and Ray out of here. But they’d have to make it on foot. His Tahoe had already suffered two flat tires, a bullet-peppered windshield, and who knew what other mechanical damage.

“Max, come.” Jon set up on top of the ditch and waited with bated breath. Come on, Max. Please be all right. He regretted not getting the dog out sooner. If Max was hurt, he’d never forgive himself.

Jon’s heart skipped a beat as Max peered over the doorsill, hesitating for just a second before finding Jon in the ditch. The dog leaped from the Tahoe and hit the ground running. Jon opened up on the van with his rifle, covering Max as he ran.

There were no cartel members exposed at the moment, but he took out the remaining van tires and sank the rest of his rounds into the sheet metal where he thought it might matter. Max covered the distance to Ray and Jon in a matter of seconds, landing beside Jon, panting loudly.

“Good boy, Max. Good boy.” Jon’s hands moved urgently over the dog’s flanks, fingers searching for any hint of injury. When his search came up clean, relief surged through him, momentarily eclipsing the gravity of their predicament. For a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered—Max was unharmed.

The state officers were holding their ground, but so was the cartel. This was a no-win situation for either side until help arrived. The big question was which side would get help first. Jon didn’t aim to stick around and find out.

He wanted to stay and help the state officers but knew the importance of keeping Ray alive. All of this would be for nothing without their star witness. They’d uncover bigger fish eventually, but they’d do it a lot quicker with Ray’s information. And in this business, that meant saving lives in the long run.

Jon peered over the ditch bank when he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle from the north. Unfortunately, it was cartel reinforcements.

“Move now.” Jon grabbed Ray by his shirt and hoisted him to his feet while taking another shot at a running cartel soldier. The man was trying to flank them, but Jon clipped the man’s shoulder with his bullet, throwing him off balance and slowing his pace.

Jon took advantage of the situation and finished the man off as the soldier searched wildly with his weapon for the source of the gunshot that had just struck him. The soldier crumpled into a bloody mess on the pavement, his small black submachine gun bouncing away from him on the highway.

Jon continued pushing Ray along the ditch until they reached a drainage outfall that ran away from the road toward the water. The automatic gunfire behind them was relentless, echoing through the air like a never-ending drumbeat. But the heavy thump of the M240 was noticeably absent from the ruckus.

Jon crouched low beside Ray in a thicket of brush a few yards off the roadside, his heart pounding in his chest. Max was next to him, body tense, eyes scanning the chaos around them.

Ray’s chest heaved with each labored breath, his eyes filled with fear as he clutched his shoulder. The bandage from his earlier wound had begun to soak through with fresh blood from the rough movement.

For a man who spent most of his time with his feet propped up on the desk and a soft drink never more than an arm’s length away, this was hard work, wounded shoulder or not. But Jon didn’t have time to worry about Ray’s pain or lack of physical endurance. They were in the middle of a war zone, and the cartel had no intention of letting them walk away from here.

“We can’t stay here,” Jon muttered, his voice low but firm. “Sooner or later, our luck’s gonna run out.”

Ray looked at Jon with wide eyes. “We need to wait here for backup. They’ve got us pinned down.”

Jon glanced through the brush to where the gunmen were still engaged with the state officers. The newly arrived cartel SUV was now on the scene, its armed occupants unloading.

Retreating went against every fiber of Jon’s being. His stomach churned at the thought of not joining the fight. He didn’t think he could despise Ray Dalton any more than he already did, but knowing full well this chaos was all because of him made his hatred burn hotter. It wasn’t just contempt anymore—it was personal.

This sorry excuse for a cop lying next to him on the ground would testify, come hell or high water.

“We’re going to have to make a break for it,” Jon said. “I know a place that shouldn’t be too far from here, but it won’t be easy. We’ll have to make our way through the marsh and try to lose them in the mangroves.”

Ray grimaced like Jon had lost his mind. “What? Are you insane? I’ll never make it.”

Jon grabbed Ray’s collar and twisted it in his hand, pulling the man’s face toward his. “You want to survive this? Then you’re going to do exactly what I tell you.” He relaxed his grip, letting Ray slouch back down. “The department has an old safe house on the west side of Big Pine Key. I think I can get us there.”

“A safe house?” Ray wheezed, pain evident in the lines around his mouth.

“Maggie dug up the place a couple days ago when I thought I might need it for someone else. Apparently, it hasn’t been used in years.”

“I don’t know about any department safe house,” Ray protested.

“Good. I feel better about the place already.” Jon shot Ray a knowing glance.

Ray shook his head, but then his expression changed. “Fine. Let’s do it. But how about taking these off so I can move better?” He held out his cuffed wrists.

Jon produced a key and undid the handcuffs. “Try anything and I’ll leave you behind for the cartel,” he snarled. “Understood?”

Ray nodded. “Yeah, okay, okay.”

“Get ready.” Jon waited for a fresh volley of suppressive fire from the state officers and joined in from his position.

Crack… crack.

“Go, now.” He shoved Ray out from their cover, forcing him toward the tree line on the far side of the road. Ray stumbled forward, clutching his wounded shoulder as he broke into an uneven jog. Even with his life on the line, his sluggish pace betrayed the laziness Jon had come to expect.

“Max, watch.” Jon made eye contact with Max and pointed at Ray between shots. The dog hugged the ground, darting swiftly after Ray, then stuck to the man like a shadow after catching up with him.

Crack… crack… click. Jon fired two more rounds, narrowly missing one of the cartel’s reinforcement soldiers before his weapon went dry. Jon dropped the magazine from the well, letting it fall with a clack onto the blacktop, then shoved another home and ran the charging handle. He wanted to keep shooting, but it was time to start thinking about conserving his ammunition.

Jon hated to leave the boys from the state to clean this mess up on their own, but they understood what was at stake here. Besides, once the cartel realized their primary target was no longer here, they might switch tactics and try and make a getaway.

In the meantime, until he knew who to trust, he needed to get Ray somewhere no one could find them. Someone on the inside had obviously tipped the cartel off about the transport. For all Jon knew, it also had something to do with the lack of backup so far. Regardless, for the time being, it was best to go it alone.

Jon and Max followed Ray into the trees, nearly running into the wounded man in no time.

“Come on, keep moving. We’ve got a long ways to go.” Jon gave Ray a shove with the barrel of his rifle, a subtle reminder that he was still in custody and expected to do what he was told, even if he was no longer restrained.

They moved as quickly as Jon could push Ray along, the crunch of twigs and leaves underfoot the only sound besides the distant gunfire. The thick canopy of trees provided them with some cover, but they were far from safe. The cartel would be on the hunt for them. It was only a matter of time before they figured out that Ray had disappeared from the fray, if they hadn’t already.

As they pushed deeper into the twisted maze of mangroves, Ray’s breathing grew heavier. The man was injured and exhausted, but Jon wasn’t about to slow down, nor could he find the capacity to feel sorry for him. It was Jon’s job to keep Ray alive, not happy.

Suddenly, Max stopped, his ears perking up. Jon froze, instinctively raising his rifle to the high-ready position.

Ray tensed beside him. “What is it?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Max let out a low growl, his body stiffening as he stared into the trees ahead. Jon followed his gaze, his pulse quickening. There was movement in the underbrush—shadows shifting between the trees. Someone was out there.

“Get down,” Jon whispered, pulling Ray into a cluster of saw palmettos.

The mangroves and scrub brush surrounding them fell eerily silent, the distant sounds of the firefight fading into sporadic shots that punctuated the humid air. Jon’s hand tightened on his weapon as he scanned the area, his senses on high alert. They weren’t alone out here.

A branch snapped nearby, and Jon’s eyes locked onto the source of the sound. A figure emerged from the shadows, a gun raised, his eyes scanning the forest with lethal intent.

One of the cartel’s soldiers, looking for them.

Jon didn’t hesitate. He fired, the crack of his rifle shattering the silence. The man dropped to the ground, his body crumpling into the sandy soil.

“Move!” Jon ordered, pulling Ray to his feet.

They sprinted through the trees. Ray’s practically dead weight proved to be as much of a hindrance as the underbrush tearing at their legs, but Jon fought his way forward, nearly dragging Ray along behind him as he went. Max stayed close, half-trained on Ray, half-trained on the woods around them.

Jon’s heart pounded in his chest as they ran, adrenaline surging through his veins. He could hear more movement behind them—more cartel gunmen closing in.

“There!” Jon pointed ahead to where the trees began to thin out, revealing the remains of an old vehicle trail. “That’s gotta be it. Go!”

Ray stumbled forward, his breath ragged as they burst onto the trail. But Jon wouldn’t let the man rest. They needed to keep moving. Jon urged him onward, pushing him up the trail as the sounds of their pursuers grew louder.

The safe house wasn’t far now. They just had to fight through the fatigue, although the place they were headed wouldn’t be worth much if the cartel men could follow them.

As they made their way along, the forest suddenly erupted in gunfire. Bullets whizzed past them, hitting nearby trees with a deafening crack and ripping through the foliage.

Jon ducked, pulling Ray behind a fallen log.

“They’ve got us pinned down!” Ray shouted, panic seeping into his voice.

Jon gritted his teeth, his mind racing for a way out. They were so close, but the cartel wasn’t going to let them reach safety without a fight. He peeked over the log, spotting three more gunmen moving through the trees toward them.

Jon had to act fast, and he had to act decisively.

“Stay here,” he ordered, his voice firm. “I’ll draw their fire.”

“What?” Ray stared at him in disbelief. “You’ll get yourself killed!”

Jon didn’t respond. He crouched low, gripping his gun tightly as he prepared to move. Max growled softly, his body tensed, ready to follow Jon’s lead.

“Max, stay.” Jon turned toward Ray one last time. “You stay on this trail and get to the house, you understand? No matter what happens.”

Ray nodded and swallowed hard. “How about a weapon?” He eyed Jon’s holstered Glock.

“Not a chance.” Without another word, Jon bolted from the cover of the log, firing off a few shots as he sprinted to the side. The gunmen turned their attention to him, bullets tearing through the trees as they fired in his direction.

Jon ducked behind another rotting stump, his pulse pounding in his ears. He could hear the cartel gunmen shouting to each other, their voices growing closer. He had to buy Ray a little time, but he really had to eliminate these soldiers so they didn’t follow him to the safe house.

Taking a deep breath, Jon stood and fired again, hitting one of the gunmen in the chest. The man fell back, but the others kept advancing, one of them within several yards of Ray’s position. But Jon didn’t have a clear shot through the trees.

The man began to raise his gun, obviously drawing a bead on Ray.

“Max, get him!” Jon shouted and fired a round to distract the man as Max launched from the thicket of saw palmetto. The dog only came into contact with the ground twice after his initial explosion of energy, soaring through the foliage with the precision of a guided missile.

Max hit the man with a snap, jaws clamping down on his arm like a steel strap. The impact knocked an audible grunt from the soldier as he spun off balance into a clearing.

Jon broke protocol and fired another shot, aiming high for Max’s safety. The bullet struck the man in his neck, sending a swath of red spray onto the green leaves around him.

“Max, come.” The dog released his grip on the soldier, and the man fell to the ground, disappearing in the brush. Max was at Jon’s side almost instantly, waiting for the next command.

A shot rang out, striking a nearby tree only inches from Jon’s arm. He dropped to the ground, crouching behind what little cover he could find. His mind raced. He was running out of options, and he knew very well the next shot might find Ray. He couldn’t hold them off forever.

Just as Jon was about to stand and face the remaining shooter, a loud crack echoed through the forest. The soldier who had just fired at Jon staggered, clutching his side as he fell to the ground.

Jon whipped around, his eyes widening in surprise. O’Connell stood at the edge of the trail, his rifle against his shoulder and his eye trained down the sights.

“Get down!” he shouted, firing again.

Jon didn’t hesitate. He dropped to the ground as O’Connell’s shots rang out, hitting the cartel man again as he struggled to raise his weapon in a last-ditch effort to inflict damage. Within seconds, the forest fell silent, the only sound the rustle of mangroves in the breeze.

Jon stood slowly, his eyes scanning the area for any remaining threats. But the cartel men were down.

It was over. For now.

O’Connell jogged to Jon, his chest heaving from exertion. “You okay, Sheriff?”

Jon nodded, breathing heavily. “Yeah. Thanks for the backup.”

O’Connell gave him a grim smile. “I’m afraid it’s just me. They’re still in the thick of it out on the highway. My cruiser took a few to the grill and won’t start. So I came after you on foot. Alvarez is going to come for us when she can. We weren’t sure who to tell about the safe house, so she’ll keep the state busy when they eventually catch their breath out there and start looking for Ray again.”

“That’s smart. It’s possible the cartel has someone inside with the state. Best to leave them all in the dark for now.”

Jon turned to find Ray, who hadn’t made it very far. He was still looking less than fit, his nerves clearly frayed. But he was alive.

“You made it,” Jon said with a smirk.

Ray nodded shakily. “Barely. You think this is funny, Marzett?”

Jon sighed but didn’t answer, letting the barrel of his weapon drop as he looked out over the quiet forest. They had survived, but this wasn’t the end. The cartel would send more men. They wouldn’t stop until Ray—and anyone else who stood in their way—was dead.

“We need to get to that safe house,” Jon said, determined to do exactly that. “This is far from over.”

Max looked up at Jon, his tail wagging slightly as if he sensed the victory, however small it might be. Jon gave the dog a quick pat before turning to O’Connell and Ray.

“Let’s move,” he said, motioning for Ray to lead the way.

They had the upper hand for now, but it wouldn’t last. If Jon’s instincts were correct, the cartel’s reach was far from exhausted. Who knew how far they’d go to ensure Ray’s silence?

After what felt like an eternity of slogging over the sandy, sometimes wet ground while listening to Ray complain about their circumstances, they arrived at their destination.

The small safe house sat nestled in a clearing deep within the salt marsh, its faded wooden exterior blending into the natural surroundings. It wasn’t much—just a single-story cabin with peeling paint and boarded-up windows—but it was remote and hidden. That was all that mattered now.

Jon, Ray, O’Connell, and Max approached cautiously, the adrenaline from their narrow escape still coursing through their veins.

Max stayed close to Jon, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air for any signs of danger. The cartel’s men would still be hunting them, but for now, they had bought some time.

If they stayed here long enough, the cartel would surely find them, but at least the isolated cabin would give them time to catch their breath and regroup while coming up with a plan to get Ray out of here in one piece. Jon was eager to call for backup, but he still wasn’t sure who he could trust. The last thing he wanted to do was let the wrong people know where he was hiding.

Ray stumbled forward, his face ashen, one hand pressed tightly to his injured shoulder as he grimaced with each step. His eyes scanned the scene before him, a flicker of disappointment breaking through the pain etched across his face.

“This… this is it?” he muttered, the frustration in his voice unmistakable.

“This is it,” Jon replied, nodding at the safe house ahead. The cabin looked abandoned, the perfect cover. Maggie mentioned the place hadn’t been used in years, but this was something else.

The place looked one tropical storm away from total ruin, although that made the location even more attractive. The fewer people who knew about the place, the better.

O’Connell had his radio, but they couldn’t reach out to Alvarez just yet. The sheriff’s department would be crawling with state officers, and they needed to let things cool down for a while. If they could afford to.

O’Connell, breathing heavy, glanced around warily. “You sure this place is safe, Sheriff?”

Jon gave him a nod. “As safe as it gets these days. It’s off the grid, and no one knows about it except a handful of people.” He shot a glance at Ray, who was leaning heavily against a tree. “We’ll rest here for now, then figure out our next move.”

They approached the cabin in silence. The soft rustling of leaves, the distant croak of frogs, and the rhythmic hum of insects filled the air, reminding Jon of just how isolated they really were. As they reached the front door, Max lowered his nose to the ground, sniffing intently, his tail swaying with anticipation.

A large iguana, basking nearby in a ray of sunlight, froze, eyeing the intruders with a wary glare. The five-foot-long reptile hissed, its head bobbing and back arched in a display of aggression, its vibrant green scales catching the light.

But when Max inched closer, undeterred by the reptile’s bravado, the iguana gave up its ground and scurried off in a quick, jerking motion, its long tail snapping like a whip behind it as it disappeared into the thick underbrush.

Jon pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the corroded deadbolt. He had to use his shoulder on the door to get it open. Inside, the stale smell of rotting wood and mildew hit them immediately. Jon stepped in first, his eyes sweeping the small room.

It was just as Maggie had warned—forgotten and neglected but functional for their needs. A small table with two chairs and a bed in the corner. There were a few dust-covered cans of food on a shelf in the bare-bones kitchen and what were no doubt expired medical supplies in one of the cabinets. But that was it.

Jon wished he’d had time to grab the supplies from the Tahoe, but after seeing the place, he was sure Rosa or her father wouldn’t have wanted to stay here anyway.

It would suffice for hiding Ray temporarily. Jon didn’t plan on staying here long, until evening at the latest. Then they’d make their way back to town and call Alvarez to pick them up.

Ray collapsed onto the stained mattress with a groan, holding his shoulder. “You sure this is the best plan, Sheriff?” he asked, his voice laced with pain. “We’re sitting ducks.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “You want to take your chances out there? Go ahead. But if you want to live long enough to testify, you’ll stay put.”

O’Connell went to the shelves, grabbing the first aid kit. He brought it over to Ray, who reluctantly let him inspect the blood-soaked bandage. “Hold still and I can get this cleaned up a little,” O’Connell said, his voice calmer now that they were out of immediate danger.

Jon, meanwhile, moved toward the window, peering through the boards to keep watch. His mind churned as he considered their options. They had gotten away from the cartel’s men, but it wouldn’t take long for word to spread. The cartel would be sending more people after Ray, and Jon knew their reach extended far beyond Big Pine Key. They had to stay hidden, but they also had to stay one step ahead of the men looking for them if they were going to survive.

Max sat by the door, his ears up, listening to the sounds outside. Jon trusted the dog’s instincts more than anything. If something came too close, Max would sense it first.

“Sheriff,” O’Connell called out, breaking Jon’s train of thought. “We need to figure out what we’re doing next. We can’t just hide out here forever.”

Jon gave them a quick glance before returning to the window. It seemed clear, so he finally gave them his full attention. “We’re not staying here for too long. This was just until things cool down out there. I think we’ll risk reaching out to Alvarez in a little while and let her know what’s going on. Hopefully, she can find someone trustworthy at the state that can get Ray to safety, but we have to stay alive until then.”

Ray, wincing as O’Connell cleaned his wound, muttered under his breath, “You think they’ll let me live long enough for that? You’ve seen what they’re capable of. They’ll find me no matter where I go.”

Jon took a few steps away from the window. “That’s why we need to get them before they get you.”

Ray looked up at Jon, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and resentment. “You don’t understand, Marzett. This isn’t just some small-time operation. The people I worked with, they’re tied to cartels in Central America. Their influence runs as deep as their pockets. They’ve got connections everywhere.”

Jon’s jaw clenched. He had suspected the cartel’s reach was deeper than just the men they had faced at the docks, but hearing it from Ray made it all the more real.

O’Connell, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. “So, what do we do? Wait for them to come after us or go on the offensive?”

Jon looked between the two men, the reality of the situation pressing down on him. He had come to Big Pine Key for a quieter life, to escape the chaos of Miami. But now he was in the thick of something far more dangerous than he could have imagined. And as much as he wanted to take Ray’s words at face value, he had no choice but to keep pushing forward.

“We’re done waiting for the cartel to make a mistake.” Jon glanced back at the crack in the window before looking at Ray again. “We go on the offensive.”

Ray scoffed. “What, you plan to take on the cartel by yourself?”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “No. But I’m going to make sure they know they can’t get to you without a fight. They’ve been controlling this town for too long, and I’m not about to let them keep doing it.”

Ray fell silent, his eyes flicking toward the door as if he expected someone to burst through at any moment.

Jon continued, his mind already working through the plan. “But first, we need to know exactly what we’re up against. Ray, you’re going to tell me everything you know about the cartel.”

Ray faltered, running a jittery hand through his thinning hair. “You’re asking me to sign my death warrant.”

Jon hardened his expression, tired of Ray’s hesitating. “As far as the cartel is concerned, Ray, you’ve already done that. And as far as I’m concerned, you did that the day you got involved with them. Your only chance now is to help me take them down and go into witness protection. You give us enough on the cartel and you could have a life again someplace far away from here.”

For a long moment, Ray said nothing, his eyes locked on Jon’s. Then, with a slow, resigned nod, he finally spoke. “All right. But if I tell you what I know, you’ve gotta promise—”

Jon kicked the empty chair opposite O’Connell, causing it to slide across the floor and slam into the bed frame.

Ray jumped back, a whimper slipping from his lips. Jon took a seat in the newly relocated chair and stuck his finger in Ray’s face. “I’m not promising you anything but the ability to walk out of this shack on your own two feet and maybe see the sunrise tomorrow—if you’re lucky. There’s an army of well-armed, homicidal drug dealers outside that want us all dead because of you. Any deals made will be up to the district attorney’s office and based on the actual value of what you know. But giving me some pieces to the puzzle would be a hell of a place to start while we’ve got some time to kill.”

He shot up from the chair and took a breath before he surrendered to his inner demons and punched Ray in his miserable face. Even as he backed away, he kept his eyes locked on Ray, who stayed pinned to the wall, his bloodshot eyes darting around the room.

Ray’s gaze landed on O’Connell, as if the man could somehow help him. But there was no escaping this hole he’d dug for himself, no back door to slip through, no miracle waiting to save him. Whatever waited beyond that door was unavoidable, and he knew it.

“All right.” Ray’s eyes fell to the floor and stayed there.

Jon crossed the room and took a seat near Ray again. “Go ahead, then. Let’s hear what you know.”

O’Connell let out a slow breath, nodding in approval of Jon’s breakthrough with Ray. Jon, however, wasn’t about to celebrate. This was just the beginning, and they were still in trouble.

The narrow beams of sunlight slipping through the cabin’s many cracks moved across the cabin floor as time passed and Ray, sometimes reluctantly, divulged information about the cartel’s activities in Big Pine Key.

Jon was sure a man like Ray wouldn’t have more than a surface knowledge of the cartel’s operations—they wouldn’t trust a dirty cop any more than Jon would. But Ray should know enough to lead Jon to his next target, and if something happened to the man in the near future, at least he wouldn’t have to start from square one again.

Eventually, Ray reached his physical limit and passed out on the dirty mattress, a pale, sweaty shell of the man Jon Marzett had first met.

O’Connell sat near the window, keeping watch. Jon tapped him on the shoulder. “I think it’s time to get moving. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us, especially with Ray slowing us down.”

O’Connell nodded and stood up.

“I’m going to take a quick look outside.” Jon arched his back, trying to work out the aches and pains that were starting to settle in.

Max got to his feet as Jon headed toward the door, ready to follow his lead. The dog’s presence was a comfort, a reminder that, despite the danger, Jon wasn’t facing this alone. He stepped outside onto the rickety front stoop, the humid air only slightly thicker than the air in the cabin. The sounds of the marsh surrounded him. Birdsong, insects, the locals coming to life as the sun sank in the sky, casting long shadows where it filtered through the dense foliage.

He scanned the tree line at the edge of the cabin’s clearing, his senses on high alert. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. Then the forest grew eerily quiet, the stillness unnatural. Jon brought his AR-15 up to his shoulder as Max growled low in his throat.

“We’re not alone,” Jon muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned their surroundings through his weapon’s sights.

Max growled again in agreement.

The cabin had bought them some time, but the cartel couldn’t be stopped until its head was cut off. He’d known the safe house’s location wouldn’t stay a secret forever. He’d just hoped they’d be long gone before that happened.

They’d have to make the next move if they had any hope of making it back to Big Pine Key alive. The cartel wanted Ray dead—or worse. He’d seen what narcos did to those who dared betray them or get in their way.

The brutal images lingered, but he did his best to push them from his mind. Now was not the time to back down.

Jon moved silently back to the cabin door, opening it just enough to communicate with O’Connell. “Get Ray up and ready to move. I think we’ve got company.”

He closed the door without waiting for a response and moved off the porch and into the nearby brush, not wanting to stand out against the sun-bleached wood of the cabin.

Less than a minute later, O’Connell emerged from the cabin, his face shiny with sweat in the fading light, but he looked determined.

He moved quietly toward Jon, his voice barely above a whisper. “You think they’ve found us?”

Jon’s eyes didn’t leave the tree line. “I don’t know yet, but something doesn’t feel right. Max senses it, too.”

O’Connell glanced nervously toward the trees. “Ray’s still inside. He’s… not doing great. The wound’s getting worse.”

Jon nodded, keeping his voice low. “We’ll deal with it, but first things first.”

The forest was still eerily quiet. The usual sounds of tree frogs and waterfowl that called the mangroves home had been replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence. Jon’s instincts were screaming at him: they were no longer alone. Now he wished he’d had time to search the bodies they’d left behind in the woods as they’d fought their way here. There was a good chance one of the cartel’s men had radioed in his last location before succumbing to his wounds. It was a mistake for sure, but Jon could do nothing about it now.

