Page 66 of Sunny Undone

“Unlikely, Indy.” But Sunny stops walking; his face has changed. His brows are furrowed in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“That broker who came yesterday and offered the club a deal. While they were inside the building with their security team, we planted trackers on their cars and sent men to follow their vehicles.”

It’s hard to explain the foreboding that seeps into me. “You learned something?”

“Followed them all the way to an office building in Fort Myers,” Sunny says. “We have some people who have a…certain set of tech skills. One in Colorado, Wren. One in New Jersey, Vex. Wren did some digging and cross-referenced it with the issues we’re having. Found the office was rented to a developer.”

My heart is in my chest. “Who was it?”

“Velaro Coastal Group.”

I try to steady my racing heartbeat and take a step away to simply breathe and watch the sun ice the top of the ripples on the water.

I once had a theoretical discussion with a marine biologist who much prefers to be out on open water tracking shark migration along the eastern seaboard. Their stance was that wide-open space and waves and marine animals made the most fascinating microcosm on earth. Given it was a discussion about interest rather than factual impact, I argued the wetlands had it beat. I’d take alligators over sharks any day. There is so much variety here. Canopies of gothic charm formed by trees covered in drooping Spanish moss. And beneath it, there’s the constant sense that the whole place is alive, like a giant beating heart that is working hard to save the planet. Water moves, even if you can’t see it. Insects hum, birds call, frogs answer. There’s an eeriness to the rustling that always seems just beyond your reach or vision. Like there are secrets here we just haven’t unraveled yet. My friend had suggested they were claustrophobic places, but I argued there were simply layers waiting for me to peel back.

I’d do anything to save this place. At least, I thought I would. But I know I’m dancing dangerously close to an illegal world with Sunny and his contacts. For all I joked about getting to the dark web, now I’m faced with the reality of it, I wonder what dangers may come from my involvement in it.

Where is the line between observer of the illegal behaviors of others, to being complicit? But could I look at myself in the mirror at the end of the day if I knew there was something I could have done, but didn’t because I was scared?

“These people you know…what else have they been able to find out?” I ask, finally. “Because none of this can be a coincidence.”

Sunny squeezes my arm. “They’re still looking. They found out the basics. Who the CEO is. Previous development proposals. Seems they look for undervalued coastal spots and invest heavily to turn them into destination locations. The Everglades is underdeveloped.”

“For good reason!” I shout. I take a deep breath. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell. It’s just…”

“I know, and it’s okay,” Sunny says. “It’s frustrating.”

“So, they’re still looking?”

Sunny nods. “Let me just check if they sent any updates while we’ve been out here.”

He grabs his phone, and I run the name over in my head.

Velaro Coastal Group.

At least the enemy has a name and a face, now. And I know, without evidence, I can’t prove anything. But the fact that development of underdeveloped waterfront towns is their bread and butter, and that they offered to buy the club’s land, suggests they have everything to gain by increasing the volume of land they could develop along the coast.

As Sunny puts his phone in his pocket, I realize I don’t hear any frogs. The constant ticking and chirping chorus of insects that should hang on every breath of wind are simply not there.

I put my hand to my chest and look to the air for any sign of birds, but don’t see a single one.

“They’ve collapsed the food web,” I say to no one. And I feel the agony of it like a knife to the chest. But it helps me answer the ethical debate I’ve been having with myself about what I would or wouldn’t do to save the place.

The answer is unequivocally anything.

“You okay, babe?” he asks.

I’m too upset to even mind him calling me babe. I shake my head to try to clear the overwhelming feelings. “It’s worse than I thought. Sorry. Was there any update?”

“Still looking.” He pulls me into his chest but then carries on scrolling with his arms wrapped around me. “We’ll figure this out, Della. If you tug at enough strings, something snaps.”

His voice reverberates where my ear is pressed to his chest. His hand rubs up and down my back, offering me comfort I hadn’t realized I needed. When I was younger, my parents were all about the stiff upper lip. Don’t complain. Don’t whine. Don’t be needy. Think your way to a solution, instead of letting the problem overwhelm you.

Being unable to solve a problem alone was generally dismissed as incompetence. Finding a solution on your own was seen as a mark of intellect. Somewhere along the way, I learned that asking for help was a bad thing.

Public displays of affection have never really been my thing, but as I stand here, I wonder if it’s just because none of the men I’ve dated offered it. I like the claiming of it. And while I suppose this isn’t really public, I wouldn’t mind it if it were. Sunny likes me as I am, and is proud to be seen with me, to let anyone know I’m with him.