Chapter 16 #2
Chloe went cold. Her breath caught in her lungs. She stared into Hayes’s eyes, and even that didn’t comfort her.
“I chose to stay,” her father continued. “I chose to be your dad. To raise you and Heather like my own. I never regretted that. Not once. We didn’t want you to grow up with questions or feeling unwanted. When Heather was murdered, we wondered if maybe your biological father?—”
“Had killed Heather?” Chloe sucked in a deep breath. Her chest hurt. It felt like a semi had parked itself right in the center of it. “Jesus, Dad, that would’ve been a real possibility.”
“I know,” her dad said softly. “But then why didn’t he kill you? Why didn’t he come after you? And before you go jumping down my throat more, your mother went looking for the man she had…she had…” Her dad let out a sigh. “It wasn’t him.”
“Did she talk to him?”
“No. But he wasn’t anywhere near you girls, and he doesn’t even know a pregnancy resulted from their indiscretion.”
Damn, that was cold.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“He never once tried to contact us, and your mom never saw him again.”
The silence in the room turned suffocating. Chloe pressed her hand to her chest, as if trying to hold herself together from the outside.
Hayes reached for her hand, but before either of them could speak, a sharp knock echoed from the front door.
He frowned, rising to his feet.
Chloe took the phone off speaker and pressed it to her ear, still stunned. “Why now? Why would someone leak that now? Who else knows?”
“I don’t know,” her father said. “In our circle, just your mom and me. We never told anyone.”
“What about doctors? And you didn’t say anything to the cops? Or that guy you hired to stand guard over me for the first two months after Heather died?”
“No,” her dad said. “You girls never got sick when you were little, so you never needed blood or anything like that. I don’t understand why someone would do this.”
“I know why Stacey would, but the question is who fed her that information.” Chloe shivered. “We’ve wondered if it’s been the killer. Dad, I need a name.”
“I’m your father. I raised you,” her dad choked out. Thick emotion echoed over the airways. “I loved you. I’m the one who…who…”
“Dad, I know that.” The weight of nurture versus nature gnawed at her insides. At Quantico, she’d studied killers—examined their minds—their inner thoughts. It was a scary place to spend time, but a necessary one.
To think that her own biology could be that of a serial killer made her blood turn cold.
“I don’t want to know his name because I want to know him,” she said softly. “This man could be a killer, and I need to find him. Please, Dad. I need his name.”
Before Chloe’s dad could answer Hayes opened the door.
“Betsy?” His voice held a mix of confusion and alarm. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry,” Betsy said, voice tight and shaky. “I didn’t know where else to go. I know I should’ve called—again, but then I got in the car thinking if I followed her… I don’t know. I just needed to do something.”
Hayes’s brows drew together. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Fedora.” Her voice cracked. “She’s missing.”
“Missing?” Hayes asked.
“She said she was coming here,” Betsy said, her voice trembling.
“She wanted to see you, Hayes. Said it was important to ask you in person to her wedding.” Her gaze bounced between them, frantic and full of fear.
“That was more than twenty-four hours ago. No one’s heard from her since.
She’s not answering her cell. I tried calling you earlier, but you didn’t answer. ”
“I’m sorry. I haven’t looked at my messages today.” Hayes gently took her arm. “Come on. Let’s get you some water.” He guided her toward the family room, speaking in a low, calm voice.
Chloe stood frozen, her mind still tangled in the phone call.
She raised the cell back to her ear. “Dad, I’ve got to go, but before I do, please…
I need the name of the man Mom slept with.
” Her voice dropped. “No judgment, and for the record, I love you. But because Stacey went with that story, I’ve got to follow through. ”
There was a long pause on the other end. Then her father said quietly, almost reluctantly, “Dewey Hale.”
The phone slipped from her hand.
Chloe turned slowly, her eyes locking on Hayes. Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. “I’ve got a name.” But she didn’t dare say it out loud. Not with Betsy standing right there.
Hayes stood in the kitchen, elbow on the counter, trying to piece together what the hell could’ve happened to Fedora. She was a smart young woman. She wasn’t the kind of girl to be lax about safety. But she hadn’t texted or called, letting him know she was driving from St. Augustine to visit.
The few times they’d gotten together, she’d always called first. Their relationship, if you could call it that, wasn’t conventional.