He motioned for O’Connell to follow him, and they moved out from the cabin and into the brush. They used the thick undergrowth for cover as they circled the perimeter of the clearing while keeping one eye on the cabin. Max stayed close, his nose in the air, alert for any trace of the danger lurking just beyond their sight.

Suddenly, the dog froze, his body stiffening. A low growl rumbled in his throat. Jon immediately dropped to one knee, his finger on the trigger as he scanned the area ahead.

“There,” Jon whispered, pointing toward a dark shape shifting between the trees. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but years of experience had taught him to recognize the telltale movements of someone closing in with purpose.

O’Connell followed Jon’s line of sight, his eyes widening as he spotted the shadow. “Cartel?”

Jon nodded. “Looks like they’ve found us.”

O’Connell bit his lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t have stayed here so long?”

Jon felt responsible for getting O’Connell into this mess, even though he knew the man had signed up for this kind of thing. Maybe it was a mistake coming to the safe house, but after the ambush on the highway, Jon had thought it the best option.

Someone had tipped off the cartel, and none of the names Ray had dropped would have known about the transfer. But none of that mattered right now. The cartel was here, and they were preparing to move in.

“We need to make our move now,” Jon said quietly. “They’ll be on us in minutes.”

O’Connell swallowed hard, the gravity of the situation clear on his face. “What’s the plan?”

Jon knew what he needed to do. “I’ll draw them away from the safe house and head to the west, leading them deeper into the woods. You take Ray and move east, back towards town. Stay low and follow the trail we used to get in here. There’s an access road about a mile and a half from here. Get ahold of Alvarez—but use your phone, not the radio—and have her meet you there.”

O’Connell’s eyes widened. “You’re going to take them on alone?”

He knew the risks. He didn’t like them, but they were out of options. “I’m just going to keep them busy while you and Ray get out of here. I’ll buy you the time you need.”

O’Connell hesitated, his voice shaking slightly. “Sheriff, they’ll kill you.”

Jon locked eyes with his deputy, the determination in his voice unwavering. “Not if I kill them first.”

O’Connell pulled a magazine from his back pocket and handed it to Jon. “You better take this. You’re gonna need it.”

Jon hesitated. “You sure about that? There’s no guarantee you won’t run into trouble on the way back.”

“I’ve got another one and ten rounds left here.” O’Connell tapped the magazine in his rifle.

Jon nodded and took the extra magazine. “Thanks. Come on, I’ll help you get Ray on his feet.”

He moved back toward the cabin, signaling for O’Connell to follow. Inside, Ray was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, his face white as a ghost, his shirt soaked with sweat. His wounded shoulder looked worse in spite of O’Connell’s efforts; the fresh bandage had soaked through again, a trickle of blood making its way down Ray’s arm and onto the dirty floor.

“We’ve got to move,” Jon said, urging Ray to his feet. “The cartel’s closing in.”

Ray looked up, a mix of fear and apathy flashing in his eyes. “What? They’re here? I told you they’d find us, Marzett.”

“Get on your feet, Dalton. O’Connell’s taking you out of here. There’s an access road about a mile south. You’ll be able to get a ride from there.” Jon grabbed Ray’s good arm and forced him to move.

Ray groaned, trying to stand, but wobbled on his feet. “I… I can’t make it that far.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Jon said firmly, pulling him the rest of the way up. “If you want to live, you’re going to have to push through.”

Ray looked at Jon, his eyes filled with fear and regret. “You… You’re really going to take them on by yourself?”

Jon didn’t flinch. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, Ray. It’s what I’m good at.”

Max stood by the door, his eyes fixed on Jon, as if waiting for the command to move. When they reached him, Jon crouched down, patting the dog on the head. “I want you to stay with them, boy,” he whispered, though his heart ached to leave Max behind. “Keep them safe.”

Max whined softly, but Jon knew the dog understood. He had always trusted Max’s instincts, and tonight would be no different.

“Let’s go.” Jon led them out of the cabin and into the darkening jungle of mangroves.

He scanned the edge of the cabin’s clearing, looking for movement. He didn’t see anything, but the cartel was out there.

“Head north until you hit the road. Like I said, reach out to Alvarez and let her know you’re on your way. If you stick to the service road, she’ll find you. Stay quiet, and don’t stop for anything,” Jon instructed O’Connell and Ray. “I’ll keep our new friends busy.”

O’Connell nodded, his grip tightening on Ray’s arm as they began to move. Ray stumbled slightly, but O’Connell steadied him, guiding him toward the dense foliage and away from the cabin. Max followed the two men begrudgingly, pausing more than once to look back at Jon.

“Go on, Max. Good boy. Watch them.” Jon encouraged the reluctant dog until he accepted his assignment, eventually picking up his pace and catching up with O’Connell and Ray.

Jon watched them until they were out of sight, then turned to face the mangrove thickets that he was sure hid cartel members. He could feel the presence of the cartel’s men closing in, their blurred shapes moving through the trees like phantoms. No doubt, they were heavily armed, but Jon had the advantage. With Ray on his way to safety and no one to worry about but himself now, he could move freely among the vegetation.

He might be in over his head this time, but he wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

Jon took a deep breath, settling his nerves as best he could. He needed some way to get the upper hand. He thought for a moment, then had an idea. Heading back inside the cabin, he made for the rusty gas range and turned the knob. He leaned down and waited until the smell of gas hit his nose.

“Outstanding.” Jon turned it off, grabbed one of the boxes marked as supplies off the shelf, and dumped its contents on the table.

Unfortunately, there was nothing useful in the box. Then he remembered seeing a few emergency candles in one of the cabinets. He grabbed one of the half-melted candles and set it on the table. There was a box of old wooden matches in the same cabinet, and after a few attempts, he got one of them to ignite.

He lit the candle and moved back to the stove, cranking all the burner knobs to high. He could smell the propane as he exited the cabin. It wasn’t ideal, and he had no idea if there was even enough gas left in the tank to ignite, but it was worth a try.

Jon kept low, fading into the tree line beyond the sandy clearing, putting distance between himself and the cabin. The mangroves were dense here, and vegetation grew fast in the rich ecosystem that was more Everglades than Florida Keys.

The single-track trail that once allowed unfettered vehicle access to the safe house had long since filled in with brush and thick foliage, providing plenty of isolation from the outside world, a bittersweet situation at the moment.

The cartel scouts were close now, their footsteps soft but audible in the relative stillness of the tidal swamp at dusk. Jon could hear them speaking in low tones as they coordinated their approach. There was no panic in their voices. No fear. No urgency.

They didn’t know he was stalking them.

He crouched behind the gnarled trunk of a topless palm tree on an unusually high spot of ground, his heart steady as he waited for the right moment. Three figures moved through the trees ahead, their weapons drawn, eyes scanning for any signs of Ray Dalton or those committed to protecting him.

These men were professionals, more calculating in their movements than the men who’d spilled out of the van back in town. But so was Jon.

Plus, Jon had skin in the game. This was his town now. His people. The cartel men were just following orders.

He took a deep breath, focusing his aim as he raised his gun, watching the men approach the cabin. One of the soldiers took the lead and made his way up onto the porch. Jon couldn’t wait for the trap he’d set. He prepared to take the shot when the cabin erupted in a fireball that blew the front door off its hinges.

The man was tossed backward through the air like a leaf in a hurricane, landing hard without his weapon. The other two were caught off guard by the sudden blast, although they both managed to hang on to their weapons. But Jon had the jump on them.

Crack… crack.

One of the men fell instantly, his body crumpling to the ground. The other spun around, gun raised, but Jon had already moved, slipping between the trees like an apparition.

Gunfire erupted, bullets tearing through the leaves as the cartel men fired blindly into the forest. The man downed by the explosion was back on his feet and firing wildly into the trees. Jon capitalized on their confusion and took action.

He fired again, hitting one of the remaining men in the leg. The man cried out, falling to the ground. Jon found him in his sights again and finished him off. He wasn’t the sheriff of Big Pine Key right now. He was a man locked in an arena with bloodthirsty animals intent on seeing his end. Today, there would be no prisoners taken, no quarter given.

Crack… crack.

Another body dropped with a splash as it landed in a shallow pool left behind by the high tide.

Three down, but who knew how many to go? He crouched near a cluster of saltwort shrubs, trying to hide his outline, and listened.

Footsteps smacking wet sand filled the otherwise silent air, punctuated by the crackling fire that was slowly consuming the safe house. Someone was running, and they were headed his way.

Jon saw movement in his peripheral. He spun around just in time to come face to face with a tattoo-covered cartel soldier. The man raised his compact submachine gun in Jon’s direction, screaming something unrecognizable as he plowed through the brush like a charging bull. But it was too late.

Crack… crack… crack… crack.

The man staggered his last few steps before nearly collapsing at Jon’s feet.

Jon had spent more ammunition on the guy than he intended to, but the closeness of the attack made the extra rounds seem necessary. He needed to be more alert; that was too close for comfort. But there was no time to think about it now.

There was another man; Jon suspected he was the lone survivor of his team. The man called out to the others on his radio. Then, realizing he was alone and outmatched, he retreated into the dense vegetation.

Jon took aim at the section of mangroves the man had slipped into but moved his finger off the trigger at the last second. More would be coming, and he needed to conserve his strength as well as his ammunition. But he’d accomplished his mission. Turning back toward the east, he scanned the forest for any sign of O’Connell and Ray.

They were gone. Jon was worried O’Connell would try to come back and help him. The kid had the makings of a good cop, but this was no place for a rookie. He just hoped they hadn’t run into trouble on their way back to the trail.

Jon took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest as the natural sounds of the forest slowly returned.

It was only a matter of time before the next wave came. He was tempted to run while he had the chance—to chase after O’Connell and Ray. But as far as the cartel knew, Ray was still holed up out here in the safe house, although the smoldering remains would make his absence obvious. Unless the cartel thought Ray was already dead. Maybe the escaped soldier would report as much. But Jon couldn’t count on what-ifs to get him out of here alive.

He wanted to play this hand for as long as he could. He was sure one of the cartel’s informants would get word to the higher-ups soon, but there was still a small window where Jon could make this work to his advantage.

Was this smart? Would he have caught hell from his ex or his old captain for pulling something like this? Of course. But none of those things factored into Jon’s life anymore. And if it guaranteed Ray got the chance to testify, it was a risk he was willing to take, especially if it meant the end of the cartel and their reign of terror over Big Pine Key.

This was bigger than him, and he recognized the opportunity to make a difference. Just like he recognized it was a chance he might not get again.

Jon stood over the wounded cartel soldier, his breath steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his body. The thick canopy of trees overhead blocked most of the remaining light, casting dappled shadows across the ground.

He crouched beside the scout, separating the man from his weapon. The others were dead, as far as Jon could tell, but not this one. Not yet, anyway.

Jon pulled a zip tie from his pocket and bound the man’s wrists together, then did the same with his ankles. He finished up with another that connected them both. With that done, he dragged the man over to a nearby tree and propped him up.

Jon got down in the man’s face. “How many more?”

“No hablo inglés.” The man spat a small mass of coagulated blood at Jon, who stepped aside as it sailed by. The man grinned through red teeth.

“Useless,” Jon muttered under his breath.

He’d leave the guy here for now. There was a chance the badly wounded man would be rescued by the cartel reinforcements that were undoubtedly on their way. More likely, he’d die of his injuries before that happened.

Jon picked up the Uzi the man had been carrying and studied the weapon for a moment before dropping the magazine out of the pistol grip and tossing it into the woods. He’d initially thought about keeping the little machine gun for backup, but it was more of a novelty firearm than a viable weapon, in his opinion. Lots of noise with very little accuracy or control.

Most of the dead men lying on the ground around him had been carrying the same. One of them had an AK-47 like the ones he’d found at the fish processing plant. He ran the Uzi’s bolt, ejecting the last round, then pitched the gun into a hole filled with stagnant water.

Jon took another look at his prisoner, thinking he might have to gag the man with something to keep him quiet, but the wounded soldier was already slumped over. Jon wasn’t sure if he’d passed out or died, but it made little difference to him.

There was a price to pay for choosing this lifestyle, and justice, no matter the form, found every man eventually.

Jon had bigger things to worry about than some low-life drug pusher who’d just tried to kill him. He turned toward the east, away from the captive, and moved quickly, climbing out of the small ravine with swift, quiet steps. His instincts were honed, and right now, those instincts were screaming at him that he was far from safe.

The woods were thick and unyielding as Jon pressed through the underbrush. Every snap of a branch, every rustle of a leaf, put him on edge. He couldn’t afford to be caught off guard. He couldn’t let anyone else get the jump on him, especially with Ray’s life hanging in the balance. They were too close to pulling this off to lose it all now.

After several minutes of steady movement, Jon found the trail. He stayed low, his eyes constantly scanning the trees as he moved toward the access road. Max’s absence gnawed at him, but he knew the dog was doing exactly what he had been trained to do, just like Jon—protect the vulnerable.

He picked up his pace in spite of resisting muscles and moved swiftly now, unease building in his chest as the mangroves swayed in the breeze around him. He had a feeling the soldiers he’d neutralized were just the beginning; the rest of the cartel’s men in the area wouldn’t be far behind. But his real worry wasn’t the grunts who’d been sent to search the woods and storm the cabin.

It was the professional killers who would come next. The sicarios.

A distant rustle broke through the silence, and Jon readied his weapon. He stopped, listening intently, waiting for any more signs of movement, his finger resting on the trigger. There was more than one set of footsteps—he could tell by the faint rhythm breaking through the stillness of the woods.

They were coming for him.

Jon quickly found cover behind a large cabbage palm, pressing his back against the rough bark as he listened. The footsteps grew louder, crunching through the undergrowth, moving toward his position. Whoever was approaching was moving with purpose, and Jon knew they weren’t just aimless scouts.

These were trained hitmen, sent to finish the job and clean up after the others.

Jon’s breath slowed as he prepared himself. He could hear them now—two men, maybe more, speaking softly in Spanish as they closed in. Their voices were calm, confident. They weren’t expecting resistance. They thought Jon was long gone or perhaps dead, taken out by the first wave.

He waited until they were close enough. Then, in one smooth motion, he stepped out from behind the tree, his gun raised. He fired two quick shots, then found the other target and fired two more, hitting his marks with precision. The men dropped instantly, their bodies thumping to the ground before they could even react.

Jon lingered for a second, making sure they were dead. Once certain, he moved on swiftly, his senses on high alert. He was pushing his luck, but that was nothing new.

He needed to catch up with O’Connell and Ray before the cartel sent more men than he could handle. This was meant to be a diversion for the others to get away, not his last stand.

The access road was just ahead—it had to be. Every step brought him closer, and every step felt like a race against the inevitable.

As he moved through the forest, his thoughts focused on what he knew. Ray had already given him enough information to blow the cartel’s local operation in Big Pine Key wide open. But none of it would matter if they didn’t make it out of the woods tonight. The cartel’s reach was deep, and if Jon didn’t secure Ray, the corruption that had infected Big Pine Key would only grow stronger.

Finally, Jon reached the edge of the forest, his boots hitting the dirt road that cut through the thick trees. He paused for a moment, checking his surroundings as best he could in the dark, his heart pounding.

There was no sign of O’Connell or Ray yet, but they had to be close. With any luck, they’d already be safe. That was his hope, anyway. Otherwise, this was all for nothing. His stomach churned at the thought of Max getting hurt protecting a scumbag like Ray. The dog was more than a partner. The recent separation from his wife had solidified that.

Jon’s mind wandered to an empty apartment that missed drifting balls of dog hair and drool marks from Max’s naps, but it was lonely and devoid of company. He’d always been a loner, but Max was the exception. The dog was not only loyal but dependable as well, both of which Jon considered scarce commodities these days.

He took a deep breath and started down the road, his weapon in hand, ready for anything. Now wasn’t the time to get bogged down with details of a life he wanted but couldn’t seem to find.

Suddenly, a familiar bark echoed through the trees, followed by the sound of voices. Jon’s heart leaped into his throat, and he broke into a jog, his eyes scanning the trail ahead.

He rounded a bend in the deteriorating trail and spotted them—O’Connell and Ray, with Max standing protectively by their side. Ray was leaning heavily against O’Connell, struggling to breathe and drenched in sweat, but he was alive.

“Sheriff!” O’Connell called out, relief evident in his voice as he realized it was Jon. “We made it, I guess.”

Jon slowed to a stop, his chest heaving as he took in the sight of them. He gave Max a quick pat, the dog’s tail wagging with cautious excitement. “You did good, boy,” Jon whispered, his voice filled with gratitude. “You too, O’Connell.”

Ray looked at Jon, his eyes wide with fear. “They’re not going to stop, are they?”

Jon shook his head. “No. They won’t. But we’re not stopping, either.”

O’Connell looked over his shoulder. The unease in his gaze mirrored Jon’s. “We’ve got to keep going. Alvarez is on her way, but…” O’Connell remained with his head turned toward the access road.

“But what?” Jon tried not to sound impatient—they’d all been through a lot—but he didn’t like the sound of doubt in O’Connell’s voice.

“Alvarez said the state boys were hanging around the department like flies on a dead armadillo. She didn’t think she’d be able to get away unnoticed.” O’Connell turned back to face Jon.

“Yeah, I figured as much, but at least this thing has exposure now. Even if the cartel has someone working for them on the inside with our department or the state, they won’t be able to do much about it.” Jon’s words exuded a confidence he wished he could embrace. The truth of the matter was, he still expected trouble. But they were out of options. And if they stayed out here alone, he didn’t anticipate any of them surviving the night.

O’Connell shrugged. “Well, I just didn’t want you to be caught off guard when more than Alvarez shows up.”

“I figured as much anyway,” Jon admitted. “It’s probably for the best. Ray needs medical attention. And we need backup.”

Ray winced as he shifted his weight, his face contorting in pain. “What if they don’t make it in time? What if the cartel—”

“They won’t get to you,” Jon cut him off, his voice firm. “Not while I’m still breathing.”

O’Connell helped Ray steady himself, and they began moving again. The access road stretched ahead of them like a narrow lifeline through the dark forest. The night felt endless, but they were almost there. Every step brought them closer to safety, closer to the end of this nightmare.

Max stayed close to Jon’s side, his eyes constantly searching the trees for any sign of danger. The forest was silent again, but Jon wasn’t sure if they were the cause this time or if something more sinister was waiting out in the shadows, beyond the limits of the dim moonlight.

Help might have been on the way, but Jon was under no illusion that the cartel would be discouraged in their attempt to silence Ray. Or, in this case, get revenge for what he’d already given up. The cartel wouldn’t stop until they finished the job, but Jon wasn’t about to let that happen.

They moved quickly, the crunch of their footsteps the only sound that broke the stillness. Jon’s mind was sharp, focused. He had been in tight situations before, but this was different. This wasn’t just about taking down criminals. This was about survival—and not just for Ray. For all of them.

And it was about stopping the cartel from tightening its grip on the town Jon had hoped to spend the twilight of his career in, protecting, serving, and making a new life for himself. Now that future balanced on a knife’s edge. He wasn’t even sure he’d be alive to have a future.

Headlights flickered in the distance ahead, coming through the trees, the glimmer of much-needed reinforcements. Alvarez had made it.

Relief washed over him, but he didn’t let his guard down. Not yet. Not until he saw Alvarez and knew the coast was clear.

“We’re almost there,” he said, turning to O’Connell. “Keep Ray covered until we know what we’re dealing with.”

O’Connell nodded, tightening his grip on his weapon as they moved further down the slowly improving dirt road. Max stayed close, his body low and alert.

As they neared the rendezvous point, Jon’s pulse quickened. They were so close to the end, so close to getting Ray into protective custody. It had been a long, grueling day, his toughest yet since arriving in Big Pine Key, maybe even since his last month in Miami. But it was almost over.

Just like the cartel’s reign of terror and unchallenged drug distribution.

But the forest still held its secrets, and Jon knew better than to count them safe.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The multiple headlights cutting through the humid darkness made it evidently clear that Alvarez wasn’t coming alone.

The string of approaching lights was a welcome sight, but Jon knew better than to relax. Even with backup on the way, the cartel was still out there, hunting them. The possibility of a mole at the department or possibly at the state only increased the knot of anxiety growing in his gut.

The air was thick with the promise of trouble, as if the very trees were holding their breath, waiting for the next shoe to drop. Max stayed close to Jon’s side, his body tense, ears perked.

O’Connell was helping Ray, who could barely stay on his feet from the blood loss and exhaustion. The two of them were moving slowly toward the approaching vehicles, but Jon’s instincts told him something wasn’t right.

He raised his hand, signaling for O’Connell to stop. “Wait,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

O’Connell froze, his eyes darting toward Jon, confusion flickering across his face. “What is it?”

Jon scanned the road ahead. The convoy of vehicles was getting closer, but something was off. Several beams of light came from the vehicle windows, flashlights probing the woods for something—for them.

“You told Alvarez we’d meet her on the road, right?” Jon asked.

“I told her we’d be on the road, headed back into town on foot,” O’Connell confirmed.

“That’s what I thought.” Jon exhaled a long, drawn-out sigh.

It wasn’t Alvarez or the state. The lights they were seeing belonged to the cartel.

Before Jon could share his epiphany with the others, the first gunshot rang out, piercing the silence like a clap of thunder. Jon spun, ducking low as he pulled O’Connell and Ray down with him. “Get down!”

“I knew it,” Ray whined. “We’re never getting out of here alive.”

“Shut up and stay out of sight, Dalton,” Jon barked as the forest erupted in gunfire.

Bullets tore through the trees and lush foliage, kicking up dirt and chunks of wood all around them. Max let out a low growl, his body coiled beside Jon, ready to spring into action at the sound of Jon’s voice.

But Jon wasn’t about to send Max into the fray. He fired back, aiming toward the source of the shots and the flickering lights as his heart thumped along to the rhythm of the machine gun spraying the woods with lead.

“Take cover!” Jon yelled, his voice cutting through the chaos.

O’Connell dragged Ray behind a fallen tree, dodging several bullets as they kicked up sand all around them. Ray groaned in pain, his hand pressed tightly against his wounded shoulder.

Another stream of incoming bullets tore into the tree they were hiding behind, sending chunks of rotted wood flying through the air. Ray let out a sound, half shout, half scream, his face contorted with fear and pain as the unrelenting barrage of gunfire chewed through his and O’Connell’s cover in what must have seemed like their final moments.

Jon fired back, striking one of the silhouettes running past a set of headlights, and brought his target to the ground. Was Alvarez dirty, too? There was no time to think about that now. They were outnumbered and outgunned.

Jon had no intention of going down without a fight. He leaned out from behind his tree, firing off a few more rounds in quick succession, taking out one of the vehicle’s headlights. Some of the cartel soldiers ran for cover. Others seemed emboldened and headed out into the woods in an effort to flank Jon and the others.

“We need to move,” Jon shouted to O’Connell. “They’re trying to surround us!”

O’Connell nodded, his expression grim. “Move where?”

Jon’s eyes darted toward the woods around them. Their only chance was to pull back into the mangroves. That was the last thing Jon felt like doing, and for the first time since the ambush, he was beginning to doubt Ray’s chances of making it out of this alive. If the cartel didn’t get him directly, the wound they’d inflicted might.

At least O’Connell was still with him. The guy might be young and inexperienced, but he was holding up like a veteran.

Jon made a quick decision. He popped out from behind his palm tree and squeezed off two more rounds, each taking out another headlight, leaving only the soldiers’ flashlights to ruin the cover of darkness.

Now Jon stood a chance. He nodded at O’Connell. “I’ll draw their fire. You get into the mangroves with Ray. Don’t stop until you run out of land. Reach out to Alvarez when you can and have her contact the Coast Guard. Maybe they can pick you guys up.”

O’Connell’s face paled. “You’ll never make it, Sheriff. And neither will Ray. Look at him.” O’Connell glanced at Ray, whose eyes had rolled back in his head, showing the whites. The beads of sweat running down his face were the only signs the man still had a pulse.

Jon gave a quick shake of his head. “I don’t have to make it. I just need to buy you time. Max, watch them.”

Before O’Connell could protest, Jon sprang into action, moving quickly from tree to tree, drawing the cartel’s attention with gunfire of his own. Bullets rained down around him, but he kept moving, firing back with less-than-stellar accuracy as he fought his way through the dense brush.

But his plan was working. The cartel gunmen had shifted their focus to him, giving O’Connell the opening he needed.

“Go!” Jon shouted over his shoulder as he caught a fleeting glimpse of O’Connell carrying Ray fireman-style across his shoulders. Max was right behind them, keeping low to the ground.

Jon dove behind a mounded thicket of saw palmetto, reloading his weapon with swift, practiced movements. The sound of gunfire echoed in the clearing, but his focus was razor-sharp.

The beams of a half dozen flashlights bounced around the woods as the cartel gunmen closed in from all directions. This was how it ended: murdered by a drug cartel in some smelly, godforsaken swamp. He couldn’t hold them off forever, but that was never the plan, and he’d accepted that. O’Connell and Max just needed a little more time to get Ray out of sight.

