Free Bullet River (The Garbage Collector 2) by Dani Amore Page B

stopped going out and the water was in a relatively neutral state.
     
    My second beer was only half-finished when I came around the bend in the river. The house I was watching still loomed high above the mangrove plants.
     
    I steered the kayak into a little area of backwater surrounded by tall grass to finish the rest of my beer before I loaded the kayak back onto the dock.
     
    There wasn’t a stitch of breeze in this little protected spot.
     
    I rested the paddle across my thighs, casually checked for alligators. (I’d been told there really weren’t any around this area anymore, but I refused to take anyone’s word for it.)
     
    The beer came to my lips, and I saw a glow of white off to my right. I emptied the beer and put it back into place on the floor of the kayak.
     
    I put the paddle back in the water and gently stroked the still water, sending the kayak toward the glow of white.
     
    There was the possibility it was a turtle shell; I’d heard they show up from time to time and are valuable.
     
    As I got closer, I realized it wasn’t the shell of a turtle.
     
    It was a woman.
     
    Or at least, what was left of her.
     
    I stopped the kayak from getting any closer, but a small wave I had created pushed up against the corpse, and she lolled slightly toward me.
     
    A ravaged face turned toward me.
     
    The sight froze me, sent a shaft of ice through my insides.
     
    Not because of the horrors of death. And not because of the ravages inflicted by death, time, and the river.
     
    The face shocked me for a very simple reason.
     
    It was a face I knew.
     

 
    2.
     
    I had no choice but to leave her there.
     
    Like anyone associated on some level with crime, cops, lawyers, and all of the bullshit that goes with it, I knew from experience that irrational decisions could lead to some pretty horrible results.
     
    The fact was I desperately wanted to free her from her soggy grave, even though I knew it was a terrible idea. But in my business, you have to be able to shut off emotions like you’re blowing out a candle.
     
    So that’s what I did.
     
    I didn’t feel good about it. In fact, I felt like a piece of shit. But she was already dead. Her dignity . . . well, not much left of that either.
     
    Instead, I paddled back to the dock, got out, tied the kayak to its mooring rack, carried my empty bottles inside the apartment, and put them in recycling.
     
    Next, I left the apartment and did a perimeter walk of the property. It was my job now, after all. But I really did it because it gave me time to think. And because I also couldn’t help but wonder if there were any other surprises nearby.
     
    The stairs from the pool led up to the second-floor lanai. I checked all of the sliding doors and the little pass-through to the kitchen. Everything was locked up tight.
     
    Back down the stairs, I used the screen door off one end of the pool area and stepped into the yard. I walked the property from the river all the way down the long, rectangular lot to the street. Then I returned on the other side of the property.
     
    Nothing was amiss.
     
    I let myself back in via the screen door on the other side of the pool, then sat in the white plastic chair outside the sliding door to the apartment.
     
    The girl’s face, I had instantly recognized. No doubt about it.
     
    I knew her.
     
    In fact, I had known her quite well.
     
    I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and held it in my hand.
     
    The screen was clear, just a hint of reflection from the water in the pool.
     
    I took a deep breath.
     
    Then called the cops.
     

 
    3.
     
    There wasn’t a whole lot to Estero, Florida. It didn’t have an actual “downtown.” Or a Main Street. It was essentially a stretch of road along, and just off, Highway 41.
     
    Because it was unincorporated, the law enforcement agency responsible for Estero was the Lee County Sheriff’s Office.
     
    One of their cars pulled up the driveway.
     
    “Afternoon,” the cop