Page 39 of Murder in Calusa Cove
He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“Weddings, babies, families—they always get me. Not so much because they’re something I want for myself, that will either happen or it won’t. I don’t get hung up on that too much.” A tear fell from her eye and landed on her cheek.
Gently, he wiped it away. He could be sweet and attentive when he wanted to be. “If not for yourself, then…oh.” He cupped her face and dropped his forehead to hers. “Because Heather will never be able to have those.”
“Exactly. Not only was her life stolen from her, but it’s all the things that I know she wanted. I mean, we might have been complete opposites and drove each other nuts, but we would’ve been each other’s maids of honor and our babies’ godmothers. We talked about all that stuff late at night when we put aside all our differences and were just sisters. All that stuff was stolen from Heather, and it hurts my heart.” She blinked out a few more tears. “Nick used to accuse me of sabotaging our relationship because I felt guilty over being able to have the life my sister never could.”
“I have often wondered if Max would’ve stayed in the community. Or if he had lived, if I would have. I don’t know. But all those what-ifs do creep into my mind, and the guilt can be overwhelming at times.”
Before she could respond—before either of them could say what came next—Chloe’s phone buzzed in her back pocket.
She stiffened. Reached for it. Her eyes flicked down to the screen. Then everything in her expression shifted.
“What is it?” Hayes asked, the smile vanishing from his face.
Her voice was tight. “Buddy texted. There’s another body.”
Hayes didn’t blink. “The Ring Finger Killer?”
“Yeah,” she said, throat dry. “North of the marina. On Keaton’s old property.”
“I’ll get the truck,” Hayes said, already moving.
Chloe grabbed her bag, her pulse racing now for an entirely different reason.
The rest of that conversation would have to wait.
The killer wouldn’t.
10
The tires on Hayes’s pick-up truck crunched to a stop on the gravel just off Keaton’s old property. The headlights cut through the darkness, catching the reflective decals on Dawson’s cruiser, parked near what was left of the house. A single wall. A reminder of how close to death, Keaton and Trinity had come.
Hayes killed the engine and sat for a second longer than necessary, hand resting on the gearshift. Chloe was already out of the truck, bag slung over her shoulder, her expression locked in that familiar mask of focus. Only this time, he’d seen a hint of hesitation right before she’d exited the vehicle. It had been subtle. But it was there.
Perhaps it was because she wasn’t supposed to be there. Her superiors had made that clear—more than once. And yet, here she was. Moving as if it were her case anyway. Because it was, in every way that counted.
Hayes slipped from the truck, following the sound of her boots meeting damp earth. The air was thick with the scent of salt and decay. Not strong yet, but it was coming. The kind of scent that clung to your clothes long after you’d left the scene.
Dawson met them where the garage used to be, flashlight beam low. “Buddy’s still en route,” he said. “I told him you were on your way.”
“How does he feel about me being here right now?” Chloe asked with a slight edge to her voice. It was that subtle distinction that Hayes knew she split between the ever-professional FBI Agent and the woman who’d lost her twin. It was a fine line to walk.
Dawson gave her a look. He gave Hayes the same look whenever he asked something that Dawson believed he should know the answer to. “He’s not going to stop you.” He pointed his finger toward the news crew. “But stay clear of Stacey and her microphone. She’s already stuck it in my face, asking if the victim was missing a ring finger and if this was six or seven murders we have now.” He arched a brow. “Then she wanted to know if I was going to postpone my wedding.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I ignored her on both accounts, and even though she was off on that number, why does she even think we have more than two?”
No one said anything for a beat.
“Stacey’s resourceful, and she’ll do anything for a story,” Hayes said. “Including lying in order to rattle you or get information.”
“You would know.” Dawson cocked a brow, giving him that look again.
God, Hayes hated that look.
“What does that mean?” Chloe glanced between the two men.
“She doesn’t know?” Dawson asked.
Hayes sighed, shaking his head.