Jon operated the charging handle on his AR, preparing to make a last stand with his remaining ammunition, when a flash of movement caught his eye—a figure in the trees, separate from the others. Jon raised his gun, ready to fire, but hesitated for a fraction of a second. Something about the way the figure moved was different.

And then, through the mayhem of flying bullets, the drifting gun smoke, and the flashes of muzzle fire, Jon saw a familiar face.

“Alvarez?” he called out, his voice laced with both relief and confusion.

Deputy Alvarez stepped out from the shadows, her gun raised, her face set in a determined grimace. She moved swiftly, firing at the cartel men with deadly precision.

Even better, Alvarez had brought reinforcements. Several state officers emerged from the trees behind her, guns blazing as they joined the fight. Jon almost smiled.

Instead, his instincts kicked in, and he moved to flank the remaining cartel men, using the confusion to his advantage. With Alvarez and the others taking the heat off Jon, he pressed the attack, taking out another gunman who was lurking behind a nearby tree with two shots to the neck. A fountain of blood gurgled through the man’s fingers as he clutched his wound and went down in a wet cry.

Jon spotted another man with a flashlight. The undermount light on the soldier’s weapon made target acquisition easy, and Jon let two more rounds loose with deadly results. The man dropped after a brief struggle to stay on his feet, his foregrip-mounted light throwing its beam skyward.

The tide of the battle was shifting, but they weren’t out of danger yet.

The cartel gunmen, realizing they were losing ground, started to fall back. But just as Jon thought they might retreat, one of the soldiers ran forward with a grenade launcher in hand.

Jon muttered a curse moments before a deafening explosion rocked the mangroves around them. His heart jumped into his throat as the blast sent dirt and debris flying in every direction. The percussive wave of heat and energy that followed bowled him over.

He hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of him. His ears rang, and the world spun as he tried to regain his bearings. The explosion had ripped through the woods, creating a cloud of smoke and chaos. For a moment, everything was disoriented. Sounds came to him as if through earplugs: the gunfire muffled, the screams of the injured barely audible. Over it all, he heard a tinny ringing.

But he didn’t stay down. He couldn’t. He forced himself to his feet, his mind clearing as he scanned the battlefield. O’Connell had managed to get Ray to a position behind the small cavalry of state officers, some of whom were now tending to his wounds. Max was by their side, tense but seemingly unhurt.

Jon moved quickly, rejoining Alvarez as she ducked behind cover. “Nice timing,” he said, his voice breathless.

Alvarez broke cover and squared up on the man brandishing the grenade launcher, forcing him backward to the beat of her rifle. Five successive shots from her carbine pushed him into a tree, where he rolled left and hit the ground face-first, presumably dead. “You didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun, did you?”

Jon peered out at the remaining cartel gunmen. They were retreating now, disappearing into the forest as they tried to evade the incoming helicopter’s spotlight. The explosion had been a last-ditch effort to cover their escape, but this wasn’t over for either side yet.

“They won’t stop,” Jon said grimly. “Not until Ray’s dead, and maybe not even then. We need to get him out of Big Pine Key. And make sure he actually gets out this time. At least the state finally gets it.” He eyed the armored vehicle. That was a good start.

Alvarez nodded, wiping sweat from her brow. “The state authorities are taking Ray into protective custody. We’ve done our job. Now we need to worry about Big Pine Key—before more of them show up. I think we’ve started a war.”

Jon watched as the state officers loaded Ray and the paramedics into the armored vehicle. His face was sallow and drawn, but he was alive. O’Connell leaned against the side of Alvarez’s patrol car heavily, clearly shaken but unharmed.

Jon looked out over the bullet-riddled, incapacitated, empty cartel vehicles before finally letting his carbine hang at his side, his body pulsing with adrenaline. “What about the rest of the cartel? The ones still in Big Pine Key?”

Alvarez’s expression darkened. “They’ve gone underground, but I understand from O’Connell that you’ve got some names. Maybe we start flushing them out.”

“Oh, I intend on it,” Jon answered. Hopefully with help from her and O’Connell.

“Ray’s testimony will be key. And thanks to you and O’Connell, we’ve got that all locked up now that he’s back in protective custody,” Alvarez added.

“Yeah, that’s what we thought this morning, and here we are. At least the state understands who they’re dealing with now.” Jon nodded, feeling lucky and slightly vindicated as everything they had been through settled over him. “But before we go hunting, we need to find the leak. It’s either us or the state. But the cartel has a man on the inside feeding them information.”

“Someone other than Ray?” Alvarez asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah, someone Ray doesn’t know about or doesn’t want us to know about, although after what happened tonight, I get the impression we know everything Ray does.” Jon sighed, weariness beginning to settle over him as the adrenaline faded.

The cartel had been a shadow over Big Pine Key for too long, but now, he had a chance to expose the corruption and bring these criminals to justice. And he was anxious to do just that, provided he could find the cartel’s inside man. Going after the people Ray had identified would be a waste of time until they could plug the leak.

Tonight had been a score for them, but it was hardly a victory worth celebrating. Jon watched as the convoy of vehicles pulled away, taking Ray and two of his other deputies, Sullivan and Cuningham, back to civilization. Deputy Bryson Thorne was noticeably absent from the backup team. Jon didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but he put a pin in the thought for later, when his ears weren’t ringing and his head wasn’t pounding.

He needed a stiff drink and a good night’s sleep before going off halfcocked with unfounded suspicions. He’d reassess what he knew—or thought he knew—about the cartel tomorrow, with a fresh mind.

Max stayed by Jon’s side, his body finally relaxing as the tension of the fight ebbed away. Jon stood there for a moment, taking a deep, crisp breath, the scent of burnt gunpowder still heavy in the air.

The forest was still again, but the splintered trees, bullet-pierced vehicles, and smoking crater from the grenade explosion stood as a stark reminder of the lengths the cartel would go to get their way.

“Sheriff,” Alvarez said quietly, stepping up beside him. “We’ve got a long road ahead. But with you at the helm, we can do it.”

Jon glanced at her, knowing how worn and weary he must look. “I don’t know if you’re bucking for a promotion or not, but that’s a good start,” he joked. “I do appreciate the vote of confidence, Deputy. And for the record, I aim to see this thing through no matter what.”

Alvarez nodded, a faint smile crossing her face. “Good. Because this town needs someone like you.”

He gave her a small nod, his mind already turning to the next steps. The cartel was still out there, still dangerous, but they’d been dealt a blow. And as long as Jon was standing, he wouldn’t stop until Big Pine Key was free. This fight wasn’t over. In fact, the battle had really just begun.

But after tonight, it felt like they were one step closer to winning the war.

The convoy of state vehicles had long since faded into the distance, along with the cackle of the armored truck’s diesel.

Finally, the sounds of nature reclaimed the coastal forest again. The adrenaline that had fueled Jon through the day and well into the night was fading fast, replaced by a rapidly growing sense of fatigue. Max sat quietly by his side, his breathing steady. He, too, seemed to sense that, for the moment, the worst had passed.

Jon wasn’t about to celebrate the recent win. Things were going their way for now, but he knew all too well how quickly circumstances could change. And given the stakes of the game they were playing with the cartel, nothing was off the table when it came to retaliation.

Jon had bought time with Ray’s extraction, but this was far from over. The cartel would regroup, rebuild, and come back stronger. And this time, they’d want revenge.

Alvarez stood nearby, wiping her brow as she put her AR-15 back into her cruiser, her eyes scanning the tree line one last time. “This is just getting started, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice low and weary.

Jon dipped his head, his eyes fixed on the darkness that loomed beyond the trees. “I’m afraid so.”

Alvarez nodded, as if she’d expected that answer. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “You did good out here, Sheriff. We wouldn’t have a witness without you. Shoot, we might not even know about the cartel if you hadn’t shown up. I can’t believe I was so stupid. Right under our noses for who knows how long.”

Jon gave a small, tired smile, but there was no real victory in it. “Don’t sell yourself short, Deputy. We got Ray out, but there’s still plenty of work to do. They’re going to come after anyone they think knows too much. That includes us.”

Alvarez’s face hardened. “Then we make sure we’re ready for them.”

“Agreed.” Jon shifted his attention toward O’Connell, who was sitting on a log near the edge of the clearing, his eyes focused on nothing in particular. Jon walked over and crouched beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“You all right?” he asked quietly.

O’Connell looked up, his eyes reflecting a mixture of exhaustion and fear. “I’ve never been through anything like this, Sheriff. I mean, I knew this job would be tough, but… this is something else.”

Jon nodded, understanding. “Yeah. It’s a lot. But you handled yourself well. You kept Ray alive, and you kept your head. That’s more than a lot of people would’ve done.”

O’Connell gave a weak smile, but it didn’t last. “Thanks, Sheriff. But I don’t know how much longer I can do this. This cartel—it’s bigger than I thought. Bigger than this town.”

Jon studied him for a moment, recognizing the weariness in the young deputy’s voice. “It’s a fight, no doubt. But we’ve got people on our side. The state’s involved now. We’re not alone in this.”

O’Connell nodded slowly, as if trying to believe Jon’s words, but Jon could see the doubt lingering in his eyes. He gave O’Connell’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before standing and turning to Max, who had been quietly watching the conversation.

Jon scratched Max behind the ears, the dog leaning into his hand with quiet trust. Max had been with him through thick and thin, and tonight, Jon was more grateful than ever for his loyal companion.

Alvarez joined them, her voice steady despite the fatigue. “We’ll set up a perimeter around the town, keep watch for any signs of movement. But we need to dig deeper. If the cartel’s been operating this long, they’ve got to have people on the inside. Lots of people. We need to figure out who.”

Jon nodded, his mind already working through the problem. “We’ve got enough evidence now to start pulling threads. But it’s going to take time. Ray’s testimony will be a start, but we need to find out who’s feeding them information from within.”

Alvarez sighed. “That’s the core problem, isn’t it? Trusting the wrong people could get us killed.”

“Which is why we don’t trust anyone,” Jon replied, his voice firm. “Not until we know for sure who’s clean.”

The silence between them was heavy, the weight of the night settling over the clearing like a fog. Jon felt the familiar sense of isolation creeping in, the realization that, despite the small victory they had achieved, they were in more trouble than ever. The cartel wouldn’t let this go. They would come back, and when they did, it wouldn’t just be a few men in the woods.

It would be a war. A war the cartel had started by setting up shop in Big Pine Key, but they wouldn’t see it that way. They’d look at Jon as the one who’d fired the first shot.

“We should all get home and get some rest,” Jon said finally, turning to Alvarez and O’Connell. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

They both nodded in agreement, although Jon could see their thoughts were burdened like his. He was exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight.

He stood quietly for a moment, the exhaustion settling into his bones as he took in the scene around him. The quiet night, the lingering scent of gunpowder in the air—it all felt like a temporary reprieve, a pause in the storm. But he knew better than to let his guard down. The cartel was wounded, but they weren’t broken.

Max nudged Jon’s hand with his nose, and Jon smiled down at him. “We’ve got work to do, boy.”

He looked out into the darkness, the next steps unfolding before him. The cartel had underestimated him and his department tonight, but that wouldn’t happen again. If Jon and his crew were going to take down the operation in Big Pine Key, they needed to act fast. Every day they waited gave the cartel more time to regroup, more time to tighten their grip on the town.

Jon wasn’t going to let that happen.

As the first hints of stars began to twinkle in the sky above them, Jon felt a renewed sense of purpose. The day had been long and brutal, but they had survived. And now, they had to push forward, braced for whatever came next.

He took a deep breath, the cooler evening air filling his lungs. The war for Big Pine Key was on, but Jon was ready.

This town had been under the cartel’s thumb for too long.

And Jon would make sure it ended.

No matter what it took.

After a less than peaceful night’s rest, Jon found himself back at the sheriff’s department, running on caffeine and sheer determination to get some answers to the questions that had kept him tossing and turning last night.

He held the door open for Max as the two made their way toward his office. He glanced at Ray Dalton’s empty desk, still finding it hard to believe that the lazy excuse for a deputy had caused so much trouble.

“Morning, Sheriff,” O’Connell greeted him with impossible energy and enthusiasm, as if last night’s brush with death had been nothing more than a bad dream.

Apparently, the young deputy had slept better than Jon.

Jon tipped his hat but didn’t respond otherwise. He hadn’t had enough coffee yet, and the list of things he wanted to accomplish hovered over him like a dark cloud.

He remembered being young and naive long ago, and in some ways, he wished he still was. But with age and experience came wisdom, and Jon planned on using every bit of what he had learned over the years to put the cartel down for good.

After last night’s skirmish, though, he expected help. Yesterday’s attempt to take out Ray would draw attention to the problem here in Big Pine Key. He’d put money on the feds showing up by lunchtime.

Max curled up alongside Jon’s desk as he settled in for a grueling morning of obligatory paperwork and equipment requests to replace or repair the vehicles damaged in the highway shootout. Jon gave the dog a quick pat, jealous of his peaceful spot in the sun. His thoughts drifted to his aspirations for a simpler existence here in the Keys, then back to the reality he currently faced.

It was far from simple, but it was worthwhile. He took solace in that and he’d take more when the cartel was completely removed from Big Pine Key.

Maybe then, he’d finally take a day off—just him, Max, and a few adult beverages escaping to the water for a day of fishing. The thought lingered, unspooling in his mind. He’d imagined it countless times: owning a flats boat down here in the Keys, gliding across the turquoise shallows under the endless stretch of sky. He’d always wanted to learn the art of fly fishing, captivated by the graceful rhythm of it. The long, flowing loops of line cutting through the air seemed almost hypnotic, each cast a whisper of motion. But catching something for dinner was just a bonus. What drew him in was the promise of solitude. The quiet, the stillness, and the freedom to simply exist, far removed from the noise of the world.

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled Jon from his daydream. He glanced up to see Alvarez walking toward him, her face pale but masked in determination. She had dark circles under her eyes, evidence of a night as restless as his, but she still carried herself with the same quiet resolve.

“Morning, Sheriff,” she said, her voice low.

“Morning,” Jon replied, his eyes checking the bullpen outside his office to see who might be trying to overhear without being noticed. After all, there was still a good chance one of his deputies was dirty.

She stopped in front of his desk. “It’s been quiet since the cartel pulled back last night, but I’ve got a bad feeling about it. It’s too quiet.”

Jon nodded, the same unease gnawing at him. “They’re regrouping. They won’t let this go without retaliation. Not after what we’ve done.”

Alvarez crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she looked out over the cluster of desks, maybe wondering the same thing he was—who had betrayed them? “We need to get ahead of them. Hit them before they come back stronger.”

Jon liked that they were on the same page. They couldn’t afford to sit idle and wait for the next attack. He leaned back in his chair. “That’s going to be tough until we root out the cartel’s inside man.”

Alvarez nodded, her expression going steely. “We know Ray wasn’t working alone. He was just one piece of the puzzle.”

Jon clenched his jaw. “Exactly. I have a feeling the players Ray gave us are also small pieces of the puzzle. Little cogs in a big machine. This thing obviously goes much deeper. There are people inside this town who’ve been looking the other way for too long.” He lowered his voice. “I’m afraid there’s still someone in the department on the cartel’s payroll. We need to find out who. That has to be our priority.”

Alvarez hesitated, lines bracketing her eyes with concern. “That’s going to be dangerous, Sheriff. If you start pulling at those threads, the whole thing could unravel fast.”

“It’s a little late for caution, don’t you think, Deputy?” Jon knew she was right, though.

Alvarez shrugged. “I suppose so.”

It was a tenuous situation. The cartel knew Ray had been compromised. There was still someone in his department working for them and enjoying their anonymity. As long as the cartel had a man keeping them informed of the department’s next move, the cartel wouldn’t panic.

But as soon as Jon figured out who the mole was, all bets were off. As far as dangerous territory went, he’d crossed that threshold long ago. There was no turning back now. But there was no telling what the cartel would do with their source of information gone.

“We don’t have a choice, though, do we?” Jon said quietly. “If we don’t clean up this mess, things will spiral out of control fast whether we push or not.”

Alvarez let out a long breath, her hands resting on her hips as she considered Jon’s words. “All right. So where do we start?”

Jon had already been thinking about that. “We start right here at home. With the names Ray gave us. We find these guys and bring them in for questioning. They might be at the bottom of the food chain, but they can give us some answers. And potentially more names.”

Alvarez gave a grim nod. “O’Connell and I can start there. We’ll also head down to the marina this afternoon and put some feelers out.”

Jon was about to remind Alvarez to keep the details about the case quiet when he noticed O’Connell sit up straight at his desk and look at the double front doors leading to the parking lot. The crunch of gravel followed.

Jon stood up, eyeing the black Suburban through the window.

“What’s the state want now? They’ve got Ray.” Alvarez leaned toward Jon as they both watched the blacked-out SUV park in the department lot.

Jon sighed. “It’s not the state this time.” He’d been expecting this.

“Feds.” Alvarez’s voice was flat.

Jon nodded and glanced at his watch. “Ahead of schedule, too.”

He frowned as the Suburban’s doors opened and two men stepped out. They were both dressed in dark suits, their expressions unreadable as they approached the entrance.

The first man, tall and broad-shouldered, led the way with a measured stride. His face was hard, his eyes unreadable behind a pair of black sunglasses. Jon stayed put and let O’Connell greet the men as they entered the building. Max sat up with a whine as the mood in the room shifted.

O’Connell directed the men to Jon’s office, leaving them at the door before shooting Jon an inquisitive look.

“Sheriff Marzett?” the lead man asked.

Jon didn’t lower his guard. “That’s right, Agent…?”

The man reached into his jacket, pulling out a badge and holding it up for Jon to see. “FBI. Special Agent Reid Foster. This is my partner, Agent Morris.”

“Deputy Alvarez.” Jon introduced his deputy to the men. The FBI’s involvement was far from unexpected, but their sudden arrival meant things were moving faster than he’d anticipated. Not necessarily a bad thing.

“What’s the FBI doing in Big Pine Key?” Jon asked, as if he didn’t know the answer.

Agent Foster slipped the badge back into his jacket. “We’ve been watching the cartel for some time now, Sheriff. Their reach extends far beyond this town, and your situation here is just one piece of a much larger puzzle.”

Jon exchanged a glance with Alvarez before looking back at Foster. “We’ve got things under control here.”

Foster raised an eyebrow, a faint smile crossing his lips. “Do you? From what I understand, you’ve got a cartel operation embedded in your town, local law enforcement compromised, and a witness who’s already been targeted for assassination.”

Jon didn’t like the way Foster was talking, but he kept his cool. “We’re handling it. I’ve only been here a week, you know. I’d say we’re making good progress.”

Foster’s expression remained unreadable. “Look, Sheriff, we’re not here to take over. But we are here to help. The cartel’s operations in Big Pine Key are linked to a larger syndicate that we’ve been tracking for years. Ray’s testimony is crucial, but there’s more at stake here than just this town.”

Alvarez crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “So what do you want from us?”

Foster’s smile faded. “We need access to your intel. Whatever information you’ve gathered so far—names, locations, contacts. We need it. We’re building a case, and if we can use Big Pine Key as leverage, we can take down the entire network.”

Jon’s gut instinct told him to be cautious. He couldn’t shake the feeling that a misstep now could open the floodgates to something much bigger than anyone in the town was prepared to handle. The last thing he wanted was for this quiet, close-knit community to become a staging ground for federal agents—a theater of operations where the FBI would swoop in, impose their authority, and inevitably take over. The thought of black SUVs clogging the streets, agents asking questions that stirred up fear and suspicion, and the steady hum of surveillance disrupting the fragile peace made his chest heavy. The Bureau’s arrival could complicate things, but they might be his best chance at taking the cartel down for good. Now that they were involved, he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter anyway.

He glanced at Alvarez, who gave him a subtle nod.

“Fine,” he said finally. “We’ll share everything we have. But we want in. My town, my people.”

Foster studied Jon for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “Fair enough. Consider yourselves cross-commissioned. You work for us now, you and any of your deputies you trust. We’ll start with the docks. That’s where most of their shipments are coming in. If we can intercept one, we can trace it back to the higher-ups.”

“We’ve got some names and the location of a storage facility they’ve been using nearby,” Jon offered.

“Not to mention, their last shipment of fentanyl and weapons is sitting in evidence. Maybe we could use that as bait,” Alvarez added.

“Hmmm.” Foster rubbed his chin and eyed Morris. “I’ll kick that idea upstairs and see what they say. In the meantime, any pressure we can apply, any inconvenience we can cause them, is worth the effort.”

Jon was slightly surprised at Foster’s willingness to make him and his trusted deputies an unofficial part of the team. They weren’t credentialed with the FBI, but apparently, Foster felt they knew enough to be useful.

Jon hoped the help was mutual. They were about to go on the offensive, but that didn’t mean things would get any less dangerous. The cartel wouldn’t sit back and watch their supply lines get cut. An action like that would be adding fuel to the fire, meaning the FBI’s involvement would escalate things fast, but at least Jon would have help now.

“All right,” he said, his voice hard. “We’ll let you know if anything new develops on our end. Meanwhile, we’ll keep chasing the leads we have.”

Agent Foster turned toward the door, motioning for his partner to follow. “We’re working on putting something together as we speak. I don’t have the specifics, but be ready. I’ll be in touch.”

Jon followed Agents Foster and Morris out into a room full of watchful eyes as the other deputies at their desks did their best to size up the men in suits without being noticed. At Jon’s glance, the deputies went back to their work.

He walked the men out, Alvarez with him. She stood by Jon’s side on the front stoop of the department as the two agents loaded into their SUV.

“Well, things just got a lot more interesting.” Jon squinted against the sunlight.

Alvarez huffed, her hand resting on her hip. “Yeah. And complicated.”

“For sure.” Jon exhaled heavily.

The agents pulled out onto Highway 1 and sped off. Up until yesterday, the cartel had been operating in the shadows, doing pretty much as they pleased. But all that was about to change. The feds were officially involved now, and Jon was worried. Not about himself or his deputies and certainly not for the cartel, but for Big Pine Key.

There was a storm on the horizon, the likes of which this town had never seen.

The salty wind whipped through Jon’s hair as he stood at the edge of the docks, staring out over the dark waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep purple and burnt orange.

The calm ocean reflected the dying light, but Jon knew the tranquil scene before him was an illusion.

Tonight would be the night they made their move.

Agent Foster and his team from the FBI had arrived earlier, setting up surveillance at the marina. The FBI had gotten word of a shipment coming in this evening. Their goal was to intercept the vessel—drugs, guns, whatever the cartel was bringing in tonight—and use it to trace the operation back to the syndicate.

Foster, a fairly young agent with a lot to prove to his superiors, was interested in another notch on his belt. Jon knew the type and had nothing against raw ambition, although too much could be just as dangerous as apathy or inexperience.

But for Jon, this was more than a federal investigation. This was personal. The cartel had taken something from him, along with the other law-abiding citizens who called this place home.

He couldn’t find peace here until the cartel was gone. He planned to make that happen.

Jon stood beside Alvarez. She was going over the final details of the plan with O’Connell. They had managed to get a few of the dockworkers to talk earlier in the day, and the picture was becoming clearer: the cartel had been using the marina as a hub for their operation on a regular basis. Their next shipment was due tonight.

The cartel would be waiting to make the pickup, but so would Jon and the FBI.

Max sat at Jon’s feet, his dark eyes watching the movement of the water. The dog was always ready and seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to picking up on nervous energy.

“You sure about this, Sheriff?” O’Connell asked, his voice tight with unease. “We’ve got the FBI involved now. Maybe we’re in over our heads. If this goes sideways…”

Jon turned to face him, doing his best to give the young deputy a reassuring look. “It won’t go sideways. We’ve got all the backup we need supporting us. And unlike last time, we have the element of surprise on our side.”

Jon hoped he was right. As far as he knew, the cartel still had a man on the inside at the department. The thought not only concerned him but made his stomach churn with disappointment.

O’Connell nodded in response to Jon’s pep talk, but the rookie deputy still looked worried. He’d clearly been shaken by the events of the previous night, but Jon knew he would get it together when it mattered.

“All right,” O’Connell said, his voice quieter now. He took a breath, hesitation in his body language. The young deputy had something else to say or ask. Jon could read it on his face, but there was no more time.

Foster stepped forward. “All right, people, listen up.” His voice was clear and calm as he addressed the team. “We’ve got positions set up at the south end of the marina, escape routes blocked, and the Coast Guard standing by to assist should they make a run for it. Sheriff Marzett and his deputies will be covering the north side. We move in and intercept the shipment as soon as they dock. No one makes a move until I give the signal. Understood?”

A quiet chorus of agreement circulated among the gathering of agents.

Foster looked around, making eye contact with everyone present. “Any questions?”

One of the agents near the back of the group spoke up. “What are the rules?”

“Wait to engage until we’re engaged,” Foster answered. “Anything else?” He glanced around again, but no one said a word. “All right then. Stay alert and be safe.”

Everyone nodded grimly, the unspoken understanding thick in the air—there was only one likely outcome from tonight’s ambush. The certainty of a fight hung over the operation like a shadow.

