lurked behind them and silently pulled at his heart strings.
Oh yes, she is a virus and there is no cure.
Chapter Five
“Well, I’ll be a salty dog. Look what the surf washed up.”
Butch McMann stepped back from the diesel engine in his marina’s boat repair shop. The old Navy Chief tipped back the faded denim cap he’d habitually worn since God was a baby, then wiped his deeply tanned hands on a towel hanging from the pocket of his khaki shorts. As usual, the only other items he wore were a pair of ankle socks and ancient tennis shoes. His shirtless upper body was coconut brown except for the thick patch silver chest hair. If anyone knew how to sport a Key West look, it was Butch McMann. He practically invented it.
Dagger flashed a smile and patted Butch’s rotund, hard-as-a-rock belly. “You’re looking good old man. You haven’t changed a bit since the last time I saw you.”
“Hell, no, I haven’t.” Butch heaved his barrel chest. “If I were any sexier, I’d have to beat off the ladies with a stick. You know, there are more horny widows on this Key than on the entire state of Florida, and half of them have already given me the pleasure of their sweet company, if you know what I mean.”
“You don’t say.”
“I do say. It’s the gospel truth. I’m a babe magnet.” The retired Chief’s bright hazel eyes, keen and assessing, scanned every inch of Dagger. “You’re not looking too bad yourself, boy. I guess the Navy is feeding you all right. But that hair.” He frowned and shook his head. “Back in my day, a man in the service wore his hair short.” He removed his cap and brushed his palm over the prickly tips of white flat top. “It’s a good look. Also helps a fella stay cool in this damned heat.”
Mindful his dark brown hair now reached his shoulders, far from the typical regulation cut, Dagger shrugged. “It’s a SEAL thing. I’m supposed to blend into a crowd. If I walked around the Middle East with a buzz-cut like yours, I’d be dead within five minutes.”
“If having long hair keeps you safe, then I say grow it down to your ass.” Butch drew Dagger in for a hug and whacked him several times on the back. “It’s good to see you, Dean. I heard you were coming into town with a bunch of your SEAL buddies and staying at Brice’s place. Was hoping you’d break away to come by and see me. Here,” Butch pulled a beer from a red cooler near his tool chest and popped the top. “Have a drink on me.”
“I couldn’t come back without checking in on you and the marina, old man. I spent so many summers here helping you fix old boats, this place is like my second home.”
Dagger took in the familiar place. Build back in the fifties, Butch’s Marina wasn’t one of Key West’s biggest or best marinas. It boasted only sixty-five boat slips, a well-worn repair shop, a gas pump, and an office where the locals generally bought their bait and beer before heading out for a day of fishing. Despite the age of the property, everything looked well maintained. The condition of the facilities and his long-standing business was a testament to Butch’s uncompromising demands of keeping everything he owned ship-shape.
“The other seven guys blew the coop as soon as they threw their duffle bags in their rooms,” Dagger added. “At this moment, they’re scattering to places unknown, looking for trouble. I sent them all texts. Waiting to hear back from most of them.”
Butch shook a gnarled thumb toward the marina office. “Well, if you’re looking for trouble, Mia’s in there behind the desk. I hear you’re taking her to dinner tonight.” He regarded Dagger beneath shaggy eyebrows. “She looks like she didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, but she’s got a perky hitch to her giddy-up. Also been complaining about her legs being sore. You know anything about that?”
Dagger choked on a sip of beer, making his eyes water. “Jeez, Butch.”
“That’s what I thought.” He