Page 45 of Murder in Calusa Cove
“I care about you.”
The words dropped in the silence like tiny pebbles breaking the surface of still water, their ripples spreading outwards to impact every corner of his being. His heart pounded against his chest, and he felt himself drawn closer to Chloe—drawn by the gravity of her admission. It wasn’t earth-shattering, but for them, it was ground-breaking.
With a slight nod, he said nothing at first, instead choosing to relish this moment because he knew she didn’t say those without some reservation, especially to him. She hadn’t professed her undying love, and that was fine. It was too soon for that, and he knew she’d never be able to say those words to anyone, even if she felt them, until Heather’s killer was behind bars.
“I... I care about you too, Chloe,” he finally admitted after what felt like an eternity, but was probably only moments. His voice was low and rough with unchecked emotion. He did love Chloe, but he couldn’t choke out the words if he tried. But here, with Chloe’s bare skin pressed against his own, it was a start, and it meant something.
There were no fireworks or sudden revelations. Instead, their shared confession seemed to settle into them both like a comforting blanket, covering them in warmth and beginning to heal wounds they hadn’t known existed until now.
They lay there in silence—with only the soft rustle of the sheets to disrupt the quietude that settled around them like a soft mist. The weight of their shared confession hung heavily between them, but it was not uncomfortable—it was their truth—and for now, it was enough.
Hayes unexpectedly found himself cherishing this newfound vulnerability born out of their mutual trust. This was unexpected terrain, yet it felt as familiar as home.
Tenderly, he brushed his fingertips against her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin under his rough touch. He found himself captivated by the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slowly drifted into sleep.
In the hushed confines of the room, he watched over Chloe, this incredible woman who had so effortlessly claimed his heart. He was in awe of how she’d transformed into his most cherished haven.
Lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts, he held her close, taking solace in the rhythmic sound of her breathing. As sleep gradually crept up on him, he knew one thing for certain—he was irrevocably in love with her. Even though he hadn’t admitted that to her, it was true, and eventually, he’d find the courage and strength to utter the words out loud.
11
Chloe stirred as the faintest trace of morning bled into the dark room. A dull gray-blue light pressed against the edges of the window, just enough to outline the shadows.
Hayes lay beside her, stretched on his side, one arm draped loosely across her hip. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, the kind of deep sleep only sheer exhaustion could bring.
She turned her head and, reached for her phone on the nightstand. A little after five.
Carefully, she eased out from under his arm, slipping from the bed without a sound. She found his T-shirt and boxers folded over a chair and tugged them on, then padded barefoot through the hallway.
He didn’t need to be up for another couple of hours, and after everything they’d seen last night, she wasn’t about to wake him. He needed rest. She, on the other hand, needed answers.
A few minutes later, with a cup of coffee in hand and a bagel balanced on a napkin, she stepped into the spare bedroom Hayes called his office. It was sparse—just a desk, a chair, and the quiet hum of the printer in the corner—but over the last few days, it had become her war room.
She set everything down and stood in the center of the room, staring at the far wall where she’d taped up photos of the victims, crime scene reports, and timelines. The faces stared back at her, silent and damning.
All women. All cheated. All missing the same finger.
And still—no name. No pattern she could sink her teeth into.
She took a sip of coffee and sat, waking her laptop. Buddy’s email was already open. She pulled up the latest report, sent it to print, and then checked her phone.
No messages. No movement. Which, in her world, wasn’t a good sign.
She brought up Buddy’s contact information to send a text.
Chloe: Hey, are you up?
Two seconds later, her cell buzzed in her hands, making her jump. She dropped the phone. It landed on her bare toes. “Shit,” she mumbled, wiggling her feet, while feeling the sting of the cold, hard, device. She bent over, picked it up, and tapped the green button. “Good morning, Buddy. Sleep well?”
“No. You?”
She set the cell on the desk and placed it on speaker. “I got a few hours,” she admitted. “I got your email and I’m printing it, but I wanted you to give me the abridged version of what you know.”
“We’ve got an ID on the victim,” Buddy said. “Her name is Opel Palmer. She’s twenty-six. She’s been married for two years. Lives in Naples. Her and her husband, Jack, got into a massive fight three days ago when he found out she was cheating on him with a man fifteen years older.”
“That name isn’t on my list of missing women.” Chloe pulled out a few files from her bag.
“That’s because Jack never reported it. He kicked her out and went on a drunken rampage. He’s also older by sixteen years. He figured she went running home to mommy and daddy.”