The plan itself was brutally straightforward, but Jon knew from hard-earned experience that even the simplest plans could spiral into chaos in an instant. All the planning in the world had a way of falling to the wayside once the bullets started flying.

The cartel’s men wouldn’t fold easily. They’d already demonstrated just how far they were willing to go to protect their empire: the depravity they’d sink to, the lives they’d sacrifice without a second thought.

Tonight would be no different. Like a cornered animal with nothing left to lose, they’d lash out with feral desperation, teeth bared, claws slashing.

The men the cartel was sending here weren’t so much soldiers as they were pawns, dispensable and fully aware of it. Each one carried the weight of knowing their lives—and their families’ lives—were mere currency to the cartel, easily traded for a few more hours of dominance.

But that made them dangerous. Men with nothing to live for had no fear of dying, and that kind of recklessness made them formidable in a firefight.

Jon’s hand rested on the handle of his holstered Glock, his pulse quickening in anticipation of what lay ahead of them. The bark of gunfire, the shouts of desperate men. It was coming. And when it hit, it wouldn’t stop until one side was crushed beneath the sheer, unrelenting force of the other.

Jon glanced at Alvarez, then at the small group of deputies and FBI agents who were dispersing. They looked like a capable bunch, and Jon hoped their actions tonight backed up that appearance.

Jon made eye contact with Alvarez and O’Connell, who were standing closest to him. “Stay sharp,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “They’ll fight back hard once they realize we’re here. Stick to the plan, and we’ll all get through this.”

Alvarez nodded, confident but cautious, unlike O’Connell, whose eyes betrayed his nervousness.

“You’ll do fine.” Jon slapped O’Connell’s shoulder. “I’ve got confidence in you, Deputy.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.” O’Connell forced a weak smile and headed off to his assigned location. Jon was worried about the rookie, although he’d proven his mettle. Jon couldn’t help but worry about all of them. The cartel had shown their willingness to do whatever they could to maintain power.

As darkness settled over Big Pine Key, all the teams got into their positions. The marina was quiet, the boats bobbing gently in the water, their masts swaying in the breeze. The smell of salt water and fish laced with the scent of diesel hung in the air. A pelican soared overhead. A quiet evening. But that wouldn’t last long.

Jon crouched behind a stack of crates, his eyes scanning the open water for any sign of movement. Max stayed by his side, his body low and tense, waiting for a command. Alvarez was positioned a few yards away, her weapon ready. The minutes stretched as they waited in the growing darkness.

Then, in the distance, Jon saw it—a small boat cutting through the calm waters just outside the channel, the low hum of its engine barely disturbing the stillness of the night.

“We’ve got eyes on the target,” Foster’s voice crackled over the two-way.

The cartel was here. Jon almost found it hard to believe they’d be bold enough to move product so soon after what happened last night, not to mention the loss of their man, Ray. But there was too much money to be made, and they valued life too little to let anything slow them down.

The boat glided toward the dock, its silhouette barely visible against the horizon with the running lights off, just like last time. Several men could be seen moving about on deck, the crew pulling what looked to be a tarp from a stack of crates near the stern.

Jon wasn’t sure what they were bringing in tonight. Likely fentanyl or more weapons. Possibly both, from the looks of things. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his eyes darting left and right as he made sure everyone was in place. This was it.

His radio came to life. Foster again. “Part two is in motion. We’ve got a box truck that just entered the marina parking lot. Morris, get your team on it when we move for the boat.”

“Copy that,” Morris responded.

Jon turned the volume down on his radio without taking his eyes off the approaching vessel. As the boat pulled alongside the dock and two of the armed crewmen jumped out to handle lines, Foster gave the signal via radio.

It was time to tighten the noose. Jon and his deputies began making their way toward the center of the marina, sweeping in from the north side. The FBI agents, led by Foster, closed in from the south, cutting off any means of escape by land, while Agent Morris and his team moved in on the truck in the parking lot.

“FBI! Throw down your weapons now and nobody gets hurt. We’ve got you surrounded. There’s no way out of here.” Foster stood up from behind a stack of crates, gun in one hand, megaphone in the other, as he laid down an ultimatum for the cartel.

A lone spotlight cut through the darkness. Its high-intensity beam focused on the recently docked vessel, then panned over the cartel men scattering for cover like cockroaches on the dock.

Several of the soldiers hesitated, though, unsure of what to do, like they were waiting for orders. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, everything erupted into chaos.

Foster dropped the megaphone to the ground, diving for cover as a hail of automatic gunfire ripped through the marina, shattering its tranquil silence with a deafening roar. The crack of bullets splintering wood and the sharp ping of ricochets glancing off the pavement filled the air. Shards of concrete went flying.

Jon pulled Max down to the ground alongside him while the finger pier where the boat had docked erupted in a show of muzzle flashes, illuminating the darkness like twinkling lights on a Christmas tree.

There was gunfire from both sides now, including a volley of rounds in the parking lot behind them. Agent Morris had engaged the box truck. Jon heard the spotlight shatter during a brief moment of relative quiet, but the pause in action was short-lived.

“Stay down!” Jon shouted at Alvarez and O’Connell from his position a few yards away.

Once again, they were outgunned. The cartel had brought heavy hardware, as Jon assumed they would—another M240 like the one from the van. By the sounds of things, maybe more than one.

Foster and his agents were better equipped, but that didn’t mean Jon aimed to stay out of this fight. He felt bad getting Alvarez and O’Connell in over their heads, along with the rest of his deputies, but this was the job, and there was no turning back now.

He popped up with his AR-15 and found one of the men firing from the boat in his sights.

Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack.

There was no need to hold back; he’d brought plenty of ammunition with him tonight. And this was war. Alvarez and O’Connell joined him, squeezing off multiple shots from their rifles. The man Jon had opened up on initially was now slumped over the stacked crates on the boat’s deck, so he searched for his next target.

The sharp crack of a rifle rang out above the chatter of gunfire. Jon recognized the high-powered toll of the sniper rifle as one of the soldiers hit the water with a resounding smack. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw one of Foster’s men take a round to his leg and go down hard in a spray of blood. Another agent close by ran to retrieve the wounded man, attempting to drag him out of the line of fire.

Jon leveled his rifle at the end of the pier, where more than a handful of cartel soldiers were taking shots at them from behind a fish-cleaning station and a stack of fifty-gallon drums. He began burning through the remainder of his magazine, indiscriminately shooting at anything that moved, jumping from one target to the next as the soldiers did their best to evade his covering fire. He hit at least two of the men and saw another go down, thanks to Alvarez.

O’Connell joined the effort, and the three of them hammered the cartel’s position on the dock relentlessly until Jon’s magazine ran dry. As he dropped down to reload, he took a moment to reassure Max that the dog was exactly where he should be—out of harm’s way as much as he could be. This wasn’t Max’s time to shine. There’d be an opportunity for the dog to play a role later if there were any runners.

By the time Jon reloaded and set up for another shot, Foster’s men were pushing forward toward the boat, advancing slowly but gaining ground nonetheless.

Another cartel gunman slapped the water as he fell from the pier in a cry of agony.

“Got him!” O’Connell called out.

“Keep the pressure on,” Jon barked at his deputies, but Alvarez didn’t need any encouragement and was well on her way to emptying her second magazine.

Foster’s men pressed hard from the opposite side of the marina, closing the gap and eliminating two more cartel members in the process. Foster’s team had the upper hand now, but the gunmen were putting up a fierce fight, their desperation evident in the way they fired recklessly into the night.

But then a new sound filled the air: the roar of revving outboards. The cartel had had enough, and the remaining soldiers were attempting to flee the scene. The Seven Marine 627-horsepower triple outboards hanging off the back of the cartel’s speedboat jumped to life as the water around the stern of the vessel erupted into a seething ball of foam.

One of the cartel soldiers dropped to his knees behind the massive V8 outboards and deployed the tripod on his M240, opening up a barrage of gunfire back at the marina. But the soldier’s last-ditch effort to hold off Jon and the other agents was in vain as all teams focused on the escaping craft.

With everyone concentrating their fire on the speedboat, the man operating the M240 machine gun only managed to partially burn through his ammunition belt before he was riddled with at least a dozen incoming rounds. As the boat accelerated, the dying soldier tumbled off the stern with the machine gun still in his grip, his bullet-pierced torso and blood-soaked shirt guaranteeing they’d seen the last of him.

“Push forward!” Jon yelled to Alvarez, who was moving up with O’Connell, exchanging fire with the remaining gunmen. Jon ran ahead of his deputies, advancing on the boat from cover to cover as they all worked their way in closer, the incoming gunfire finally beginning to slow.

At last, the cartel’s men were losing ground, their numbers dwindling under the combined assault of Jon’s team and the FBI.

Jon could hear Foster on the radio, reaching out to the Coast Guard to intercept the cartel. With that much horsepower pushing the thirty-foot speedboat, the cartel would be out of range in seconds.

But before Foster could finish his transmission, the rapidly accelerating boat burst into flames, followed by a loud pop and an explosion that sent the remaining crew somersaulting into the water. Jon felt the flash of heat from the blast and turned away from the flaming boat just slightly as the fireball dissipated in the night sky, leaving behind a cloud of black smoke.

“Sheriff, we’ve got a live one!” Alvarez shouted.

O’Connell raised his weapon and prepared to take the shot, but Jon reached out and pushed his deputy’s rifle off target. “Hold your fire. He’s unarmed.”

One of the remaining gunmen, who hadn’t been wounded severely enough to stay down, tried to make a run for it, breaking from cover and sprinting toward the open bay of a nearby warehouse.

“Max, get him.” Jon gave the command, but Max had anticipated the action and was already creeping forward like a big cat stalking its prey. At Jon’s words, Max flew across the pavement with impossible speed, zeroing in on the fleeing cartel soldier. The dog was on the target in a matter of seconds, taking the man down to the ground by his arm and flinging him around like a chew toy.

“Hold,” Jon instructed Max further as the man screamed in pain from the crushing pressure of the dog’s bite. Jon waited until two nearby FBI agents reached the downed soldier. “Max, release.”

The dog hung on to his target for a second more, then let go and backed off but by no means let his guard down, keeping his gaze glued to the man.

Another cartel soldier emerged from behind a stack of pallets near the end of the dock and dropped his weapon immediately, then raised his hands in surrender. Several agents converged on his location and took him into custody.

The dock fell silent, the air thick with the scent of gunpowder and burning fiberglass. Jon stood slowly, his eyes searching the area for any remaining threats. But the fight was over.

Alvarez lowered her weapon, letting out a long breath. She looked over at Jon with wide eyes, then out toward the burning speedboat, which was starting to drift back in toward the dock with the incoming tide. “It’s done.”

Jon nodded, but he didn’t feel any real sense of relief. The cartel had been dealt another blow tonight, but the larger network was still out there. And as long as they remained, the town of Big Pine Key would never truly be safe.

Agent Foster approached, his face grim but far from satisfied. “Good work, Sheriff. We lost the shipment but at least we’ve got a few of them in custody. Let’s hope they all survive so we can get some intel from them. This’ll be a blow to the cartel’s operation.”

Jon met the man’s gaze. “It’s a start, for sure. But it’s not over.”

Foster’s eyes narrowed. “No, it’s not. But tonight, we made progress. We’ll squeeze these guys for information, and once Ray’s testimony comes through, we’ll be able to work our way up the food chain a lot faster.”

Jon glanced back at the dock, where the surviving cartel men were being loaded into police vehicles. It didn’t seem like the victory he’d hoped for this evening. He couldn’t help but feel at least a little pleased with the outcome, but he knew things hadn’t gone to plan.

Foster seemed to sense Jon’s unease. “You did good tonight, Marzett. You’ve got the town on edge, but that’s what’s going to bring the cartel down. Keep pushing.”

Jon gave a curt nod. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”

As the FBI assumed control of the scene, Jon walked to the edge of the dock, staring out at the ocean and digesting what had just gone down.

If Big Pine Key hadn’t felt different before tonight, it did now. It felt changed. The cartel had lost another fight, but the victory rang hollow. He crouched down, giving Max a reassuring pat. The dog, ever vigilant, leaned into Jon’s hand, his eyes still scanning the docks for anyone else that needed detaining.

“We’re not done yet, boy,” Jon whispered. “But we’re getting there.”

The Keys didn’t have the same light pollution as Miami, so the stars seemed closer and more plentiful, while the sky looked endless. He stood up, turning to face a breeze coming in off the water.

The night stretched out ahead of them, quiet and hopeful—for now. He wasn’t sure what lay ahead, but he was certain of one thing: there’d be no rest for anyone until this town was free and the cartel was finished.

The morning after the dock raid dawned with a pale, golden light that spread over Big Pine Key. The growing eastern glow threw elongated shadows across the streets and into the mangroves. The salty air was less humid than usual thanks to a strong onshore breeze, but Jon Marzett felt none of its refreshing qualities. His mind was clouded with the details of the previous night’s events.

Standing in front of the sheriff’s office, Jon took in the quiet stillness of the town. It appeared as though nothing had changed on the surface, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Even though the firefight at the marina seemed more like a dream than reality in the fresh light of a new day, Jon knew better. He’d been fortunate to escape unscathed, as had Alvarez and O’Connell, but two of Foster’s men had sustained injuries from the confrontation.

Both would survive, but the incident left an indelible mark—a stark, brutal reminder of the cartel’s ruthlessness and the deadly stakes of the game they were playing.

This wasn’t just a skirmish; it was another glimpse into the depths of what their enemies were willing to do, a cold reality check. Every move they made, every stone they turned over, came with life-or-death consequences.

Max stood at Jon’s side, watching the few early risers making their way through town. The dog, too, seemed uneasy, as if last night was just the warm-up to the main event. Jon gave him a quick pat before turning to walk inside the office.

There were too many things left unresolved, and he needed to focus. The town was more than just awake; it was alive now, stirred not only by the rising sun but by a tide of whispers that moved faster than the morning breeze.

In a place this small, news was less a passing conversation and more a wildfire of rumors, leaping from ear to ear, fed by the kindling of speculation and exaggeration. For the first time in what felt like forever, the comfortable blinders this tropical haven offered—the ones that allowed its residents to overlook the cracks in their idyllic paradise—had slipped away.

Reality had forced its way in, sharp and undeniable, breaking through the cocoon of easy ignorance the townsfolk had wrapped themselves in. The streets buzzed with nervous energy, a collective awareness settling over the town like a heavy cloud that filtered the usually welcoming sunlight through a darkened lens.

Conversations were hushed but urgent. Eyes darted toward unfamiliar faces and blacked-out federal vehicles that cruised A1A like hungry sharks. Time in the Keys ran at its own pace, but the typically lazy rhythms of daily life felt slightly off-kilter. It was as though everyone could sense that something was very wrong, and things would never quite go back to the way they were.

Inside, the sheriff’s office buzzed with activity. Deputies moved between desks, taking statements, filing reports, and coordinating with the FBI. The ruckus heard by most everyone last night had done more than throw the town into a frenzy of gossip and fear.

Those who lived far enough away and had been spared the wild night’s mayhem were being brought up to speed, or so they thought. No doubt, the information on tap at local coffee shops and diners around town was inaccurate and doing more harm than good. If Jon didn’t get things under control, Big Pine Key, a place that depended on tourism and the promise of peace, would die.

Some old-timers were starting to talk to authorities, but those with something to lose still clung to their silence. Most likely, they were afraid of retribution from the cartel.

Alvarez was seated at her desk, her head bent over a stack of reports. She glanced up when Jon entered, her eyes tired but alert. “Sheriff. We’ve been getting calls all morning. The town’s rattled. People are worried about their safety. They’re keeping their kids home from school.”

Jon nodded. “I heard from O’Connell before I left the house. And they have every right to be worried after last night’s train wreck of an op.”

Alvarez frowned. “Foster says they’re already working on interrogating the men we picked up at the docks. I’m sure one of them will talk, but I guess we can’t count on it. Until then, Ray’s testimony is still all we have and our best shot at taking down the cartel’s operation from the inside.”

Jon sat down across from her, rubbing a hand over his face and regretting that he hadn’t had another cup of coffee yet.

As if on cue, Maggie appeared with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. “Looks like you could use a little pick-me-up, Sheriff, but I guess this will have to do for now.” She handed Jon the hot beverage with a wink.

“Thanks, Maggie. You really are a lifesaver.” Jon managed a smile that quickly faded as he turned back to Alvarez. “Ray’s the key. But we’re missing something. The cartel’s had its claws in this town for too long. There’s someone here in Big Pine Key, someone high up, keeping everything in place.”

Alvarez leaned back in her chair, her brow furrowed. “You think we’ve still got a bigger rat in the hen house?”

“I know we do,” Jon said, his voice firm. “Ray was small time compared to whoever’s really pulling the strings. And if we don’t find them, this whole thing will get away from us.”

Before Alvarez could respond, the door to the sheriff’s department swung open, and Agent Foster strode in, his face set in a grim expression. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Sheriff Marzett. We need to talk.”

“She can stay.” Jon stood, nodding at Alvarez to stick around. “What’s going on?”

Foster gestured toward the conference room in the back of the office. “We’ve got something. A lead. You’ll want to hear this.”

Jon held his hand out to Max, who’d already started to get to his feet but reluctantly sank back down to the floor with a grumble. “Stay.”

Inside the conference room, Foster closed the door behind them. An oppressive silence filled the room, the weight of anticipation almost suffocating. He dropped a file on the table, flipping it open to reveal photos of several men, some of them familiar from the dock raid, others new. Foster tapped one of the photos. It showed a man in his late forties, with graying hair and a pencil-thin mustache.

“Julian Navarro,” Foster said. “He’s the real power behind the cartel’s operations here in Big Pine Key. We’ve been after him for a while, and now we know he’s involved with the cartel thanks to our efforts last night. But he’s slippery and he’s careful, keeps his hands clean—never gets close enough to the action to get caught.”

Jon stared at the photo, his gut tightening. He had heard the name before, somewhere in his former life as a detective, although his mind was drawing a blank at the moment.

Foster continued. “Navarro operates out of Miami, but he’s got deep ties here. He’s been funneling money through local businesses, using the docks to move drugs, guns, whatever he can get his hands on. And he’s got people in high places protecting him.”

“People in this town,” Jon said, his voice flat. This was exactly what he’d suspected was going on. He’d known it in his gut.

Foster nodded. “We don’t know who yet, but there’s a network. Navarro wouldn’t risk this much without having local law enforcement or politicians in his pocket. That’s what we need to find out.”

Jon exchanged a glance with Alvarez. They both knew this wasn’t just about taking down a drug operation anymore. This was about cleaning out the rot that had been festering in Big Pine Key for years. This was about assuring all those people outside the department doors that this town was still a place worthy of calling home. A place where they could leave their doors unlocked and their worries in check. It used to be a place like that. It could be again.

“You think there’s someone else in our department?” Jon looked at Foster.

“We do. But we don’t have a name, I’m afraid. I can tell you that O’Connell’s clean. Hell, the kid used to be an Eagle Scout. As for the rest of them, present company excluded…” Foster nodded at Alvarez. “I couldn’t say.”

“Yeah, well, we’re working on it from our end pretty hard. Trust me,” Jon assured him.

“But I’m happy to share what I do know.” Foster pulled another file from his briefcase and spread out a map of Big Pine Key, marked with several red dots. “We’ve identified a few businesses that we suspect Navarro’s been using to launder money. Restaurants, bars, even some of the fishing operations. We’ve got people watching them, but we need someone on the inside.”

Jon leaned over the map, studying the locations. Each red dot represented a piece of Navarro’s empire, woven into the very fabric of the town. It would take more than just a raid to unravel all of it.

“I know a few people we can talk to,” Alvarez said, her voice low. “The fishermen, the old-timers who were here long before Navarro or any of these places showed up. They’ve seen things, even if they haven’t said much. If anyone’s going to know who Navarro’s got in his pocket, it’s them.”

Foster nodded. “Good. But be careful. The closer we get to Navarro, the more volatile this becomes. He’s not going to sit back and watch us take apart his operation.”

Jon stood up straighter. “We’ll be as careful as we need to be, Foster. But I have no intention of backing down.”

Foster gave a thin smile. “I didn’t expect you to. But remember, Navarro’s not just some thug. He’s connected. You get too close, and you’ll be in his crosshairs.”

Jon glanced at Alvarez, who gave him a silent nod of support. “Who says we’re not already?” he groused. “But we need to move fast. Navarro’s got to be feeling the heat after last night’s raid. If we wait too long, he’ll disappear.”

Foster handed Jon a phone. “It’s a burner. Use this to stay in touch with us. Keep it off when you’re not using it. Navarro’s men have ears everywhere.”

Jon took the phone, slipping it into his pocket. “Understood.”

Foster stepped back, his expression serious. “We’re playing a dangerous game, Sheriff. I know I don’t need to remind you of that, but the Bureau’s got a lot of man-hours and now a little blood invested in this thing. If we do this right, we can take Navarro down and break the cartel’s hold on this town.”

Jon met his gaze. “We’re not interested in just breaking their hold on Big Pine Key, Agent Foster. We’re interested in cutting it out for good.”

Foster nodded. “I understand. Good luck, Sheriff, Deputy. We’ll touch base soon.”

As Foster left the conference room, Jon and Alvarez exchanged a long, silent glance. The scope of the fight ahead of them was clear now. Navarro was more than just a criminal. He had built a web of corruption that had entangled the entire town, and pulling on those threads would unravel more than just the cartel’s operation.

There would be collateral damage. Townspeople who’d been involved with him. Who’d been complicit. Things were going to get ugly. Uglier.

“This is bigger than I thought,” Alvarez said quietly, her voice laced with concern over the realization of Navarro’s involvement.

Jon nodded, his jaw set. “It is. But we’re going after him.”

Alvarez smiled grimly. “One step at a time, then.”

Jon moved toward the door, looking across the bullpen at Max, who was still patiently waiting. “Let’s start pulling threads.”

The realization of the town’s corruption hung heavy in the air as Jon stepped outside the conference room, the sun now well above the eastern horizon, its light spilling in through the oversized front windows of the department.

It looked like paradise, but the town was rotting from the inside, and Navarro was at the center of it.

Jon didn’t care how high Julian Navarro’s reach went. And he didn’t care how many people were in his pocket.

He was going to bring the whole thing crashing down, no matter who was involved.

No one was above the law.

The docks had changed in the daylight. Where last night’s firefight had left the area tense and brimming with violence, the mid-morning sun now bathed the boats and weathered wooden planks in a golden hue.

The water was calm, gently lapping against the bulkhead nearby. But where the M240 had chewed its way through the parking lot’s asphalt and where the police barricades still blocked public access stood as a reminder that this was no longer the peaceful seaside town Jon had hoped to find.

Max kept pace with him and Alvarez as they made their way to one of the older boats docked near the outskirts of the marina. The boat belonged to Hector Diaz, a man in his mid-eighties. Alvarez had said he knew Big Pine Key and the people who lived here better than anyone.

Apparently, nothing happened on the commercial side of the docks that Hector didn’t know about. He was one of the last old-timers still plying his trade from a boat that looked as weathered as him.

According to Alvarez, Hector had been around long enough to have seen how the cartel had slowly infiltrated the town’s fishing industry, using the docks to move their shipments under the cover of a legitimate business.

Alvarez had told Jon that Hector had always kept his mouth shut, like so many of the locals who had been pulled into the cartel’s dark orbit. Fear was a powerful silencer, and survival demanded obedience. But Hector had more reason than most to stay quiet. Alvarez said that his son had been killed by the cartel—a tragedy that seemed to linger in the air around him like a shroud.

The details were murky, as they often were in a town where secrets festered in silence. Whether Hector’s son had been a willing participant in the cartel’s operations or simply an unlucky pawn was unclear.

The whispers painted a grim picture: a young man seduced by the promise of easy money, lured into a world that dangled riches in front of the desperate and naive. The cartel’s promises were glittering traps, and like so many others, Hector’s son had taken the bait.

At first, it was small tasks—running packages, watching corners, a few hours of work for a wad of cash that could change a struggling family’s fortunes overnight.

But the deeper you went, the harder it was to claw your way back out. The cartel didn’t let go. They owned you, and when Hector’s son made a mistake—or perhaps simply became expendable—his life was snuffed out without hesitation.

Hector’s grief was a raw, festering wound that had twisted into something darker over the years. A father’s pain could morph into something volatile, and Jon knew well how the need for vengeance could ignite a fire that refused to be extinguished.

A man like Hector, consumed by both loss and anger, could be a powerful ally—or a dangerous liability.

Jon was counting on the raid from the night before to tip the scales. Maybe it had rattled something loose in Hector’s resolve, shaken his fear enough to push him toward action. If Hector wouldn’t talk for the town’s sake, maybe he would for his son’s memory. Revenge was a currency the cartel had dealt in for years, and Jon hoped it might finally come back to haunt them.

If anyone in this town could point him toward Navarro’s local network, it was Hector. The man had lived in the cartel’s shadow for too long, seen too much. And now, with his son’s blood on their hands, he had every reason to help bring them down.

