Chapter 11 #2
“She did,” Buddy said. “So did Dewey and some guy by the name of Silas. Baily told me both men had come in from doing whatever about two hours before, but they’d both come from the Everglades, not the ocean.
I’ve got a million other things to do, and so do Dawson and his deputies.
How do you two feel about having a chat with those two? ”
“They know me.” Hayes nodded. “Both will speak freely with me, and they both know Chloe, so I’m sure there won’t be a problem.”
“Do it,” Buddy said. “I’ve gotta run. I’ll be back in town later today. Let’s regroup after dinner.” The line went dead.
Chloe leaned against the desk, grabbed the other half of the bagel, and bit off a mouthful.
When she’d first joined the Bureau, she hadn’t been able to eat while reviewing crime scene photos.
Now, she’d learned to compartmentalize—hunger and horror lived in separate rooms. Her body needed fuel if her brain was going to function.
Her gaze drifted to Hayes, who stood near the wall, eyes scanning the string of photos and evidence. He often downplayed his mind, claiming he wasn’t wired like the rest of them. He said he was better suited for scopes, field dressings, and fire hoses.
But the truth? He was damn good at reframing the obvious. He didn’t bring new facts to the table—he brought new angles. Different questions. Fresh ways to look at old truths. His version of insight was sharp but straightforward. And often exactly what they needed.
“I can feel your gaze burning a hole in my back,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”
She smiled. “You’re a great firefighter, but have you ever considered you might’ve missed your true calling after the military?”
He chuckled, stuffed the last of his bagel into his mouth, and chewed without answering—a classic Hayes deflection move.
“I’m serious.” She sipped her coffee. “You see things in a way that cuts through the noise. You’re steady, rational, and annoyingly pragmatic. Dawson doesn’t go to you because you speak in ‘simple terms.’ He goes to you because you make sense when everything else feels sideways.”
He waved toward the evidence wall. “All I’m doing is repeating facts—just in a less… cop-jargon way.”
She shook her head. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
He opened his mouth, possibly to argue, but she cut him off. “I try to approach cases without emotion. I really do. But not this one. Not with Heather.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m too close. It’s too personal.”
Hayes crossed the room and wrapped her in his arms. “If you think this isn’t personal for me, too, you’re wrong.
” He lifted her chin with a finger, then placed her hand over his chest. “This asshole killed your sister—your twin. I feel that, right here, every time we talk about this case. Don’t mistake silence for indifference.
I’m just good at hiding it. So are you.”
She pulled away, eyes narrowing. “Did you just call me cold?”
“No,” he said calmly. “I said we’re similar. We both bottle it up.”
“It’s not the same,” she snapped, folding her arms. “You’re a man—you’re allowed to be stoic. When I do it, I get labeled an Ice Princess.”
His lips tugged into a grin. “So that’s what this is about.”
“Don’t smile. It’s not funny.”
He shrugged. “Kinda is. You complimented me, I agreed with it, and now we’re in a standoff.”
She opened her mouth, but he covered it with his hand.
“Let me finish. You’re right—this case cuts deep.
We all know it. If Buddy or Dawson thought it compromised you, you wouldn’t be here.
But you still show up, and you’re always professional.
That’s what matters.” Then he added, softer, “I hide my feelings for different reasons. And you calling me out? Just reminds me how rarely I let myself feel anything at all.”
“You’re talking in circles.”
“Yeah, I’m good at that.”
“You’re pissing me off.”
“Also good at that,” he said. “I grew up in a world where emotions didn’t matter. Where being quiet and obedient earned approval. That stuck with me. Then I joined the military, and the only thing that mattered was function. There was no space for softness. And I thrived in that environment.”
“Hayes—”
“No,” he interrupted gently. “Let me get through this.”
He led her to the living room, settled on the couch, and patted the cushion beside him.
“You’re freaking me out,” she muttered, sitting down.
“We went from bagels and casework to this. I know. Just…let me talk.”
She met his gaze and froze. Something in his eyes—uncertainty, fear, maybe even hope—slammed into her like a punch to the chest.
“I’ve had a handful of short relationships,” he said. “Some decent, some not. Most of them didn’t stand a chance because I never let anyone close. I never let myself feel too much.”
Again, she crossed her arms. “Please tell me we’re not about to dive into your dating history.”
He laughed softly. “Not really. But there was one woman I could’ve loved—maybe I did. However, when things got too real, I ran. Fast. I sabotaged it before it ever had a chance.”
“Shocking,” she said. “But why are we talking about this?”
“It matters because I almost did the same thing with you.”
She stilled.
“I tried not to care this much,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to fall. But then I did. And now? I’m terrified to say this out loud, but I don’t just care about you, I lo?—”
She slapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t. Don’t say it.”
His brows rose.
She stood, pacing. “You’re right. We’re not ready. I’m not ready. You can’t mean it—not while this case is open. Not when I can barely breathe without thinking about Heather.”
He rose and stepped closer. “But I do mean it.”
“You don’t get it. Saying those words right now—it feels like I’m betraying her. Like I’m allowed to move on. And I’m not.”
“I get it,” he said, brushing her cheek. “I’m not asking you to move on. I’m just asking you to let yourself feel it.”
“I do feel it,” she whispered. “But I can’t say it. Not yet. And I don’t want to hear it.”
He nodded slowly, kissing her gently. Just then, his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen. “It’s Buddy.”
Chloe blinked, dragging herself back to the moment. “Damn. I left my phone in your office.”
He answered and hit speaker.
“Is Chloe with you?” Buddy’s voice crackled through the line.
“I’m here,” she said, stepping in.
“Good. We found Larry,” Buddy said, voice grave. “He’s dead. And he’s missing his ring finger.”