That’d be a shame since Gabe was already wondering—after he cleaned up Caz and Bull’s problems—if he could dump the chief job on Baumer and head back to the cabin. “Louisiana to Alaska. Quite the change.”

“Yeah, sure was.” Coffeemaker primed, Baumer flipped the switch. “It’s why I wasn’t working when this position opened. We moved to Alaska over a year ago, but my wife and I wanted to make sure we liked the winters before I committed to a job.”

Not a foolish notion. Although Alaska summers were glorious, the cold, gray winters drove a lot of people south.

Gabe eyed the coffee drizzling into the pot. Pale brown. Might as well be piss. Mako’d taught his boys that coffee should be strong enough to use as an offensive weapon.

“I need to scope out the town before anything else.” And get some decent coffee. “Let’s meet here at one o’clock. We’ll discuss scheduling, and you can brief me on the town’s problems.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Baumer gave him a laid-back smile before turning to pour himself a cup of coffee.

Gabe went out the front, walked down the sidewalk, and studied the town. Scattered among the closed stores were a few open businesses. The grocery. A hardware store.

A buzzing from the right caught Gabe’s attention. A floatplane soared upward from the lake, a graceful silver silhouette in the fathomless blue sky. The far end of the lake had a non-manned airport. One gravel strip and a couple of floatplane docks. Probably all in poor shape.

Hawk lived to fly. Maybe he’d return and take on the upgrading.

Gabe’s mouth tightened. For two years, he and Hawk had been on the same mercenary squad. Then, a month before the ambush, Hawk’d requested reassignment to another squad. When Gabe asked him why, he’d walked away.

The asshole. Gabe shook his head. If he’d done something his brother didn’t like, would it have killed the bastard to tell him?

Despite Gabe’s anger, he thanked God that Hawk hadn’t been with the squad that day. Hadn’t been ambushed. Hadn’t died like the others.

Gabe hadn’t seen his brother since the reassignment. The terse, rude bastard. His absence left behind a hollow ache.

To hell with memories. I need coffee.

He crossed the street to an old-fashioned coffee shop. The bell over the door clanged softly as it closed behind him.

Aged wooden pews, probably from a church, formed booths along the front windows and right side. A few tables and chairs dotted the center. Customers sat in the booths, enjoying coffee and desserts. To the left, a glass-fronted pastry display ended in a short counter with stools.