As Jon, Max, and Alvarez approached the boat, he saw Hector sitting on a crate, mending a fishing net. His weathered face, bronzed by years of sun exposure, looked up as their shadows fell over him. The old man’s eyes, sharp and cautious, met Jon’s with a flicker of recognition and weariness before moving on to Alvarez.

“Good morning, Mr. Diaz,” Alvarez said, her tone calm but purposeful.

“Maria,” Hector replied. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How are your parents these days?”

Alvarez nodded. “They’re doing well, thanks.”

“Good. Tell them I said hello.” Hector went back to working on the net in his lap as if this was purely a social call and the visit was over.

Jon didn’t want to spook the old fisherman, but he needed answers, and his patience was at an all-time low. “Have you got a minute to talk with us, Hector? We need your help.”

Hector’s hands didn’t stop working, but his gaze shifted to Jon. “Rough night last night, eh, Sheriff? Thought you’d be resting up after all that trouble.”

Jon gave a faint smile. “No rest for me. Not while the cartel’s still pulling strings around here.”

Hector grunted, his fingers moving deftly as he continued to repair the net. “Cartel’s been here a long time, Sheriff. Nothing you or anyone else can do about that.” He looked at Alvarez once more. “Sorry.”

Jon stepped closer, leaning against one of the wooden pylons. “Maybe. But I think last night is as good a reason as any to try. At this rate, there won’t be any tourists to buy the shrimp you catch.” The man said nothing, but Jon wasn’t done. “Others are starting to talk, Mr. Diaz.”

Alvarez took a step forward. “And you’ve been around long enough to know more than most. You know how Navarro’s been running things. You’ve seen it firsthand.”

Hector’s fingers slowed, but he didn’t look up. “Navarro’s dangerous. You start digging into his business, you’ll end up at the bottom of the ocean, Sheriff. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen.”

Jon didn’t flinch. “I’m not backing off, Hector. I know Navarro’s got people in this town—people keeping his operation running, people keeping the law off his back. I need to know who they are.”

Hector finally looked up, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of fear and sadness. “You think people like me can afford to talk, Sheriff? We’re just trying to make a living. The cartel, Navarro—he owns this place. They’ve already taken too much from me.”

Jon crouched beside him, lowering his voice. “I’m not asking you to stick your neck out for no reason. But the longer Navarro stays in power, the worse it gets for all of us. You’ve seen what they’ve done to this town. You’ve seen the violence firsthand, the drugs.”

Hector didn’t respond, keeping at his repairs.

“What about what they did to your son? He won’t be the last pawn in their game. It’s only going to get worse unless we stop it.”

Hector’s hands stilled completely now, his face hardening. For a long moment, there was only the sound of the water and a boisterous gull overhead.

Then, with a long, slow breath, Hector spoke. “I’ve been fishing these waters for forty years, Sheriff,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with emotion. “I’ve seen this town change—watched it go from a peaceful place to a battleground. Navarro’s got his hooks in deep. But there are some people… some that he relies on more than others.”

Jon’s pulse quickened. This was what he’d been waiting for. “Who, Hector? Give me some names.”

Hector glanced around, as if checking to make sure no one else was within earshot. His voice dropped to a near whisper. “There’s a man. A businessman. He runs one of the big seafood distribution companies in town. But you probably know him better as Councilman Vega.”

“Carlos Vega.” Jon’s shoulders dropped as the disappointment washed over him. He pushed himself to his feet.

“Yeah, that Carlos Vega. On the surface, he looks clean, legitimate. But Vega’s in deep with Navarro. He moves the product in with his boats, and no one questions it because he’s got half the town in his pocket, and they know he’s a dangerous man to cross.”

Jon’s jaw tightened. Carlos Vega was a name he was familiar with. He was the man who’d warned him about Ray’s ambitions concerning the sheriff’s job.

But Vega’s reputation in town was squeaky clean—a businessman and town council member with deep ties to the community, respected and admired by many. Then again, maybe it wasn’t respect that had people singing his praises. Maybe it was fear. Jon had always suspected there was more to him. Now he had confirmation.

“Vega,” Jon repeated, the name heavy on his tongue.

Hector nodded slowly. “Vega’s been working with Navarro for years. He’s the one who makes sure the shipments come in and out unnoticed. He pays off the right people. And those he can’t pay off? Well, they don’t stay around for long.”

Jon felt the pieces of the puzzle starting to click into place. Vega wasn’t just a cog in Navarro’s machine—he was a key player. Taking him down could cripple Navarro’s local operation and expose the network of corruption that had been holding Big Pine Key in its grip for years.

Had he hired Jon thinking Jon was more concerned with taking it easy than doing his job? That Jon was going to do the bare minimum and look at this as his retirement? If so, Vega was very wrong.

“Does Vega have a man working for him on the law enforcement side other than Ray Dalton?” Jon asked, his tone low and urgent. “Anyone in the sheriff’s department working with him?”

“Sheriff Engle used to play ball, but word on the street is he got greedy. And you know what happened to him.” Hector pulled his hat down to cover his eyes from the sun.

“No, I don’t.” Jon was eager to finally hear the truth about his predecessor.

“That’s right, and neither does anyone else.” Hector returned to his net with a huff.

“Come on,” Alvarez said. “You must know who else is helping Navarro. We need to know.”

Hector hesitated, his face tightening with reservation. “I can’t say for sure. But there’s a man in your department—someone other than Dalton. I don’t know who, but I know you’ve still got a rotten apple in the bunch.”

“Would you be able to identify the man if you saw him?” Jon asked.

“No, Sheriff, I’ve never seen the other deputy Vega has on his payroll. Ever since my son’s…” Hector paused for a second, stealing a glance out over the water. “These days, I do my best to stay clear of Vega.” He went back to mending the net. “I’m afraid that’s all I can help you with today.” The old man dropped his head as if Jon and his deputy had already left.

Jon’s chest clenched like a vise. The suspicion gnawing at him for the last couple of days had finally been confirmed. There was another rat inside the sheriff’s department.

Another of his own deputies.

The thought hit him like a gut punch. These were people he’d trusted, men and women who’d sworn the same oath as him. But Dalton had a partner.

Then again, Ray wasn’t that bright, in Jon’s opinion, and he wondered if the man even knew about the other mole at the department. But it didn’t matter. All Jon could think about was that there was another traitor among them, willing to trade their badge for blood money and align themselves with the very monsters Jon was trying to bring down.

Anger flared hot in his chest, but it wasn’t just fury—it was betrayal, raw and personal. Which one of the others had turned? Who had looked him in the eye, nodded at his orders, and then whispered everything back to the cartel?

Jon fought the urge to slam his fist onto the copper-capped piling he was standing next to. This wasn’t just about Vega anymore. The cartel wasn’t just lurking on the outside—they were still in his house, wearing his uniform, watching his every move. And if he didn’t figure out who it was, soon, everything—this investigation, the town, the lives of his deputies—would be at risk.

He exhaled and forced himself to calm down. The old man had helped a lot. “Thank you, Hector. You’ve done the right thing.”

Hector’s expression was grim. “I hope so, Sheriff. Navarro doesn’t play games. And neither does Vega. They’ll come for you if they find out you’re digging into their business.”

Jon nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Let them try.”

Alvarez tipped her hat. “Thank you, Mr. Diaz.”

“Be careful, Maria.” Hector looked up once more, this time with a genuine look of concern etched across his face.

As Jon and Alvarez turned to leave, the magnitude of what Hector had told him settled over his shoulders like a heavy burden.

Carlos Vega, the respected businessman and council member, was more than just a figurehead. He was a lynchpin in Navarro’s operation. Taking him down would send shock waves through the cartel, but there were still a lot of questions.

Like why didn’t Vega push his inside man into the sheriff’s role? Maybe that was too on the nose for someone who liked to keep up appearances. Who could point a finger at Vega if he’d been instrumental in finding a legitimate replacement for the top lawman in Big Pine Key?

By doing that, Vega could maintain his innocence. But that was about to change.

Jon glanced down at Max as they left the docks, the dog’s presence a steady comfort. He’d hoped the corruption at the department had ended with Ray and that he was just being paranoid about another. But he had known better all along.

His mind was already working through the next steps. He needed to get more information on Vega, but he also needed to figure out who in his department had been compromised.

That part unsettled him the most. One of his own was working against him, feeding information to the cartel. They’d never get anywhere if they kept stepping on their own feet.

Back at the sheriff’s office, Jon found O’Connell waiting for him. As Jon and Alvarez entered the building, he looked up with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Did you get anything?” he asked.

“Follow us,” Jon instructed, leading Alvarez and O’Connell into his office. He waited until Max and the others were inside, then closed the door behind them. Jon took a seat at his desk, leaning back in the cracked and faded leather chair with his arms crossed. “Vega. He’s running the shipments through his distribution company. He’s in deep with Navarro.”

O’Connell’s eyes widened as he sat down in one of the chairs at Jon’s desk. “Vega? The seafood guy? He’s on the city council. I never would’ve guessed.”

“I’ve been suspect of the guy since he greased my path into the sheriff’s position here but didn’t want to believe it.” Jon rubbed a hand over his face. “But there’s more. One of our own might be working with him.”

O’Connell’s expression darkened. “One of the deputies?”

Jon nodded. “I don’t know who yet, but Hector Diaz told us he’d heard of another one of our men who’s been hanging around Vega’s place, and it’s not Dalton. We need to figure out who it is before they can warn Vega that we’re onto him.”

A muscle in O’Connell’s forehead pulsed. “This just keeps getting worse.”

Jon’s mind was already working through the possibilities. Vega was a key player, but he wouldn’t be easy to take down. And with someone on the inside feeding him information, the risk of a leak was high.

“The feds are watching Navarro. Let’s do our part and keep tabs on our beloved councilman. O’Connell, I want you on Vega,” Jon said, his voice firm. “We need to know his every move.”

O’Connell stood up. “You got it, Sheriff.”

Jon glanced at Alvarez. “And I want you to start looking into the deputies. Quietly. We can’t afford to tip our hand until we know who’s compromised.”

Alvarez nodded. “I’ll get started right away.”

As Alvarez and O’Connell left the room, Jon sat forward in his chair. The complexities of the town’s corruption were taking their toll on him in the form of a headache. Carlos Vega was the next target, but taking him down would require precision and stealth. And once Vega realized Jon was onto him, nothing else would come easy. So far, nothing had.

Jon reached down and ran his fingers through the fur around Max’s ears. “This isn’t going to be easy, boy,” he muttered.

Max thumped his tail against the tile floor, as if to say he was ready for whatever came next.

Jon took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. Before the meeting with Hector, he’d been foolish enough to think he was gaining ground on the cartel. But after what he’d learned, he felt like he was buried up to his neck in the sand and the tide was coming in fast.

He exhaled sharply, pushing his chair back to stand when the door creaked open just enough for Maggie’s head to pop through.

“Hey, Sheriff,” she said casually, pushing the door open further with her hip. In her hand was another Styrofoam cup of coffee, steam curling up from the lid. “Figured you might need this. Looks like you’ve been herding cats.” She stepped inside and set the cup down on his desk, her sharp blue eyes giving him a once-over.

“Thanks, Maggie,” Jon said, his voice heavy with fatigue.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, narrowing her eyes as she studied him. “You okay? And don’t give me the ‘I’m fine’ routine. I’ve raised a kid; I know that look. It’s either bad news or a bad breakup, and since I know you’re not dating anyone—yet—what’s eating at you?”

Jon smirked despite himself. “It’s not exactly coffee-break talk.”

She folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Sheriff, I’ve seen more drama on a school bus than you’ll find in those FBI case files. Whatever it is, I can handle it. Spill.”

Jon hesitated, then shook his head. “We’ve got a problem in the department. Someone’s feeding information to Vega, maybe even higher up the chain. I can’t trust anyone right now, and that makes this job… complicated.”

Maggie’s playful demeanor dimmed, replaced by a sharpness that Jon had only seen glimpses of before. “A mole?” she asked, her voice lower now.

Jon nodded. “That’s why I’m having Alvarez look into the deputies. Quietly.”

Maggie tilted her head. “If you’re asking me to trust Alvarez with subtlety, let’s just say… bold choice.” Before Jon could protest, she waved him off. “Don’t worry. She’ll get it done. She’s one sharp cookie, that one. But if you need someone to poke around and keep it hush-hush, you know I’m pretty good at… listening. People tell me things, Sheriff. Especially when they don’t think it matters.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “You offering to be my informant, Maggie?”

She grinned, though her tone stayed serious. “Let’s just say I have an ear to the ground. I know who’s fighting with who, who’s flirting with who, and who likes to drink a little too much after shift. If someone’s running their mouth in the wrong direction, I’ll hear it.”

Jon studied her for a moment. “I don’t want you putting yourself at risk.”

“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been dealing with knuckleheads since I could drive. You don’t make it thirty years on a school bus without learning how to handle troublemakers. Besides, you’ve got enough on your plate.”

Jon shook his head, half-smiling. “You’re something else, Maggie.”

“Darn right I am,” she said with a wink. She nodded toward Max, who was still lounging on the floor but watching her intently. “And if I hear anything, I’ll let both of you know. Can’t forget your partner here.”

Max’s tail wagged at the attention, and Maggie crouched to pull another homemade treat from her pocket. “Here you go, big guy. Keep an eye on the sheriff for me, will you?” As Max crunched happily, Maggie straightened up. “Now, you just focus on taking Vega down. I’ll handle the grapevine.”

Jon nodded, a flicker of gratitude passing through him. “Thanks, Maggie.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, heading for the door. “But do let me know if I need to start baking apology cookies for half the department.” She gave him a sly grin before disappearing out the door.

Jon looked at Max, who thumped his tail against the floor. “Guess we’ve got a new partner, huh?”

Max wagged harder, and for the first time in hours, Jon let himself relax—just a little.

The sun was only hours away from setting over Big Pine Key as Jon sat at his desk, staring down at the files laid out before him. The sheriff’s office was the quietest it had been all day. Only the hum of the air-conditioner broke the silence.

Outside, the town readied itself for another humid night, blissfully unaware of how much more trouble was headed its way.

Jon tapped his pen absently against the desk as he reviewed the Bureau’s notes on Julian Navarro. He couldn’t help thinking about Vega’s involvement in all this. Ray had named Vega as a person of interest that night in the safe house, but Jon hadn’t given it much credibility. There was too much bad blood between them.

Ray couldn’t give any specifics either, just that he was sure the councilman was in on the cartel’s take. It sounded too much like something a man looking for revenge would say. Not to mention, the ex-deputy wasn’t exactly trustworthy. Now that Jon knew Navarro had a man running things for him in Big Pine Key, it almost seemed obvious that Vega was the connection.

Vega’s seafood distribution company had operated like clockwork for years, moving product through the docks without anyone batting an eye. And although Vega had done a good job of masking his illegal operations behind the legitimate business, that would soon end.

What Jon didn’t know—yet—was how deep Vega’s ties went. More importantly, who in Jon’s own department was helping him?

That was what got under his skin the most. Nothing disgusted him more than a man willing to sell his soul for a quick buck. But watching someone line their pockets with dirty money after swearing an oath to uphold the law?

That was a betrayal that curdled deep in his gut. It wasn’t just crooked—it was a cancer that, in his experience, had a way of spreading throughout a department, eating away at everything Jon stood for.

Alvarez had already started looking into the deputies, but it wouldn’t be easy. The cartel was clever, and whoever was working with Vega would be smart enough to cover their tracks.

Jon had confidence in Alvarez; she was smart and knew this town and its people well. He didn’t blame her for not figuring things out sooner here, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. She would have been let go the second she rocked the boat or started asking the right questions.

She needed backup, and it had to be someone at the top. She needed Jon as much as he needed her. And he had no intention of letting her down.

As if on cue, Alvarez knocked on his door, pushing it open before he could respond. She walked in with a folder tucked under her arm, her expression tense.

“Got something,” she said, dropping the folder onto Jon’s desk. “It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

Jon opened the folder and scanned the contents. There were bank records, phone logs, and internal notes about the deputies in his department. One name stood out immediately—Deputy Bryson Thorne. And he was one of three deputies intentionally left out of the loop on the operation last night.

Thorne had been with the department for almost a decade, a quiet, unassuming guy who mostly kept to himself. He was a bit of a wallflower: never took risks, never caused trouble.

But that was the problem. For the short amount of time he’d known Thorne, Jon had considered the man reliable. More accurately, he hadn’t considered him at all. Although Bryson Thorne seemed dependable, when Jon looked back through different eyes, he seemed maybe too dependable.

“You’re telling me Thorne’s dirty?” Jon asked, his voice low and laced with frustration. “Bryson Thorne never came up when Ray was naming people.”

Alvarez leaned against the desk, crossing her arms. “Maybe Ray didn’t know about Thorne. Or maybe Ray was trying to hold on to a trump card.” She shook her head. “I don’t have solid proof yet, but there are some things that don’t add up. Whenever there’s an incident at one of Vega’s businesses, he takes the call. And his bank records show some pretty regular, large cash deposits—nothing that lines up with his salary.”

Jon clenched his jaw. He’d seen this before—good cops turning bad because the money was too tempting, the danger too distant. And they had the ridiculous notion that they were somehow above the very law they swore an oath to uphold. The cartel knew how to exploit that weakness.

“Does he know we’re onto him?” Jon asked.

Alvarez stared at the file on the desk. “I don’t think so. He’s still keeping a low profile, just like always. But if Thorne gets wind that we’re looking at him, he’s going to bolt. Or worse, warn Vega.”

Jon closed the folder and rubbed a hand over his face. “We need more than just a suspicion, Alvarez. We need hard proof. If we aren’t careful digging up dirt on Thorne and we blow this for the feds, they won’t be too happy with us.”

Alvarez frowned, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Foster says they’ve got word there might be a cartel meeting tonight at one of the warehouses down by the commercial docks. He was going to give you a call when he had the details worked out. But if Thorne is our man, there’s a good chance he’ll be there after what happened last night. We wouldn’t need any more proof than that.”

Jon nodded. “And it would solve a big problem for us.”

Alvarez gave a tight nod. “I’ll let O’Connell know what’s going on. But I’ll leave Sullivan and Cunningham in the dark for now until we’re sure Thorne is our guy. Let me know what Foster says, and we’ll be ready on your word.”

Jon watched her leave before glancing down at Max, who had been lying quietly by his desk, watching the exchange. The dog thumped his tail once, as if sensing Jon’s internal struggle. Jon crouched down, scratching Max behind the ears.

“This is it, boy,” Jon muttered. “If we don’t get this right, everything falls apart.”

Max nuzzled Jon’s hand in quiet support, his eyes seeming to convey that he understood what was at stake.

Jon cleared his desk, tucking the files into a drawer and locking it before making his way out of the office. He’d use the burner phone Foster had given him and make his call from the truck.

The docks were bathed in shadow by the time Jon arrived. Only the quiet rustling of palm fronds in the light breeze broke the silence. He moved carefully, his eyes scanning the shadows for cartel lookouts, although he didn’t expect any. This was a “non-power player meeting” tonight, in Foster’s words.

The Bureau had tapped the right phones, and the information they’d gathered was criminal and chilling, although not quite enough to get the FBI excited, as long as they were covered.

But that’s where Jon and his deputies came in. Foster had agreed, without much persuading, to let Jon and his team handle this on their own tonight. Thorne was his man, and this was the sheriff’s department’s problem. That’s how Jon had sold it to Foster, and that’s how he’d bought it.

Tonight’s meeting was rumored to involve Bryson Thorne and an unidentified cartel representative. The whispers were clear: the higher-ups, Vega and Navarro, were furious over the disaster at the docks last night. No surprise there. A significant shipment of blues and firearms had gone up in flames. A meticulously planned operation meant to show the authorities who was really in charge in Big Pine Key had been reduced to ash and smoke.

It wasn’t just a setback; it was a financial blow, one that was beginning to eat away at the cartel’s bottom line. Add it to the blues and guns seized from the warehouse, and profits were slipping. No doubt patience was wearing thin, too.

Vega and Navarro, known for their ruthlessness when money was on the line, had zero tolerance for failure.

And now the blame had landed squarely on Thorne’s shoulders. His inability—or refusal—to provide a heads-up on the situation had left the cartel blind to the raid. They saw it as a betrayal or, worse, incompetence. For men like Vega and Navarro, either was unacceptable. Tonight’s meeting wasn’t just business—it was about accountability.

Tonight, though, Jon was about to throw a wrench in the gears.

Alvarez and O’Connell were in position, armed with a camera as well as weapons, and staying out of sight but ready to move as soon as Jon gave the signal. Max hugged his side, alert as always, his body low to the ground as they crept closer to Vega’s warehouse.

Thorne’s personal vehicle was parked nearby. The new silver Cadillac SUV stood out among the drab surroundings of the commercial district.

Jon had always thought it unusual for a sheriff’s deputy to be driving a hundred-thousand-dollar vehicle but ignored it for the most part, thinking maybe he came from money or just simply lived above his means. Lots of people did.

However, there was no ignoring that his once-trusted deputy was in fact here tonight. Thorne was the remaining mole at the department; that much was undeniable now. Now Jon had to gather enough intel to take the traitor down.

He motioned for Max to stay as he approached the warehouse, his gun drawn but held low. The door was ajar, and Jon could hear muffled voices from inside—Thorne’s, along with two others he didn’t recognize. Jon’s heart quickened as he crouched by the door, listening to the conversation.

“You’re cutting it close, Thorne,” one of the voices said, a low, gravelly tone that dripped of broken English and suspicion.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Thorne replied, his voice bold but strained. Maybe he was feeling the pressure. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Vega’s not happy,” the gravelly voice continued. “He says the sheriff’s been sniffing around. You’ve got a problem on your hands.”

Jon felt a surge of anger but forced himself to stay calm. He needed to hear more.

Thorne’s voice was tense now. “I’ve been keeping Marzett off the trail. But he’s not an idiot. Sooner or later, he’s going to figure it out. And now the feds are involved. I’m not getting paid enough for this.”

Jon’s chest tightened. Thorne had betrayed the department and the people of Big Pine Key. Thorne had been feeding information to Vega the whole time. And now he was panicking, realizing that Jon was getting closer to the truth.

He was probably worried that his own life was in danger. If he wasn’t, he should be. The cartel would kill a man for less than he’d cost them so far, but that was too good for a man like Bryson Thorne, as far as Jon was concerned.

The gravelly voice responded, “Vega doesn’t like loose ends. You’re a loose end now, Thorne. So, you either fix this or you’re done.”

There was a pause in their conversation, and even though Jon couldn’t see the men, he could feel the unease of the moment hanging in the humid night air. Jon knew Alvarez and O’Connell were getting this on video, which was good; he’d have to see it for himself again to believe what he was hearing.

“I’ll fix it,” Thorne finally said, his voice low but firm. “Marzett won’t be a problem for long.”

Jon’s blood ran cold. Thorne wasn’t just dirty—he was planning to take out Jon. Could that really be what he’d just heard?

Jon rose slowly, every muscle in his body coiled with tension. His hand tightened around the Glock. The weight of it grounded him as the gravity of what he’d just heard sank in. It was enough—more than enough to put Bryson Thorne away for decades, maybe even for life.

The rage simmering in Jon’s gut only added to the heat of the night, his breath slow and deliberate as he fought to stay composed. Thorne wasn’t just dirty; he was a willing killer.

The man had aligned himself with the cartel, their blood-soaked profits lining his pockets, and God only knew how many lives had been destroyed because of it.

The thought made Jon’s chest burn. He pictured the bodies—the lives snuffed out, families shattered—all because Thorne had chosen greed over decency, power over humanity. Jon had seen men like him before, men who thought they were untouchable.

But Thorne was about to learn the hard way. No one was above the law.

Jon pulled the radio from his belt and reached out to Alvarez, keeping his voice to a whisper. “You got all that?”

“Loud and clear, Sheriff. We’re ready to move in. Just give the word,” she whispered back.

“On me, then. I’m going in.” Jon clipped the radio back into place on his belt and steadied himself for a long-overdue reckoning.

He eased the door open enough for him and Max to squeeze through, then locked eyes with his partner. “Max, stay.”

Max was the ace up Jon’s sleeve, but from what he knew about the cartel here, they’d shoot before letting themselves be taken into custody. Jon didn’t want Max in the crossfire. Thorne was the unknown variable, but any man who could be bought could also be expected to make rash and foolish decisions to save his own skin.

Max grumbled quietly but sank to his haunches on the ground.

Jon stepped into the warehouse, weapon raised, and made his way around a nearby forklift until all three of the men were in sight.

“Thorne,” Jon said, his voice echoing in the dimly lit space. “It’s over.”

Thorne spun around, his face going pale as he saw Jon standing in the dim light. His hand moved toward his gun, but Jon was faster.

“Don’t.” Jon’s voice rang with deadly intent. “Don’t make me do this.”

For a moment, Thorne hesitated, his hand hovering above the gun. The other two men in the warehouse, both cartel soldiers, exchanged a glance, unsure what to do.