He’d never been her stepfather—just her mother’s boyfriend.
And he hadn’t been around all that long, but he’d cared a great deal for Fedora.
He’d done all the things a stepfather might have done, and perhaps that had been a mistake, especially since her father had died when she’d been a baby.
Fedora had been furious when Hayes and her mother had broken up. Actually, she’d been hurt, and Hayes understood. He also understood that it was better for him to stay out of her life. He’d done so until she’d written him a letter, asking if they could be friends.
That was the last time he’d reached out to Betsy. He’d believed she had a right to know, and if she was uncomfortable with him having any contact with Fedora, then he’d break the poor kid’s heart again. But Betsy had been fine with it, and he’d begun what some might think was an odd friendship.
Betsy paced near the windows, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, worry etched into every line of her face.
Her blond hair, streaked with gray at the temples, was pulled back into a low, practical braid, though a few strands had come loose and framed her sharp cheekbones.
The lines around her mouth and eyes were deeper now, carved from years of holding her own, of raising a daughter mostly on her own.
She wore fitted jeans and a soft flannel button-down, with her sleeves pushed up, and her posture was tense yet composed.
There had been a time when she’d radiated unshakable confidence, but tonight, there was a fragility beneath her practiced calm—a mother fraying at the edges, trying not to come undone.
“She said she wanted to see you,” Betsy repeated, her voice brittle. “That she had something personal to say. She was excited—nervous, but excited. I thought it was sweet, honestly, her wanting to tell you about the wedding herself.”
Chloe leaned against the counter beside Hayes, phone in hand, scanning her messages. Chloe had sent him a text with a name.
Dewey Hale.
That had rattled his nerves.
“We’ll figure it out. We’ll find her,” Chloe said.
“Dawson’s putting out a BOLO, and Buddy’s checking traffic cams and gas stations along the way between St. Augustine and here.
We’re looking at credit card logs, everything.
We won’t leave a single pebble unturned.
If she made it into town, we’ll find out where she went. ”
“I have no idea how far she made it,” Betsy said, voice low, more fearful than hopeful. “I kept joking we should turn that find my phone stuff on, and her fiancé, George, said the same thing. God, he’s worried sick, and he’s pissed at me for not telling him I was coming here.”
“Why didn’t he come with Fedora?” Hayes asked. “She wanted me to meet this boy. We’ve been talking about it for a few months.”
“He had to work, but now he’s thinking about driving down here.” Betsy sighed.
“Tell him to stay put.” Chloe glanced up.
“I don’t mean to freak you out. We’ve a million things going on right now, but I sent a field agent to the address you provided.
He should be there in about twenty minutes.
He’ll talk with George, and he’ll stay there with him in case any leads come in or we hear from Fedora. I don’t want anyone alone right now.”
“You’re scaring me,” Betsy said softly.
“It’s been a long couple of weeks for us, but we need to trust Chloe. She’s good at her job.” Hayes rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Fedora was always a sharp kid. Whatever’s happening, we need to hold onto the idea that she’s okay.”
Betsy smiled faintly. “I’m trying.”
Chloe’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and straightened.
“They’ve got Stacey in custody. I’m going to change and head to the station.
Buddy wants me in the room. He thinks I’ll be able to rattle her.
Dawson agrees. I’m not about to argue.” Chloe touched his arm, lingering for a second, before disappearing down the hall.
Silence settled in the room like dust. Betsy stopped pacing and turned toward him.
“You’re different,” she said quietly.
Hayes leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed. “Older, wiser, I suppose. The last few years in the military changed me. It changed all of us.”
Betsy studied him for a moment, then offered a tired smile. “You look more grounded than I’ve ever seen you. Like your feet are finally planted somewhere.”
“I’m about to buy land and build a house. One that I own.” He swallowed. Hard.
“Wow. That’s something. Really something,” she whispered. “You were never really built for roots, back then. Not with everything you were carrying—Max, your family, the way the past weaved into the present. You never could bring yourself to live and look to a future fully.”
He didn’t respond right away. The weight of old memories rose like steam between them—long nights, half-spoken truths, a thousand quiet moments they both tried not to name.
“You have to know I cared deeply about you,” he said softly.
She folded her arms, looking down at the floor. “But not enough.”