Jon kept his eyes locked on Thorne, his heart pounding in his chest.

Thorne’s face twisted into a sneer. “You don’t get it, Jon. You can’t stop this. Vega owns this town. He owns everyone.”

“Not anymore,” Jon said through gritted teeth.

The silence of the moment lingered, dense with a menace that needed no words. Then, without warning, Thorne moved—a swift, practiced motion as he reached for his weapon.

But Jon fired first.

Boom.

The explosive sound ripped through the cavernous warehouse like a solo drumbeat in the final act of Bryson Thorne’s career.

Thorne staggered back, a sudden terror flickering in his eyes as if he’d finally grasped the weight of the evil he’d helped perpetuate. Some said pain had a way of clarifying a moment.

He dropped his gun, collapsing to the ground with a grunt.

The two cartel men went for their weapons, but Alvarez and O’Connell were ready.

Multiple gunshots rang out. Jon took cover until the cartel men fell on the ground, clutching their wounds and cursing in Spanish. But Jon wasn’t interested in them. He moved quickly to Thorne’s side, kicking the gun away while keeping his own weapon trained on the other two until his deputies could join him.

“Max, watch,” Jon commanded, pointing at the two men writhing on the ground in agony. Alvarez and O’Connell would be there any second, but Jon needed backup now, and Max’s help was on tap for instant support.

The dog moved swiftly across the smooth concrete floor, his claws clicking faintly as he slid into position between the two cartel soldiers. His posture was rigid, legs coiled with restrained power, lips peeled back to reveal sharp teeth gleaming under the dim warehouse lights. A low, guttural growl rumbled from deep within his chest, the primal sound freezing the less-injured man in place.

The soldier had been inching toward his dropped weapon with desperation in his movements, but he froze the moment Max’s primal warning cut through the air.

The dog’s eyes locked onto him, unblinking, predatory, a silent promise that further movement would be a big mistake.

Thorne coughed, blood seeping between his lips as he glared up at Jon. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he gasped. “You’re… already dead.”

Jon stared down at him, his voice cold. “Not today.”

Alvarez skipped the last few rungs of a steel-framed ladder that led up into the utility walkway of the warehouse where she and O’Connell had been positioned. O’Connell hit the ground right behind her, and they quickly subdued the cartel men as Jon stood over Thorne, his heart still racing from the confrontation.

“It’s over,” Alvarez said, looking between Jon and the wounded Thorne. “You all right?”

Jon nodded, though his mind was still spinning. “Yeah, I’m fine. Glad it’s over.”

But as he looked down at Thorne, a man he’d once trusted, Jon knew that this would only buy them a little more time.

Carlos Vega was next on his list. And Jon wouldn’t stop until he brought the man down.

The early hours of the morning crept in, the dark sky still holding its grip over Big Pine Key. The horizon line was turning purple. Soon, the sun would rise and the town would come alive. News of last night would travel.

But Jon didn’t care about that. He had other things on his mind.

He stood on the dock, staring out over the water, his mind busy with how taking down Thorne would alter the way his department did things. Thanks to Alvarez and O’Connell’s help last night, he and his people could operate unencumbered, using all of the department’s assets.

The leak had been plugged.

Behind him, lights flashed. Patrol cars and an ambulance framed the scene. Paramedics were tending to the cartel men and Thorne. Jon wasn’t sure if the man would survive his wounds. At the moment, he couldn’t find the capacity to care.

The wind off the water was cool, refreshing. Jon tried to enjoy it and revel in the small victory tonight’s efforts had yielded, but the heat of betrayal still burned inside him.

Bryson Thorne, a man Alvarez had known and trusted for years, had turned on the department—feeding the cartel information and, worse, plotting to take out Jon.

But that had all changed, and now Jon had the leverage he needed to finally close the net around Carlos Vega.

Alvarez approached, her footsteps quiet against the wet pavement. “Thorne’s been taken to the hospital. He’ll live—for now. But we’ve got him under guard. He’s not going anywhere.”

Jon nodded, the gears in his mind already turning as he mapped out their next move. “We need to act fast. Vega’s the real target. And the cartel’s going to lock down now that their informant is gone. If we don’t move quickly, Vega will disappear, and we’ll lose everything.”

Alvarez crossed her arms, her face grim. “Foster’s already setting up a warrant. We can raid Vega’s place, but it’s going to be a fight. He’s got too much at stake not to resist.”

Jon turned, his eyes narrowing as the first rays of sunlight began to cut through the gray on the horizon. “Then I guess we better gather the troops and get ready.”

“I’m on it.” Alvarez turned to leave, but Jon stopped her.

“Oh, one more thing. You better order yourself some new name tags.”

Alvarez tilted her head slightly as her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Oh yeah, I guess these are getting a little worn.” She picked at the tag on her chest.

“That’s not the issue. Those don’t say ‘chief deputy.’” Jon tipped his hat with a nod.

Alvarez did her best not to smile but failed. “Thank you, Sheriff. I won’t let you down.”

“No thanks needed. You earned it. And I know you won’t.”

By mid-morning, the sheriff’s office had transformed into a hive of activity. Alvarez had gathered the team for a final briefing. The nervous excitement in the air was palpable as Jon stood at the front of the room, outlining the plan.

The FBI was moving in with them—Foster’s agents would be flanking Vega’s estate, while Jon and his team would enter from the front with the help of a few federal agents.

Jon scanned the room, his gaze meeting each of his deputies’ eyes one by one. Most of them were seasoned veterans, men and women who had been with the department for years.

But the recent betrayals of Ray Dalton and Bryson Thorne had shaken the foundation of trust within the team. The betrayal of the ex-deputies had tainted the department, leaving a haze of distrust that clung to them all like a bad habit.

Morale had taken a hit, and Jon couldn’t afford for his team to go into this operation with even a sliver of mistrust.

This mission demanded absolute confidence—confidence in him, in the plan, and, most importantly, in one another. Jon understood that. He had been navigating a minefield of suspicion and unease since the day he took over in Big Pine Key, a place where loyalties were murky and alliances often shifted in secrecy.

But today felt different.

For the first time, every person in this room shared the same goal: to bring down the cartel. The stakes, however, were higher than ever. Their enemy wasn’t hiding in the shadows anymore. Carlos Vega—the man at the heart of the cartel’s local operations—was out in the open, and they were about to confront him head-on.

Jon straightened his posture and caught Alvarez staring at him as she stood near her new desk. She gave a supportive nod in anticipation of the forthcoming pep talk. Before this team moved out, Jon needed to bring them together, to erase any lingering doubts and make them believe, not just in the mission, but in each other.

If they didn’t stand united, they’d fall apart when it mattered most. Against someone like Vega, that wasn’t an option.

Jon cleared his throat, letting the room fall into complete silence. He kept his voice friendly but gave it a weight that demanded attention. “I know this hasn’t been easy. We’ve been through a lot lately—betrayals, doubt, setbacks—but we’re still standing. And that’s because of you. Every one of you. I need you to know that I trust you, and I need you to trust me, too. Today isn’t just about taking down one man. It’s about taking back our town, for ourselves, for our families, for the people who deserve to live here without fear.”

He took a moment, looking each deputy in the eye. “Vega’s had his way in Big Pine Key for far too long, using money and fear to keep himself untouchable. He’s got power, resources, and protection, and he’ll throw everything he’s got at us to stay out of jail. But there’s one thing he doesn’t have.”

Jon’s voice hardened, his gaze sharpening. “He doesn’t have this: a team willing to stand together, to watch each other’s backs, and to fight for what’s right.”

His eyes landed on Alvarez, who gave him another nod. It was enough to keep him going. “We’ve all seen what happens when doubt creeps in, when trust breaks down. But not today. We’re united, and as long as we stick to the plan and to each other, we can end this. We will end this. I believe in this team, and I believe in every one of you. So let’s suit up, stay sharp, and get the job done.”

The room was silent, but Jon could feel the resolve in the air. He saw it in the faces looking back at him. His deputies were ready, and so was he.

CARLOS VEGA’S estate sat on the outskirts of Big Pine Key, a sprawling property surrounded by high fences and tall palm trees.

From the outside, it looked like the home of a successful businessman—or a small resort. Nothing out of the ordinary for the wealthier residents of the Keys. But Jon knew better.

Inside those walls, Vega had orchestrated a criminal empire that stretched far beyond the docks and what should have been an idyllic little slice of paradise.

The convoy of police cars and black SUVs pulled up just out of sight of the estate, the teams moving quickly into their positions. Jon’s pulse quickened as he stepped out of his worse-for-wear Tahoe, his gun holstered but ready.

The Chevy SUV had taken a beating lately. Although it had been repaired mechanically and the windows and tires had been replaced, the bullet-riddled sheet metal still bore the scars of the highway shootout. A reminder of what the cartel was capable of.

Leaving the truck behind, Max trotted along at Jon’s side, his Kevlar vest and protective Kevlar-soled boots in place. The dog was ready for just about anything. And that was a good thing, because Jon didn’t expect Vega to go down without a fight. Max thrust his nose skyward, picking up a scent on the faint breeze as they approached the front gate.

Foster, standing nearby, gave Jon a nod confirming the FBI agents were in position. “We’ve got the perimeter locked down. No one’s getting in or out without us knowing.”

Jon nodded in return. “Good. Let’s get this done.”

They moved as one, the team sweeping toward the front of the estate. The gate was electronically locked, but Foster’s team had that covered. One of the agents worked quickly, disabling the security system and swinging the gate open.

Jon and Alvarez led the way, their guns drawn as they entered the property. The redemption of trust among Jon’s team was a big confidence boost, but the Heckler and Koch MP5/10s he and his team were brandishing didn’t hurt any. The compact 10mm machine guns and supply of thirty-round magazines were on loan from the Bureau for the raid.

They approached the house cautiously. Jon caught a bead of sweat with the back of his hand as it ran down his temple. The ornate front doors loomed ahead: two scorpions carved into the wooden panels. The symbol was fitting for the poison the cartel was peddling in Big Pine Key.

The importance of the outcome today pulsed through Jon’s veins. So much damage had already been done—the years of corruption, the lives lost to the cartel’s violence, the shattered trust of the community. But today, all of that ended.

Jon prepared to give the signal to the team; they’d move in on his count. But he was reluctant to give the command just yet. They hadn’t encountered any resistance, and the sniper positioned at the property line had radioed in an all-clear report on the perimeter.

Either Vega had no idea they were coming for him, or he was already gone.

There was only one way to find out.

“Breach!” Jon shouted, and two men hammered the double doors with a battering ram, sending splinters of wood and door hardware clamoring to the ground.

The breaching team moved aside as the others stayed to the left and the right of the open and battered doors. Within a matter of seconds, a hail of gunfire lit up the opening, throwing chunks of drywall and doorjamb material into the air.

Jon and Alvarez led the charge, firing back and taking out the men responsible for the incoming rounds.

“Move in!” Jon barked, his voice cutting through the thick air as he stepped over the threshold. Alvarez was right on his heels, followed by the rest of the team, who poured into the house with weapons raised, eyes sweeping the opulent entryway.

The grandeur of the place—the marble floors, gold-accented fixtures, and sprawling staircase—seemed almost obscene given the violence that was about to erupt.

“Two o’clock, balcony!” O’Connell’s shout rang out, and before anyone could respond, his weapon snapped up. A three-round burst from his MP5 took down the man perched above, the cartel soldier’s AK-47 clattering uselessly to the floor as he collapsed.

More sharp bursts of gunfire erupted from the left. The staccato rhythm of another MP5 filled the air as one of Foster’s men took down a cartel enforcer charging at them from a dimly lit hallway. The body hit the ground with a dull thud, sliding a few feet past the blood-spattered wall above him before coming to a rest.

“Clear!” Alvarez called out from a side room, her voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around them.

Jon pressed deeper into the house, his every sense razor sharp. Max moved in tandem with him, ears twitching and nose flaring as they advanced through the maze of hallways. The mansion’s sheer size was a tactical nightmare. Vega could be anywhere, lying in wait, no doubt surrounded by his most loyal men.

Gunshots cracked from the backyard, the muffled reports slicing through the walls. Foster’s team was engaged out by the pool. Jon spared a glance through the massive windows and caught sight of a cartel soldier crumpling under a hail of bullets, his lifeless body tumbling into the pristine water. Crimson bloomed like ink in water, spreading in violent swirls through the once-clear pool.

“Stay focused!” Jon growled, leading his team as they continued to clear the ground floor. Deputies Sullivan and Cunningham held their positions near the grand staircase, weapons trained on the sweeping curve of the banister and the open overlook that loomed above the entryway.

A sudden eruption of gunfire shattered the tense rhythm. Deputy Sullivan charged into the main room, his MP5 roaring as he unleashed half a magazine at a running-and-gunning cartel soldier.

The enemy ducked and weaved, firing blindly over his shoulder as he sprinted through the house. Sullivan’s shots chewed into the massive fountain centerpiece between the twin staircases, sending jagged chunks of plaster flying into the air. Water sprayed wildly, the fountain’s ornate structure reduced to a sputtering ruin as puddles formed on the marble floor.

“Push forward!” Jon shouted, his voice a rallying cry. The house was turning into a warzone, every corner holding the potential for a fight. He could feel their window of opportunity to nab Vega closing. The man was here somewhere—he had to be—and Jon wasn’t leaving without him.

“Upstairs,” he ordered, gesturing toward the sweeping staircase at the center of the house.

They moved swiftly, their footsteps nearly drowned out by the steady gush of water flooding the main room below. The air was thick with the metallic tang of gunpowder and the faint mist rising from the shattered fountain.

“Max, watch.” Jon pointed to the wounded cartel soldiers writhing on the ground. With Max watching their backs, Jon and his team could focus their efforts on whatever dangers waited upstairs.

As they ascended the curved staircase to the second floor, Jon’s eyes locked onto a figure at the far end of the mezzanine.

A man stood by a heavy wooden door, his posture tense, rifle propped casually against the wall beside him. But what caught Jon’s attention—and sparked his dread—was the grenade launcher aimed directly at them.

“Back! Get back!” Jon barked, his voice sharp with urgency as he shoved Deputy Sullivan aside, sending the man sprawling to safety. Without hesitation, Jon threw himself to the floor, rolling behind a jagged, abstract stone sculpture that offered little cover but was better than nothing.

The hollow thunk of the grenade launcher firing sent a spike of adrenaline surging through him. The projectile screamed through the air, slamming through the glass of a massive window at the far end of the second-floor overlook.

The explosion was deafening, a shock wave that seemed to suck all the air from the room before throwing it back with explosive force. A fireball erupted, sending shards of glass and fractured concrete spraying like shrapnel. The window frame disintegrated, and the flaming wreckage cascaded out of sight, falling as deadly rain to the ground below.

Jon gritted his teeth as the heat from the blast licked his face, the concussive force rumbling in his chest. He didn’t wait for the dust to settle.

Rolling back toward the center of the expansive mezzanine, he ended his movement in the prone position, his actions swift and calculated. He leveled his MP5 at the shooter, steadying his aim as adrenaline surged through his veins.

With precision, he unleashed the rest of his magazine in controlled three-round bursts. Each volley hit its mark, jerking the man’s body violently. The deafening crack of gunfire echoed through the hallway, accentuating the acrid smell of smoke and blood.

When the chaos subsided, a muffled silence settled like a heavy shroud, the ringing in Jon’s ears distorting the shouts of his team.

The gunman lay motionless, his body crumpled on the white marble floor. Blood pooled beneath him, the rich red liquid a stark contrast to the polished stone. Jon’s chest heaved as he scanned the hallway, his fingers working a new magazine into his weapon before returning to the trigger, ready for whatever came next.

“Drop it!” Jon shouted, his gun trained on another man who had suddenly appeared from a nearby hallway.

The man hesitated, his weapon half-raised.

“Now!” Jon demanded, his finger ready to pull back on the trigger.

The man’s eyes flickered with defiance, but after a moment, he raised his hands in surrender, letting the gun fall to the floor.

Jon motioned for one of the deputies to cuff him as he pushed toward the door the man with the grenade launcher had been protecting. Vega must be in there. If not, this raid was a bust, and they’d end the day in no better shape than when they started it.

This was it.

“On me.” Jon waited until Alvarez and a few of the other deputies were at his side. He didn’t have the patience to send one of his team for the battering ram, and his frustration with how things were going took over.

He put all his weight behind his right foot and aimed for the door, just to the left of the knob. The door burst open on the first attempt, taking part of the inner jamb with it as it slammed against the wall.

Weapon shouldered, Jon moved into the room, his team right behind him. The haze from a recently smoked cigar lingered heavy in the air.

Carlos Vega stood near the window, his back to Jon, his hands resting on an ornately carved wooden table.

Jon and Alvarez quickly cleared the room, careful to keep one eye on Vega, but there was no one else in here. Vega didn’t turn around, but Jon could sense the calm arrogance radiating from him.

“Vega,” Jon said, his voice cold. “It’s over.”

Vega finally turned, his expression unreadable. He was impeccably dressed, as he always was when Jon had seen him out and about in Big Pine Key, his tailored suit and polished shoes at odds with the chaos unfolding around him. He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a slight smile.

“Over?” he repeated, his tone dripping with condescension. “Sheriff, you’ve barely scratched the surface.”

Jon didn’t lower his gun. “You’re done, Vega. The drugs, the guns, the money—it’s all over. We’ve got your men. We’ve got your operations. And we’ve got Thorne.”

Vega’s eyes darkened at the mention of Thorne’s name, but then he smiled. “Ah, Thorne. One of your own. That had to sting, eh, Sheriff? You think too highly of your deputies.”

He turned his back to Jon again, gazing out at the Gulf of Mexico.

Jon stepped closer, his grip tightening on his weapon. “Get a good look. The place you’re going doesn’t have windows.”

“My lawyer will have me out in time for breakfast tomorrow, Sheriff. I think it’s you who should take a good look at what you could have tasted. But you didn’t even give me the chance to make you an offer.”

Jon stepped back a couple feet and made way for Alvarez. “Cuff him and get him out of my sight.”

Vega’s smile faded when Alvarez produced a set of handcuffs. “You think you’ve won, Marzett? You think taking me down will change anything? This town—this world—it’s built on men like me. You’re just a minor inconvenience.”

Jon’s voice was steady, but his patience was gone. “Maybe. But not in my town.”

As Alvarez grabbed one of Vega’s arms, he jerked out of her grasp and reached for something under the table behind him—a gun. Jon’s MP5 hung from its sling off his shoulder. There was no time; he drew his .45 and put a round into Vega.

The shot rang out, echoing through the room. Vega staggered back, clutching his arm as the gun slipped from his grasp and hit the floor with a thud.

Jon moved in, his gun still trained on Vega as he fell to his knees, blood seeping through his pristine suit.

“It’s over,” Jon repeated, his voice filled with all the icy disdain he could muster.

Vega’s expression twisted with pain, but his eyes were still filled with defiance. “You have no idea what you’ve done, Sheriff. No idea who you’re dealing with.”

Jon crouched down, his face inches from Vega’s. “I know exactly who I’m dealing with. And I’m going to make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your life.”

Vega’s eyes flickered with something close to fear, but he quickly masked it, his smile returning. “You think prison can hold me?”

Jon stood, signaling for Alvarez to finish what she’d started. “We’ll find out.”

As Vega was hauled to his feet, Jon turned and walked out of the room, his mind already turning to the aftermath of the raid. The cartel’s local operation had been gutted, but Vega was right about one thing.

This wasn’t over. Not completely.

There were still pieces of the puzzle left to uncover, enemies still lurking in the shadows.

But today was a victory, one that Jon would savor, if only for a moment.

OUTSIDE, the sun was rising higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the estate. Jon stood by his car, watching as Vega was loaded into the back of a police vehicle, his defiance fading with every step.

Jon released Max from his position, glad now that he’d made the dog wait downstairs and cover the wounded cartel soldiers. The two made their way outside, and Jon filled his lungs with air. It felt like the first time he’d been allowed to breathe freely all day.

Alvarez passed Jon on her way to her vehicle. “Foster says we’ll meet back at the department for a debriefing.”

“I’m right behind you. Hey, Alvarez. Good job today,” Jon added.

“Thanks, Sheriff. See you at the office.” With the hint of a smile bending her mouth, Alvarez closed her door and pulled away.

As the convoy of federal vehicles rolled out Jon took another deep breath of morning air. The battle for Big Pine Key was far from over. Julian Navarro was still in charge, and he’d find a new stooge to replace Vega, if he wasn’t already working on it. But today, Jon had taken a major step toward reclaiming the town.

It was a good feeling.

And as long as Foster was willing to let Jon and his deputies continue to be a part of this operation, Jon was ready. They’d go after Navarro next, and Jon wanted to be there to see the man go down.

The ride back to the department was unsettlingly quiet, the kind of stillness that left Jon’s thoughts free to churn like storm-tossed waves.

The adrenaline that had fueled him for the past few days was finally draining away, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and a faint ringing in his ears—a ghostly echo of gunfire and shouting that he wasn’t sure would ever fade.

The truck hummed along the narrow road, flanked by shimmering salt flats and clear, turquoise waters. The scene was tranquil, deceptively so, a stark contrast to the chaos of the raid. Jon reached back and grabbed a handful of Max’s fur, giving the dog a rough but loving tussle around the neck.

“You did good today, Max. That’s right, buddy. You’re a good boy.” Jon gave the dog some much-deserved praise.

For a fleeting moment, he let himself imagine that things were truly as peaceful as they seemed. But the thought dissolved as quickly as it came.

The raid had been a success, at least by the numbers. None of his deputies had been hurt. They’d taken Vega into custody and neutralized a small army of cartel soldiers. Yet it felt hollow. Julian Navarro, the shadow behind the bloodshed and corruption gripping Big Pine Key, was still at large.

Jon tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening.

He couldn’t shake the sense that there was more to do before he could even consider declaring any kind of victory over the cartel. Navarro and his remaining men wouldn’t vanish quietly, not after suffering a blow like this. Navarro would retaliate. Jon had no doubt about that.

The cartel’s next move wouldn’t be about pushing product or lining their pockets; it would be about revenge, a calculated strike to send an unmistakable message: they were untouchable. For a man like Navarro, maintaining control meant more than business; it meant putting on a show of power brutal enough to remind his men—and his enemies—exactly who was in charge.

The salt flats blurred into endless blue as Jon’s mind churned through possibilities. What would Navarro’s next move be? How many more lives would the cartel claim before he could bring this monster down?

He sighed heavily, the weight of it all building like a wave about to crash. Today marked real progress in their efforts to eradicate the cartel from Big Pine Key, but the road ahead was long and fraught with danger.

Jon reached back and ran his hands through the thick fur around Max’s neck, giving the dog some well-deserved attention. They’d be back at the department soon, and this crazy ride they were on would start all over.

This time with Julian Navarro in their sights.

He steered the battered Tahoe into the department parking lot. The crunch of limestone gravel under the tires broke the silence like an old, familiar tune. His eyes flicked to the vehicles already parked in neat rows.

Alvarez’s Charger stood out, sandwiched between two federal SUVs. He recognized one immediately—Agent Foster and Morris were here as well.

Foster would handle the debriefing, as expected. The raid had been a joint effort, and the feds always liked to take the lead when it came to tying things up. But Jon had his own words to share.

Today, his deputies had worked like a well-oiled machine, every move precise, every order followed without hesitation. They’d proven themselves in the heat of chaos, and Jon felt a surge of pride as he stepped out of the Tahoe.

Once Foster finished, Jon intended to speak to his team directly. They deserved to hear it from him—how much their focus, grit, and loyalty meant, not just to the operation but to the town they’d sworn to protect.

Straightening his shoulders, he headed for the entrance. The adrenaline might have worn off, but the responsibility hadn’t. After he’d lavished due praise on his deputies, Jon would remind them all that there was still work to be done.

He entered the building to a bustle of activity. Deputies and federal agents moved about with purpose, answering phones and swapping details of their recent experiences. For some of Jon’s men, the raid was the most action they’d ever seen. The buzz of excitement in the room was proof.

Foster and Morris stood just outside the bullpen area, shuffling paperwork at a small podium as they prepared for the debriefing.

Foster locked eyes with Jon as he entered. “Five minutes?” The man held up a handful of fingers and mouthed the words quietly.

Jon nodded back in agreement and let Max lead the way to his office. Once inside, he closed his door to within a few inches of total quiet and tossed his hat on the desk. He stared at his whiteboard, picked up a red marker, and drew a line through Vega’s name.

The door creaked open, and Maggie stuck her head inside. Her bright pink bun wobbled precariously as she shoved the door open further with her hip. In her hand was a Styrofoam box that she waved like a trophy. “I heard you had a busy morning, Sheriff. Thought you could use a little breakfast. And don’t even try to tell me you already ate. I’ve seen those sad, chalky granola bars you choke down, and let me tell you, those are not food—they’re penance. I imagine my dog biscuits would be better for you than those things.” Maggie pulled one of the homemade treats from her pocket and tossed it to Max, who snatched the morsel out of the air and nearly inhaled it.

Jon took one more glance at the whiteboard before giving Maggie his full attention. He was still trying to shake off the adrenaline of the morning raid but couldn’t help the smile forming on his face. “Thanks, Maggie. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. Courtesy of my daughter, Renee, and Sticky Buns. Best breakfast sandwiches on the island. And between you and me, the owner’s not too bad on the eyes either.” She gave him a sly wink, as if he hadn’t noticed her unsubtle attempts to play matchmaker.

Jon raised an eyebrow but said nothing. This wasn’t the first time Maggie had angled for an introduction.

She placed the box on his desk, pausing just long enough to give him a knowing look. “Now, I told her all about you. Brave, hardworking, great with dogs. I left out the part about your questionable taste in snacks—you can explain that yourself. But she’ll look past it. You know why?” Maggie leaned in conspiratorially. “Because I’m her mother and she loves me. That’s why.”

Jon laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Subtle as always, Maggie.”

“Oh, subtlety’s for people with time to waste. You’re not getting any younger, Sheriff. A little romance might do you good—soften up that grumpy exterior of yours. Anyway, enjoy the sandwich. She made the bacon extra crispy, just how I told her you’d like it.” Maggie smirked, looking far too pleased with herself, and pivoted toward the door.

Before Jon could respond, Deputy Alvarez strode in, nearly colliding with Maggie as she made her exit.

Maggie stepped aside, gesturing dramatically with both hands. “Whoa there, Deputy! Watch it, I’m a delicate flower. Sheriff, I’m leaving before I get trampled like a doormat on Black Friday at a discount store. Don’t forget to thank my daughter. She’s single, by the way. Not sure I mentioned that yet.”

With that, she was gone, humming “Smells Like Teen Spirit” as she left.

Alvarez stood frozen, blinking after her, then turned to Jon, her brow furrowed. “What was that about?”

Jon just chuckled, shaking his head. “That,” he said, popping open the Styrofoam box to reveal a glorious breakfast sandwich oozing with melted cheese and crispy bacon, “is Maggie being Maggie.”

Alvarez nodded, unimpressed. “You know she’s trying to set you up, right?”

“Oh, I know.” Jon took a bite of the sandwich and turned back to the whiteboard. “And at this point, I’m not even mad about it.”

Alvarez joined him at the board and noticed the red line through Vega’s name. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jon tapped the end of the capped marker near Julian Navarro’s name. “That’s the one I want to cross out. Maybe then I’ll feel like we’ve really done something.”

“You don’t think he’s going to get the message that Big Pine Key is a bad place to do business?”

“No, because he’s not done here. A man with that kind of power and influence? He can’t be. The cartel won’t allow it. In fact, I’m thinking they’re planning something as we speak. They’ll lick their wounds, regroup, and come at us with everything they have.” Jon shook his head and walked back to his desk.

A few quiet moments ticked by as they considered the implications of that.

“So,” Alvarez said finally, breaking the silence. “What now?”

Jon didn’t answer immediately. He was still turning that question over in his mind. What now? They had taken out Vega and most of his men, at least the ones who’d been at his place during the raid, but there were still loose ends. They had disrupted the cartel’s business in Big Pine Key, but the operation was far from dead, with opportunities for retaliation lurking in the background.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “We keep going. The cartel’s down, but they’re not out. There’s always someone waiting to take the place of the men we’ve taken down.”

Alvarez nodded, gaze distant, mouth twisted to the side, though her expression was one of quiet contemplation. “I get that. But we’ve dealt a serious blow to their operation. It’ll take them time to rebuild.”

“Yeah,” Jon muttered, his eyes fixed on the whiteboard. “Maybe, but I’m willing to bet not as much time as you think.”

“I hope you’re wrong about that.” Alvarez opened the door and held it for Jon. “Looks like Foster is ready to get this underway.”

The debriefing didn’t take long. Foster was efficient, as usual, summarizing the operation and fielding questions from the deputies. When it wrapped up, Foster pulled Jon and Alvarez aside to share something more urgent.

“We’ve intercepted an encrypted message,” Foster said quietly. “It looks like Navarro’s got a compound on a small key south of here. Offshore, remote, and I’m sure heavily guarded.”

Jon’s jaw tightened. “You have a location?”

“Not yet. We’re working on it. I’ll keep you posted, though. We’re headed back to Miami now. Maybe they’ll have something for us by the time we get back. Meanwhile, I wouldn’t let your guard down here.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Jon stated.

Foster and Morris gathered their things and headed out with a final guarantee: if they learned anything new, they’d be in touch. The lack of federal agents left the building eerily quiet. It was a rare lull, and Jon seized the opportunity to address his team.

He took his place behind the podium and waited for the chatter to quiet down, but before he had a chance to say anything, the front door to the department burst open, and two men staggered in, one holding the other upright.

The man being held up by his friend was Miguel Morales.

Alvarez and O’Connell leaped to their feet and met the men inside the doorway, helping Morales to a nearby chair, where he collapsed in a bloody mess. He’d been beaten badly, his left eye swollen shut and his face battered and bruised.

Jon rushed to Miguel’s side as his deputies gathered around the barely coherent man. “What happened?”

“They’re moving out of Big Pine Key, Sheriff. I saw the boat leave about an hour ago. But they’ve… they’ve got…” Morales struggled to get the words out and broke into a cough, expelling partially coagulated blood.

Alvarez handed him a wad of wet paper towels to catch the bloody spit dripping from his cracked and swollen lips.

“We’re gonna need some paramedics,” Alvarez barked, then turned to Jon. “I’ll reach out to Foster and let him know what’s going on.”

“Good thinking.” Jon nodded. “Maybe he’s got a location for us. I’m willing to bet Navarro’s headed to that compound Foster was talking about. And you better tell him we’re going to need a ride.”

“I’m on it, Sheriff.” Alvarez headed for her desk.

Miguel drew a labored breath and struggled through a chorus of desperate sobs. “They’ve got Rosa, Sheriff. They’ve got my daughter. You’ve got to help her. They said they’d kill her if I talked.”

The battered man’s words hit Jon like a left hook to the jaw. The cartel was relocating their operation, but not before taking one last victim from Big Pine Key.

Jon felt directly responsible for what had happened to Rosa. Both she and her father had trusted him, given him information, and now the cartel was making them pay. Jon was actually surprised they’d let Miguel live. Most likely, they’d wanted him to deliver this message. It was Navarro’s plan.

One final deed meant to let Jon know Navarro was still in control before he took his drugs, weapons, and money somewhere safe. But there was one thing Navarro hadn’t counted on: Jon’s resolve to bring the man to justice, one way or another.

Jon wasted no time. The moment Miguel Morales collapsed into that chair, bloodied and desperate, his focus narrowed to a single thought: Rosa.

The cartel wasn’t just running; they were making a statement. Taking Rosa was more than leverage—it was a way to hit him where it hurt the most, and he wasn’t going to let them get away with it.

“Alvarez,” Jon snapped, urgency sharp in his tone. “Any word on the paramedics?”

“On their way, Sheriff,” Alvarez answered.

Jon crouched next to Miguel, speaking softly but firmly, trying to pull details from the man’s bloodied lips. “Miguel, listen to me. I need to know exactly where they went.”

Miguel coughed violently, blood dripping from his mouth. “South,” he rasped. “Big sport fisher named Intocable. That’s all I know—” He stopped, his voice breaking as he gasped for air.

Jon’s chest tightened. He glanced back at Alvarez, who gave him a small nod. The paramedics were en route, but the man had internal injuries. Jon was worried he’d lose consciousness any second now.

Unfortunately, from the sounds of things, Navarro’s destination was as much a mystery to Miguel as it was to the FBI. Foster was Jon’s only chance now. With any luck, his team had cracked the encrypted message and had a location for them.

“You need to stay strong,” Jon said firmly. “For Rosa. Because I am going to bring her back.”

Miguel nodded weakly, his voice cracking as he whispered, “Please hurry, Sheriff. She’s all I have.”

“I won’t let you down again, Miguel. You have my word,” Jon promised.

The department exploded into action.

Jon stood near Alvarez’s and O’Connell’s desks, where the two coordinated efforts over the phone with Foster and Morris. He raised his voice above the buzz of activity. “Listen up! Navarro’s on the move. He’s heading to an island compound with Rosa Morales. Foster has intel on their location, and we’re heading out now. I need a few of you to hold down the fort. We can’t afford to leave Big Pine Key exposed in case Navarro has something else planned. Keep your eyes and ears peeled, and reach out to us if anything happens here.”

Maggie cruised by the bullpen with a fresh cup of coffee in her hand. “I’ll help keep an eye on things here, Sheriff. I can do more than type and answer phones, you know,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks, Maggie. We can always use an extra set of eyes and ears.” Jon nodded, although he was pretty sure Maggie always had her ear to the ground when it came to office affairs, whether she’d been asked or not.

O’Connell stepped forward, his jaw tight. “You need me out there, Sheriff.”

Jon shook his head. “This is going to make the raid this morning look like a picnic, Deputy. I won’t hold it against you if you stay behind. I need good men here as well. If Navarro’s got anyone left behind, we need to be ready.”

O’Connell swallowed hard. “I want to see this through, Sheriff.”

Jon paused for a moment, mulling the situation over. The young deputy hadn’t let him down yet. “Well then, I guess you better gear up.” He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on each deputy in turn. “The rest of you, be ready for anything. We’ve got one shot at this. Let’s make it count.”

Jon, Alvarez, O’Connell, and Max loaded into Jon’s Tahoe and headed down A1A, toward the marina, under the searing midday sun. Max panted softly in the back, his sharp eyes focused out the window as though he could sense the tension in the air.

Alvarez held her phone to her ear, confirming the specifics of their rendezvous with Foster and his team. “All right, Foster’s got us a ride and the possible location of the compound.”

“Good, let’s hope it’s not too late. I knew I should have put Rosa and her dad in the safe house,” Jon muttered.

“What safe house?” O’Connell stated.

“Good point.” Jon had forgotten he’d burned the place down trying to escape the cartel. The last few days had been so hectic that the firefight in the mangroves hardly registered anymore.

“What?” Alvarez noticed the look on Jon’s face.

Jon shook his head. “Navarro’s boat, Intocable. Means ‘untouchable’ in Spanish. Well, not today he isn’t.”

“You think we’re ready for this?” Alvarez asked.

Jon gripped the wheel tighter. “We don’t have a choice.”

Alvarez stared out the window, watching the turquoise waters flash between the palm trees. “Rosa… she’s tough. She’ll hold on until we get there.”

Jon didn’t respond right away. The thought of Rosa in Navarro’s hands made his blood boil. She was strong, sure, but Navarro wouldn’t hesitate to use her if it suited him.

“We’re bringing her back,” he said finally, his voice low but firm. There was no other option. Rosa was coming home.

The marina was a hive of activity. Federal agents unloaded gear from the trucks and suited up while Foster stood at the docks, looking out toward the water as if he was expecting someone. He barked orders to his team while Agent Morris worked a laptop inside his SUV.

Jon parked the Tahoe and stepped out, his boots tapping out a fast rhythm on the hot asphalt. Alvarez and O’Connell followed, their faces set with determination. Foster spotted them and strode over, taking a moment to greet Max.

“Glad you made it,” Foster said, gesturing toward the water. “Just waiting on our ride. We’ve got Navarro’s location. The island is about twenty miles south of here. Private key, heavily fortified.”

“How bad are we talking?” Jon asked, wiping sweat from under the brim of his hat.

“From what we know via satellite images, we can expect the works. High walls, guard towers, and plenty of armed men,” Foster said. “It’s a stronghold. Navarro built it to withstand exactly this kind of assault.”

“Any word on Rosa?” Alvarez asked.

Foster nodded. “We know she’s alive. Navarro’s keeping her in the main building. He’s using her as leverage, but also to stall us. He knows we’re coming, and he’s counting on that compound to hold.”

Jon’s jaw tightened. “Then we take it apart.”

On cue, the thirty-three-foot special-purpose Coast Guard chase boat rounded the bulkhead, its triple 300 Mercury Verrado outboards singing in unison as she pulled alongside the dock.

Two crewmen jumped out and tied the vessel off as the captain shifted into neutral.

The young coxswain stepped forward, his crisp uniform spotless and neat despite the oppressive heat. “Good afternoon. Petty Officer Beauchamp at your service.”

He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with a lean, wiry build that spoke of endurance and a no-nonsense demeanor. His well-tanned face was partially covered with mirrored aviators that reflected the team assembled on the dock.

“We’ve got your coordinates loaded in and are ready to go when you are. Agent Foster?” he asked, extending a firm hand with a confident nod. His voice was calm but carried the authority of someone who knew the waters like the back of his hand—a professional ready for whatever the mission demanded.

Foster shook the kid’s hand and stood back while the others introduced themselves and loaded the boat with their gear.

Within a matter of minutes, they were underway. The boat’s engines roared as it sliced through the calm, blue ocean, leaving a rooster tail of white water in its wake.

Max sat inside the cabin with the rest of them, riding high on one of the suspension-equipped seats, while Jon and the others made last-minute checks to their weapons and gear.

They all knew what they were up against. Reinforcements were on the way, but there was no time to wait, not if they expected to get Rosa out alive.

The island soon came into view, like something out of a nightmare. A sprawling estate surrounded by walls topped with razor wire. Guard towers stood at the corners. Jon only hoped they’d eliminated enough of the cartel soldiers during the last raid to leave Navarro with a skeleton crew of defenders, but he wouldn’t count on it.

“That’s a fortress,” Alvarez muttered, peering through binoculars.

“Fortresses fall,” Jon replied, his voice steady.

Foster asked Petty Officer Beauchamp to slow the boat, cutting the engines to an idle as they neared the island. The team made last-minute adjustments to gear as Foster produced a duffle bag and laid it at Jon’s feet.

“I thought you might want to borrow some of our toys again.” He slapped Jon’s shoulder. “Don’t be shy. Take what you want.”

Jon gave him a stiff smile and opened the bag to find the MP5s from earlier, along with an assortment of new hardware, including flash-bangs and a roll of detonator cord. “Much appreciated.”

“You know how to use that stuff?” Foster panned the compound with the binoculars as Jon and his team divvied up the new gear.

“It’s been a while, but I’ll manage.” Jon grinned as he clipped another flash-bang to his belt.

His stomach twisted—not with fear, but with raw anticipation. This was the moment he’d been waiting for, the one he and his deputies had worked so hard to reach. Their assault on the compound had to be flawless. There was no room for error.

But it wasn’t just about Navarro. It was about Rosa, too.

The thought of her in Navarro’s hands stung like an open wound. Jon had failed her once, and the guilt of that failure clung to him, heavy and unforgiving. This time, there could be no mistakes. Even if it cost him everything, Jon was determined to make sure Rosa walked away from this alive. He’d promised her father as much.

Today, he’d bring her home—or he’d die trying.

Foster turned to the team, his voice low but resolute. “We go in controlled, precise, and deliberate. We’ve got a hostage in there, and we can’t afford a single mistake. Stay sharp, watch each other’s backs, and make every shot count. We don’t stop until we’ve got both of them. But remember, Rosa’s life depends on us keeping our heads.”

The deputies and agents nodded, all well aware of what was on the line today.

The boat drifted closer, its hull bumping the sandy bottom behind a thick cluster of mangroves that provided great cover.

Jon leaped out, splashing down in almost knee-high water as he raised his rifle and slogged forward through the surf. Max jumped in after him.

The others followed, moving in practiced formation as they advanced toward the towering compound walls.

“Let’s finish this,” Jon said, his voice cutting through the still afternoon air.

Without a second of hesitation, he moved forward, Max at his side.

The surf lapped against Jon’s shins as he pushed forward through the shallows, MP5 raised, eyes locked on the compound’s foreboding walls ahead. Unable to touch bottom, Max swam the first few yards but eventually found a sandbar and semi-solid ground.

The midday sun glared overhead, turning the water into molten silver, but Jon barely noticed. Every fiber of his being was focused on the mission.

Alvarez and O’Connell stuck close to Jon and Max, their weapons at the ready, while Foster and his team advanced in tight formation alongside them. The mangroves concealed their line of approach, and the steady crash of waves against the shore swallowed the splashing of their boots in the surf.

Behind them, Petty Officer Beauchamp turned the wheel. “We’ll stay out of sight, but we’re here if you need us. Just say the word.” He took a parallel line to the shore as the Coast Guard boat moved into deeper water off the beach.

Foster nodded as he glanced over his shoulder. “We’ll be in touch. Don’t go far.”

Beauchamp gave the team a quick two-fingered salute before throttling the boat away from the shore. They were on their own now.

Aside from the Coast Guard crew, no reinforcements were coming—not for at least an hour. Foster had requested a helicopter, but the nearest one was tied up in a search-and-rescue mission deep in the Gulf of Mexico.

Backup would take time, and time wasn’t a luxury they had.

Having the Coast Guard boat, with its deck-mounted M240 and the heavily armed crew standing by and ready to provide support, was reassuring. But this wasn’t a fight they could solve with sheer firepower.

Jon’s eyes shifted to the towering compound ahead, its high walls and guard towers a testament to Navarro’s paranoia. Somewhere inside, Rosa was being held. A stray bullet or an overeager move could turn the rescue into a tragedy in seconds.

“We can’t just shoot our way through this,” Jon murmured, glancing at Alvarez.

She nodded grimly. “Too many unknowns. If we go in too hard, we risk hitting her.”

“That’s exactly what Navarro’s counting on,” Foster added quietly. “He’s got the upper hand with her in there. He knows we’ll be careful.”

Jon’s jaw tightened as they reached the limit of the mangrove cover. Every step forward heightened the danger. They had to move smartly and precisely. One wrong move could cost Rosa her life, and Jon would never forgive himself for that.

He scanned the perimeter, noting the glint of sunlight off a rifle scope in one of the towers.

“Sniper, southeast corner,” he said in a loud whisper.

“Got him.” One of Foster’s men dropped to one knee, raised his suppressed rifle, and fired. The sniper’s body slumped over the railing, his weapon clattering to the ground below.

Foster gestured for the rest of the team to move up, keeping low in the waist-high grass and the smattering of palms growing around the perimeter. It was all the cover they had until they reached the protection of the compound’s outer wall.

The air was electric, charged with tension, and the sound of distant voices carried over the wind.

“Two more guards on the west wall,” O’Connell reported, peering out from behind a double palm.

“Take them,” Foster ordered.

Two of his men moved in tandem, their suppressed rifles barely making a sound as they dispatched the guards. The bodies fell with soft thuds to the sandy ground below.

“I guess I’m up.” Jon readied the detonator cord.

“We got you.” Foster set his weapon on top of an eroded section of bulkheading that had been partially buried with sand by years of tropical storms. The rest of his team took positions along the low piece of cover as well.

“Stay.” Jon made eye contact with Max before moving.

Max watched from the bulkhead with a frustrated grumble while Alvarez and O’Connell followed Foster’s lead and took overwatch positions. Jon moved from one tuft of beach grass to another, working his way toward the secondary entrance to the compound while staying low to the ground.

The heavily rusted steel door, solidly embedded in the stucco-coated wall, would have looked at home in an ancient castle. But Jon didn’t waste any time and got to work laying out the 4mm-thick detonator cord along the door’s hinges and inside jamb, working his way from top to bottom. After attaching the detonator assembly, he let the coiled wire strip off the spool behind him as he fell back toward the team.

There wasn’t enough wire to get Jon all the way to the bulkhead, so he tucked himself behind the biggest, closest palm tree he could find.

He glanced at Foster, who gave him a nod of approval. They were ready. After this, Navarro and his men would know without a doubt that they were here. If they didn’t already.

Jon held up his left hand and used his fingers to count down from three.

The explosion shattered the quiet, the steel door blowing inward with a deafening roar. Dust and debris filled the air as Jon waited for the cartel’s response.

It didn’t take long. The compound erupted into chaos.

Jon led the charge, running slightly ahead of the team. With dust still settling, they pushed through the blown-out opening first.

Shouts in Spanish echoed across the courtyard as cartel soldiers scrambled for cover. Jon spotted a small group of them emerging from a barracks near the center of the compound, rifles in hand.

“Contact, twelve o’clock!” He took cover behind a large ornamental planter and laid down covering fire while the others filed in, sweeping the courtyard with their weapons.

Alvarez and Foster found cover near one another, returning fire as the soldiers opened up. The sharp crack of gunfire echoed in the air, bullets pinging off stone walls and ricocheting into the dirt.

Jon moved behind a stone wall. Max found him and crouched low by his side. He leaned out and fired, dropping one of the cartel soldiers with several rounds from his MP5 as the others scattered.

“Push forward!” he barked, signaling Alvarez and O’Connell to flank left.

Max darted ahead, his sleek form a blur as he raced toward the barracks. A soldier stepped out, raising his rifle, but Max was faster. The dog lunged, sinking his teeth into the man’s arm and dragging him to the ground.

Jon followed. “Release, Max.”

He moved quickly, putting the soldier down with a clean shot as he moved for his dropped weapon.

“Good boy,” Jon muttered as Max returned to his side.

The team advanced methodically, clearing the courtyard one group of soldiers at a time. The compound was sprawling, with narrow alleyways and hidden doorways that could easily conceal ambushes.

Every corner held the potential for disaster, but there was no other way.

Foster motioned toward a tall central building. Large windows and a collection of balconies wrapping around its exterior overlooked the pool.

“That’s where Navarro will be,” he said, his voice tight.

Jon nodded. “And Rosa.”

They reached the base of the central building under sporadic gunfire, zigzagging their way across the tumbled marble pavers toward the front door. The sound of muffled voices came from inside—a mix of hurried orders and panicked shouting.

Foster gestured for one of his team to take point. Before the agent could move to the entrance, the eight-foot-tall double doors burst open.

A cartel soldier with an M240 at his hip began to wildly spray the compound with bullets.

Alvarez had the jump on the man, though, and took him out from behind a stone planter to the left of the vestibule.

The machine gunner keeled over backward, sending an uninterrupted stream of gunfire into the ceiling overhead, breaking loose chunks of concrete and wood.

This was it. Navarro was close. Jon could smell the man’s stench in the air.

“Let’s go, let’s go.” Jon led the charge this time. With a break in the gunfire, they funneled inside, sticking close together and covering each other from all angles as they entered the compound.

The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of sweat and gunpowder. Before they had time to get their bearings, a soldier rushed at them from the shadows, the silver flash of his machete cutting through the dust-laden air.

O’Connell was ready and fired, the burst of his MP5 echoing in the confined space.

“Clear!” he called out as he stepped over the body and kicked the weapon aside.

“We’ve got to find Rosa.” Jon wanted Navarro, bad, but Rosa’s safety was their priority, or at least it was his. Besides, if they found the girl, he was sure they’d find Navarro.

The man would have no qualms about using her as a human shield. In fact, Jon figured that was the plan. Otherwise, Navarro would have disposed of her already.

Foster called for four of his team members to clear out the first floor while the rest of them pushed up the stairs.

They moved to the second floor two at a time, their boots falling quietly on the marble stair treads. Max stayed close to Jon, his ears pricked forward, his body tense. After the dog’s encounter with the soldier outside, he was anxious for more action, but Jon couldn’t shake the thought of the man with the grenade launcher at this morning’s raid and made sure to hold the dog back, at least until they knew what was waiting for them on the second floor.

He didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

A group of cartel soldiers had fortified themselves at the end of a long hallway, their bullets blasting chunks out of the walls and staircase railings.

“Get down!” Jon shouted as incoming rounds tore through the air.

The team dove for cover, flattening themselves against the walls as the shooting intensified, bullets chipping away at the plaster around them. More dust floated in the air, mixing with smoke from the gunfire.

Jon reached for a flash-bang on his belt, catching Alvarez’s eye. She quickly understood and pulled out one of her own.

Jon yanked the pin from his grenade and nodded at Alvarez, waiting for her to follow suit.

In perfect sync, they hurled the two M84 stun grenades down the hall and ducked behind cover, bracing for the deafening and disorienting explosion to come.

The grenades detonated with blinding flashes of light and earsplitting bangs. Jon was on his feet and moving before the light had faded.

He charged forward, his MP5 barking as he fired at the disoriented soldiers. The rest of the team joined in, and between them all, they cleared the hallway within seconds. The team advanced quickly, stepping over the bodies as they reached a set of double doors at the end of the hall.

Jon was on a roll and let his adrenaline lead the way, kicking open the doors, his rifle raised and ready, the others filing in behind him.

The room was large and lavishly decorated, with plush furniture and expensive artwork lining the walls. At the far end, a pair of glass doors led to the balcony overlooking the pool.

And there, standing in the doorway, was Rosa.

Her hands were bound tightly in front of her, tape covering her mouth. Her face was pale, but her eyes burned with defiance. Beside her stood a cartel soldier, his grip tight on her arm. In his other hand, he held what looked like a detonator.

“Don’t move!” the man shouted, his voice shaking but loud. “I’ll blow this whole place apart!”

Jon froze, his heart hammering. He glanced at Rosa, her eyes wide with fear but locked on his.

“Let her go,” Jon said, with a calm he didn’t feel. “It’s over. You see that. Give us Navarro and you’ll live. Don’t make this worse for yourself.” He kept his weapon trained on the man but only used one hand as he waved the others backward out of the room.

There was no telling if the detonator was real or not, or how many explosives had been rigged to blow, but Jon couldn’t put the others at risk. It was his fault Rosa was in this predicament in the first place.

The man laughed, a desperate, high-pitched sound. “You think I care about myself? You think I’m letting you take her? One step closer and we all go boom!”

Jon’s mind sifted through every possible scenario. The balcony behind the man overlooked the pool—ten feet below, maybe more. If he could get close enough…

He locked eyes with Rosa and gave her a subtle nod.

Her eyes flicked to him, a spark of understanding passing between them. They were out of options.

The man tightened his grip on the detonator and Rosa, his knuckles white. “Don’t try it!”

Jon’s voice was barely a whisper. “Max, get him.”

The dog shot out from behind the door frame like a bolt of lightning, leaping at the man’s arm just as Jon lunged forward. Rosa did her best to break free of the man’s grip and move to the side as Max’s weight knocked the soldier off balance, but she failed to get clear of the tussle in time.

Jon tackled the man, driving all four of them backward through the glass doors.

The world spun in a blur of blue and white as they tumbled over the balcony railing and through the air.

Jon hit the water hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.

He gasped when he surfaced. The room they’d just fallen from was engulfed in flames. Black smoke billowed from the balcony doorway above them.

Debris began hitting the water around him as he searched for Rosa, Max, and the cartel soldier. The soldier was thrashing about nearby, but Max was already plowing through the water like a torpedo.

He was on the man in seconds, dragging him toward the edge. Jon dove back under the water and found Rosa, her hands still bound with rope. He pulled her to the surface and yanked the tape from her mouth, allowing her to get a breath of air.

She coughed and sputtered as Jon pulled her to the edge and cut the rope from her hands with his knife.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

She nodded weakly, her lips trembling. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“You did great.” Jon looked back up at the balcony. The team had been outside the room, but he had no way of knowing if they were all right.

Max’s low, guttural growl snapped Jon’s attention to the far side of the pool. The cartel soldier was clawing his way out of the water, his movements sluggish but determined. Somehow, the man had broken free of Max’s grip and was nearly on his feet.

Max struggled to haul himself over the pool’s edge, his claws scrabbling for purchase on the slick coping. The soldier spotted the dog’s vulnerability and seized the moment, his hand darting toward his waistband.

Jon’s gut twisted. A weapon.

He reached for his Glock, his movements automatic and swift. Water sloshed around him as he broke the surface and leveled the pistol in one fluid motion.

Two shots rang out.

The first round struck the man square in the chest. The force jerked him backward, but he stayed on his feet. The second hit before he could recover. His body staggered for a brief moment before crumpling in half, and he tumbled into the pool with a muted splash, the water quickly clouding with blood.

Jon didn’t lower his Glock until the soldier’s body sank beneath the surface, motionless. Only then did he tug Rosa with him as he pushed himself toward Max, grabbing the dog by the scruff and helping him over the edge.

Jon patted Max down quickly, looking for any signs of injury, but he found nothing concerning. Rosa climbed out of the pool on her own.

“You’re okay, buddy,” Jon muttered, his voice tight as adrenaline surged through him. “We’re both okay.”

But his eyes flicked back to the pool, scanning the rippling water. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this fight wasn’t finished yet.

Satisfied no cartel men were about to emerge from the water, Jon finally hauled himself out of the pool. The sound of a Coast Guard MH-65 Dolphin whined overhead, buzzing the compound, the whine of the helicopter’s turbos cutting through the mayhem.

To his relief, Foster and his team, along with Alvarez and O’Connell, appeared poolside, looking slightly rattled and a little crispy, but none the worse for the explosion.

Foster must have read Jon’s face. “Everybody’s all right. But Navarro is gone.”

Jon tucked his .45 back into its holster between ragged breaths and did his best to wring the pink pool water from his shirt.

He frowned at the news, squinting into the sun. “Then what are we doing standing around here?”

The scent of ash and salt lingered in the air as Jon stood among the ruins of the cartel’s island compound and took in the wreckage left in the wake of the explosion.

The backside of the mansion was a smoldering shell of what it had been: windows blown out, walls collapsed in on themselves, tall palm trees charred from the blast.

Jon’s head still buzzed from the explosion, his body sore and exhausted. He rubbed at the back of his neck, his muscles aching from the torture he’d put himself through today.

Alvarez and O’Connell approached, their faces streaked with dust and sweat. Alvarez was breathing heavily, but she appeared to be in better shape than O’Connell, who was holding his left arm at an awkward angle.

“It might be broken.” He winced as he tried to move his arm. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but I’m afraid I won’t be much use to you now.”

Jon nodded. “Don’t be sorry, Deputy. You were a real asset today.”

“What about you, Sheriff?” Alvarez asked. “That was quite the dive you took.”

“I’ll survive,” Jon joked, but there was no time to rest now.

The orange and white MH-65 Dolphin moved in to hover low over the smoldering compound, its rotors kicking up waves of black smoke and ash. Jon shielded his eyes against the grit flying through the air, his breath still ragged from the chaos in the pool.

Beside him, Max stood soaked but steady, his keen eyes locked on the retreating orange glow of flames licking out of the second-floor balcony.

Foster jogged over, his face streaked with soot. “Hell of an effort, Marzett,” he shouted over the roar of the helicopter. “But it seems Navarro took off before the explosion.”

Jon gritted his teeth, his exhaustion replaced by anger and a fiery determination to go after Navarro. “Where?”

“He left by boat. Coast Guard picked up a vessel heading south, fast. He’s making for international waters.”

Alvarez brushed a few pieces of debris from her hair. “If he reaches open waters, we lose him, right?”

“Yes and no. I’d have to get clearance to pursue him outside our jurisdiction, which I don’t think would be a problem, but we don’t have that kind of time,” Foster admitted.

Jon looked south over the turquoise waters of the Atlantic Ocean, then back at the others. “Then I guess we better catch up with Navarro before that happens.”

Foster contacted the helicopter with his radio, and the second he clipped the device to his belt, the MH-65 departed with a roar. He assigned several members of his team to stay behind with O’Connell and Rosa. They’d deal with any cartel survivors while they waited for backup to reach the island compound.

Jon, Max, Alvarez, and Foster headed for the boat.

The Coast Guard chase boat was waiting just off the beach, its engines rumbling as the crew prepared for an urgent pursuit. Petty Officer Beauchamp waved them in as Jon and the others sprinted down the sand, their boots kicking up sprays of water as they waded into the shallows.

“We’re locked and loaded!” Beauchamp called out, his voice steady despite the urgency. One of the crew pulled Max aboard by his vest as the three of them clambered onto the deck. “Last ping has the Intocable about five miles out and moving at around thirty-five knots. She’s fast, but not as fast as us.”

Jon took his seat inside the cabin, with Max settling beside him. Foster and Alvarez moved forward through the cabin to the navigation display. Blinking lights danced across its screens.

Beauchamp took his position at the helm, gripping the throttle tightly. “Everyone ready?” he asked, his tone clipped.

Jon’s jaw tightened. “We’re more than ready. Just don’t lose Navarro.”

The boat roared to life, its triple Mercury Verrado 300s screaming as they launched the thirty-three-foot boat through the choppy waves. Conditions had changed since they came ashore earlier. A strong wind had developed from the north, kicking up a two- to four-foot swell and an endless supply of whitecaps.

But the less-than-favorable conditions were no match for the thirty-three-foot chase boat. The craft surged forward, cutting through the water like a hot knife through butter. Behind them, the plume of black smoke rising from the island compound steadily shrank from view.

The Coast Guard helicopter flew past, its rotors slicing through the air as it moved out to provide aerial reconnaissance. Inside the cabin, Alvarez leaned over the nav display.

“There,” she said, pointing to a pulsing dot on the screen. “Is that them?”

“We’re pretty sure that’s your man,” Beauchamp reported.

Foster adjusted his headset, speaking directly to the helicopter crew. “We need eyes on that vessel. We need to confirm it’s the Intocable.”

“Copy that,” came the reply. “Moving to intercept.”

The helicopter banked sharply, accelerating ahead of the boat.

Jon watched as the sleek aircraft cut through the air like a predator on the hunt. His heart hammered in his chest, each second ticking by like a countdown. They’d know soon enough if the vessel on the radar was Navarro or not.

With a comfortable cruising speed of 148 knots, the MH-65 Dolphin would have an answer for them in minutes. They all waited in silence, bracing themselves against the pounding waves as the boat powered its way through the chop, sending sheets of saltwater spray over the cabin that hindered their view out the windows for a few seconds at a time.

“Contact!” the helicopter pilot’s voice crackled over the cabin speaker. “We’ve got eyes on the target. Confirmed: Intocable. Vessel is heading southeast, approximately four miles ahead of your position.”

Jon searched out the starboard-side windows, but the white sport fishing vessel was impossible to see among the breaking white caps.

He turned to Beauchamp. “Can you close the distance?”

Beauchamp smirked, pushing the throttle forward. “Watch me.”

The chase boat surged, its hull splitting the waves as it picked up speed. Spray lashed against the windows with the ferocity of a heavy downpour.

But Jon’s eyes were locked on the horizon, scanning for any sign of the fleeing vessel. His hands clenched in anticipation.

“There!” Alvarez shouted, pointing to a shape cutting through the water ahead.

Jon grabbed the binoculars from the railing and brought them to his eyes. The Intocable was a sleek sport fisher, its polished hull gleaming in the sunlight as it sliced through the rough seas.

Navarro was running hard, his boat leaving a long wake in its path, but it wasn’t enough to outrun the Coast Guard chase boat.

Jon leaned forward in his seat and put a hand on Petty Officer Beauchamp’s shoulder. “Can the chopper disable them?”

Beauchamp shrugged. “We can try. They’ve got a .50-caliber rifle on board for that sort of thing, but the bigger boats with inboard engines can be tough.”

“Then we stop him ourselves,” Jon growled.

The chase was brutal. Beauchamp pushed the boat to its limits, the engines screaming and bucking their mounts as they surged through the worsening conditions. Every bounce and jolt sent shocks through Jon’s body, but he held firm, his gaze locked on the Intocable.

Max handled the rough ride like a pro, far better than any of them. His legs bent smoothly with each jarring bounce over the swells, absorbing the impact like a set of finely tuned shock absorbers. Even when the boat hit a bigger wave and his paws lifted off the deck for a moment, he landed with ease, steady and unshaken.

The helicopter flew low, tracking Navarro’s every move.

“He’s shifting course!” the pilot called over the radio. “Adjusting south—heading toward a larger vessel.”

“What vessel?” Alvarez asked, her tone sharp. Worry filled her gaze.

“Looks like a yacht. Coordinates coming through now,” Beauchamp answered.

Jon’s stomach turned. He understood what Alvarez was feeling. “He’s got a way out.”

The yacht loomed in the distance, its massive hull gleaming like a beacon. It was holding position just outside international waters, a luxury escape waiting to whisk Navarro away.

“We can’t let that happen, not now. We’re too close,” Jon added.

The Intocable cut sharply to the right, trying anything it could to throw the chase boat off its stern. Beauchamp mumbled something under his breath as he adjusted his course, countering the evasive maneuvers with precision.

“He’s trying to shake us,” Foster said, gripping a handhold.

“Not happening,” Beauchamp replied, his voice as steady as if they were out for an afternoon cruise.

Jon’s eyes narrowed as he spotted movement on the Intocable.

Navarro himself stood on the aft deck, one hand gripping the railing while the other held a radio. Even at this distance, Jon could see the defiance etched into his face.

He gritted his teeth as anger wormed up his spine. “Can the chopper block him from reaching the yacht?”

“Already on it.” Foster relayed the command, and the helicopter swooped low, its shadow racing across the waves.

Navarro’s boat veered again as the Dolphin’s rotor wash pummeled the vessel, but this time, whoever was driving miscalculated.

The Intocable hit a swell at the wrong angle, and its hull slammed into the water with a violent crash that slowed it down just enough.

“Now’s our chance!” Jon had been hovering between standing upright and being slammed down into the seat by the force of the bucking hull, but now he stood firm.

Beauchamp didn’t hesitate, angling the chase boat directly toward the Intocable. The distance between the two vessels closed rapidly. The Coast Guard craft matched Navarro’s boat’s speed but stayed about forty yards away.

Cartel soldiers emerged from the sport fisher’s cabin as they drew in closer and opened fire from the Intocable’s aft deck. Bullets ricocheted off metal and fiberglass as one of Beauchamp’s crew manned the mounted M240 on the bow and chewed into the big fishing boat’s pristine white hull.

The fishing boat veered hard to starboard when the soldier steering the boat from the flybridge took several rounds from the mounted gun and slumped over the wheel. The multimillion-dollar fishing boat came at them fast, rubbing rails with the Coast Guard vessel and nearly knocking everyone off their feet in an explosion of salt water and foam.

Jon held on to the rail for dear life. This was his chance to get to Navarro. “Max, get him.”

Jon jumped from the chase boat to the sport fisher, clearing the two feet of open water between the vessels as they drifted apart post-impact. But not as easily or as quickly as Max, who beat him to the teak-capped gunwale of the sport fisher in a blur of fur and teeth. His powerful jaws clamped down on a soldier’s arm before dragging him down to the deck. Jon moved with precision, his Glock barking as he dropped another soldier who’d been aiming at Max.

Still on the Coast Guard chase boat, Foster picked off another with his MP5. Alvarez played cleanup as one of the remaining wounded cartel men attempted to raise his weapon at the chase boat.

“Navarro!” Jon shouted, scanning the deck.

“In the cabin!” Foster shouted back as a large swell forced the two boats apart again.

Beauchamp steered the Coast Guard vessel hard to starboard, giving the much bigger sport fisher ample room as it threatened to come down on top of them after cresting a rogue swell. Jon looked over and saw that the rest of his team was now some twenty yards away in the chase boat.

He and Max were on their own for now.

Jon spun around, putting his sights on the man Max had pinned to the deck. “Max, release.”

After one final shake of his victim’s arm, Max retreated to Jon’s side. The soldier clambered to his feet, but Jon had other plans and sent him over the stern and into the water with a well-placed kick before he could cause any more trouble.

Jon turned again, facing the black-tinted rear slider that led into the sport fisher’s salon. He fired two quick rounds into the large door, shattering the glass panel into a hundred pieces.

There, cowering in the boat’s galley, behind the granite-topped counter was his man. He didn’t look so defiant now.

“It’s over, Navarro!” Jon growled, leveling his weapon. “You’re done.”

Navarro stood all the way upright, his eyes cold as he regained some of his arrogance. “Are you sure about that, Sheriff?”

Navarro’s expression turned calm, almost amused. His sharp eyes gleamed in the dim cabin lighting.

“This ends now,” Jon shouted over the sport fisher’s twin diesels, which were now putting out a dark gray smoke from the boat’s exhaust. Navarro’s boat had taken too many rounds from the chase boat’s deck-mounted M240 and was rapidly decelerating. Jon and Max would have help on board the big sport fisher soon.

Navarro raised an eyebrow, his smile never fading. “You really believe that, Sheriff? You think taking me down will end this?”

Jon’s jaw tightened. “You’ve lost. The cartel’s finished.”

The leader chuckled softly. “No, Sheriff. You’ve only delayed the inevitable. The cartel is more than just one man, more than just one operation. It’s an idea. And ideas that big don’t die so easily.”

Jon’s grip on the gun tightened, but he didn’t respond. He knew better than to engage with Navarro’s mind games. There was no point in it, anyway.

The cartel leader’s smile faded slightly, his eyes narrowing. “You’re a man of principles, Marzett. But principles won’t save you when the world falls apart. You can’t stop what’s coming.”

Before Jon could react, Navarro’s hand darted for something under the counter. But Jon was faster.

The shot rang out, deafening in the small cabin. Navarro staggered, clutching his side as blood seeped between his fingers, ruining his white shirt and his calm facade.

Jon stepped forward, his gun still trained on the man as he collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath.

“It’s over,” Jon said coldly, his voice steady. He would have preferred the man faced trial and spent the rest of his life in prison, but Navarro had made his choice.

Navarro looked up at him, his face pale, but his eyes still held that same defiance. “You’ll pay for this, Marzett. You’ll pay for… what… you’ve…” His words failed him as he struggled to draw his last breath before the light in his eyes went dull.

Jon holstered his gun, turning to see Alvarez and the others entering the cabin.

Navarro’s body slumped, his last breath leaving him in a ragged exhale.

LATER, back on the mainland, Jon stood on the dock, watching as the sun set over the horizon. The cartel’s leader was dead, and with him, the last major threat to Big Pine Key had been neutralized.

Better still, Rosa was safe, reunited with her father. A promise kept.

But Jon knew the fight was far from over. It never really was. He’d been in this game too long to believe that his efforts would change the world overnight. Still, he allowed himself a small measure of hope—at least for Big Pine Key. For now, the town might finally see a brief moment of peace.

The cartel was wounded, but it wasn’t dead. Not yet. Others would rise to assume the place of the men he’d taken down. And he would be ready when they did.

Max sat beside him, his steadfast demeanor and reassuring presence a constant comfort. Jon reached down, scratching the dog behind his ears, feeling a strange mix of relief and weariness.

“You did good, boy,” Jon muttered, watching the waves roll in gently against the dock.

For now, Big Pine Key was safe. Paradise once again. No doubt, the dark tides would return, but as long as he was still standing, he would face them head-on.

Because that’s what he did. No matter what it cost him.

The dawn after Navarro’s demise—and, subsequently, the cartel’s, for all intents and purposes—was a quiet one.

Big Pine Key had settled back into its usual rhythm, the sun rising over the turquoise waters, casting the town in a soft golden hue. For the first time in what felt like years, Jon allowed himself a brief moment of peace. The leader of the cartel was gone, their operations in disarray, and for now, the town was recovering and moving on.

He stared at the horizon from the edge of the pier, his new favorite spot for inner reflection, especially with Max sitting contentedly by his side. The sea breeze was cool, carrying with it the familiar scent of salt and fresh air.

This was why Jon had come to Big Pine Key in the first place—to escape the stale, suffocating grasp of the big city. To find a slower, simpler life. But even here, the shadows had found him.

Maybe that was his lot in life.

“You finally going to take a break?” Alvarez’s voice came from behind him, soft but teasing.

Jon turned to see her walking toward him, her expression a mix of exhaustion and amusement. She held two cups of coffee, offering one to Jon as she stepped beside him.

He took it, a faint smile crossing his face. “You know me better than that.”

Alvarez chuckled, taking a sip of her coffee as they both looked out over the water. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Everything we’ve been through, and now it feels like the town’s finally… free.”

Jon nodded, but his smile faded. “For now.”

Alvarez gave him a sideways glance. “You’re not convinced this is the end, are you?”

He took a deep breath, everything they’d been through still heavy on his shoulders. “The cartel’s been here too long, dug in too deep. Even with their leader gone, someone else could step in. Or the pieces of the operation could scatter and rebuild. We’ve won the battle, but the war’s never really over.”

Alvarez was quiet for a moment, her eyes distant as she processed his words. “You might be right. But for now, we’ve got a chance to breathe. Maybe that’s enough.”

Jon wasn’t sure it was, but he didn’t argue. He wasn’t built for peace—he’d learned that over the years. Even when things were quiet, his mind was always searching for the next threat, the next danger lurking around the corner.

He couldn’t afford to relax, not completely.

But maybe Alvarez had a point. Maybe, for now, they had earned a moment to breathe.

“What about you?” Alvarez asked after a long pause. “What’s next for Jon Marzett?”

Jon sipped his coffee, thinking about that. His life in Big Pine Key had been defined by the fight against the cartel, by the constant battles to protect the town from the darkness that seemed to seep in at the edges. Now, with the cartel’s power broken, the idea of a quieter existence seemed almost foreign.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I came here to get away from all the chaos in Miami, to finish out my career in peace. But it hasn’t exactly worked out that way.”

Alvarez laughed softly. “No, it hasn’t.”

Jon shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I think I’ll stick around for a while. This place needs people who care. Especially after the likes of Dalton and Thorne. And as much as this place has given me hell, it’s home now.”

Alvarez gave him a nod of approval. “Good. The town could use you. And I’ll be here to back you up, for what it’s worth.”

Jon looked over at her and smiled. “It’s worth a lot.”

“And then there’s Maggie.”

Jon snorted softly. “Right.”

They stood in companionable silence for a while, watching the early morning boats head out into the water, the town slowly coming to life behind them. The chaos of the past few weeks still lingered, but it felt distant now, like a bad dream they were slowly waking up from.

“What about Max?” Alvarez suddenly asked, glancing down at the dog, who had stretched out lazily on the pier. “He seems happy enough to have some quiet time.”

Jon looked down at Max, his faithful partner who had been by his side through it all. The dog’s eyes were closed, but he was always alert, always ready to spring into action when needed. They were peas in a pod, him and Max.

“Max will be fine.” Jon crouched to give him a scratch behind the ears. “He’s earned some rest, too. Haven’t you, boy?”

Max woofed lazily, never opening his eyes.

Alvarez smiled, but her expression shifted slightly, becoming more serious. “You know, Jon… it’s okay to let go of some of that guilt you carry. We’ve done what we set out to do. We’ve brought down the cartel, protected the town. You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders anymore.”

Jon didn’t respond right away. He stared out at the water. He knew Alvarez meant well, but the burden of responsibility was something he had lived with for so long that it felt like a part of him. Letting it go, even for a moment, seemed impossible.

But as he stood there, with the sun rising higher and the world feeling just a little bit lighter, he thought maybe—just maybe—he could try.

“I’ll work on that,” he said quietly, his voice sincere.

Alvarez didn’t push him further. She just nodded and sipped her coffee, content to let the silence settle between them once more.

LATER THAT DAY, Jon found himself walking through the town, Max trotting by his side as they made their way down the familiar streets. The locals were out, going about their daily routines, and for the first time since he’d arrived, Jon didn’t feel the undercurrent of fear that had hung over the town like a cloud.

People smiled as they passed, waved, exchanged greetings.

Jon nodded back, feeling a warmth he hadn’t expected or experienced since arriving here. He had fought for this town, sacrificed so much to keep it safe, and now he was seeing the fruits of that labor.

Max barked happily as they approached the pier again, where a group of kids were fishing off the dock. Jon stopped for a moment, watching as they hauled in a fat sheepshead and joked with each other, the world free of the danger that had loomed around them for so long.

It was a small thing, but it was everything.

Jon looked down at Max, who was wagging his tail, seemingly pleased with the current conditions and the warm sun on his fur.

“You happy, boy?” Jon asked softly.

Max barked, his eyes shining with contentment.

Jon’s smile was subtle, the kind that barely touched his lips but carried the weight of something deeper as he let the moment linger.

It had been more than a while since Jon allowed himself to believe that maybe things were going to be okay. There would always be new threats on the horizon, always something demanding his attention—but for now, Big Pine Key was quiet. No immediate dangers, no pressing alarms. Just the steady rhythm of the ocean and the soft rustle of the breeze through the palms.

And that was enough.

He took a deep breath, looking out at the calm waters of the ocean, and let the burden he’d felt pressing down on him since he’d arrived here ease just a little.

Whatever came next, he would face it.

But for now, he would enjoy the peace and quiet of this place. This paradise he’d moved to. It was the reason he was here, after all. Finally, he was ready to let himself rest.

The buzz of his phone in his pocket startled him in the quiet stillness. He pulled it out, squinting at the screen. A text from Maggie.

Hey, boss. Got a report of a topless woman sunbathing down at Loggerhead Beach. You want me to handle it, or should I have Deputy O’Connell head down there with some sunscreen? Also, Mrs. McGee called—her cat’s stuck in a tree again. Prioritize accordingly.

Jon chuckled, shaking his head as he tucked the phone back into his pocket. He could picture her smirking as she typed, probably sipping coffee from her bright pink flamingo mug while concocting the next wisecrack to throw his way.

These were the kinds of calls he’d hoped for when he moved here—small-town quirks, harmless chaos, and just enough humor to keep things interesting. It was far from perfect, but it was exactly what he needed.

With a quiet laugh, he turned back toward the horizon for one last look at the ocean before dealing with the day’s emergencies. Tomorrow could bring whatever it wanted. For now, this was his moment to breathe, to be still.

And maybe things really would be okay.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bruno Miller is the author of the Dark Road series. He’s a military vet who likes to spend his downtime hanging out with his wife and kids, or getting in some range time. He believes in being prepared for any situation.

Website • Facebook • Instagram

The Dark Waters Series

Zero Hour

Dead Calm

Dead Reckoning

Savage Shores

The Dark Road Series

Breakdown

Escape

Resistance

Fallout

Extraction

Reckoning

Deception

Restitution

Desperation

Forsaken

Redemption

Dissension

Resignation

Sanctuary

Breakthrough

Cloverdale Series

Impact

Survival

Endurance

Confrontation