Chapter 18
T he shack sat like a scar in the earth—hidden by cypress trees, silent as a grave. Chloe’s breath caught in her throat as Dewey pushed the door open with a creak that scraped at her spine.
It was worse than she’d imagined.
The heat inside was stifling, the air thick with the stench of mildew, blood, and time. The lantern hung from the ceiling, swung gently, casting shadows that danced across the walls. Shelves lined the perimeter, sagging under the weight of dusty mason jars.
She stepped closer—and stopped cold.
Inside each jar, floating in some murky fluid, were fingers. Pale, puckered, shrunken. Ring fingers.
There had to be at least two dozen.
Chloe’s stomach rolled. Her knees buckled, but she caught herself on the edge of a rickety table.
“Jesus,” Hayes breathed beside her. “They’re all here.”
In the far corner, tied to a wooden chair, sat Fedora. Her eyes were glassy with terror, her mouth gagged, her wrists bound tight. Alive. That was all Chloe needed to see to keep going.
“Let her go,” Hayes said, his voice low and steady. He took one long stride toward her, but Dewey raised his weapon, stopping him dead in his tracks.
“I’ll shoot her.” He pressed his gun into Hayes’s side. “Or you. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
Dewey looked at Chloe—really looked at her, his eyes flickering like faulty power.
“You want answers?” he asked. “Here they are.” He gestured toward the jars with a slight sweep of his hand, like a man showing off a twisted collection.
“This...is what happens when people lie. When they betray. I was in love once. With Izzy. Thought she was it for me. She wasn’t.
She slept with another man while we were together.
” His voice grew sharp. “Told me it was over like I meant nothing. So, I killed her. I didn’t do a very good job of getting rid of her body, but I learned over the years.
You only found a few, and only because someone got too close. ”
Chloe didn’t flinch. “And then what? You decided every woman who cheated had to die?”
“I didn’t decide,” Dewey said. “I just saw the truth. You give your love to someone, your loyalty, and they break it—there should be a consequence. When I happened to see that, or hear about it, because I hear everything, because I pay attention, I did what others were too afraid to do.” He took a step closer, his eyes shadowed, sunken from illness and obsession.
“And then I saw you. At Heather’s funeral.
From a distance. You didn’t see me, but I saw you.
..and your mother. I remembered her. One night.
Years ago, after Izzy.” His voice dipped to a rasp.
“She never told me she was married. Never told me she got pregnant. But when I saw you—saw the way you stood next to the casket—I knew.”
Chloe’s blood went ice cold.
“You’re mine,” Dewey whispered. “I didn’t want to believe it. Not at first. But I watched. I waited. I saw you chasing this case like it meant everything. Like justice was all you lived for. And I thought—maybe you inherited more from me than I expected.”
Her throat tightened. “You killed Heather. Your own daughter.”
“I didn’t know.” Dewey’s eyes flickered with something dangerously close to regret. “Not until after. When I saw the obituary, I made the connection. The pieces snapped into place.”
“And now?” she asked. “Now that you know?”
“She lied. She cheated. I stand by what I did.” He exhaled slowly.
“But I’m dying. Stage four. Lungs mostly.
It’s not poetic or dramatic. It’s just slow.
Ugly. Painful. I wanted to disappear quietly.
I didn’t want to be remembered. But then you came back to this town, and everything changed.
I couldn’t believe it when I saw you strolling across the parking lot the day Tim died, flashing that badge of yours to Dawson and this guy.
” He jabbed Hayes with his weapon. “I was dumbfounded. But I didn’t know I had cancer then.
” He shrugged. “I went about my business. I wasn’t worried.
I’ve been killing and getting away with it for decades.
However, once I learned I only had a few months left, and you stopped coming around so much, I wanted to see you in action.
I wanted to see what my little girl was made of. ”
“I’m not your little girl.” Chloe’s heart pounded so loud it drowned out the buzz of insects beyond the shack. “Let Fedora go. It’s over, Dewey. You got your story. You told your truth. Let her go.”
But he shook his head, almost sadly.
“No,” he said. “Not yet. You still don’t understand.”
“You said our lives for hers.” Hayes widened his stance, as if he were preparing for battle.
“I don’t know if I can do that anymore.” He stepped to Fedora, placing a hand on the back of the chair.
“Look in the eyes. Look at the shape of them. And her cheekbones. The wave of her hair. Even the timber of her voice, and then look at Chloe. It’s so similar it’s scary.
” He smiled. “She’s the end of this. One more chapter.
One more lie to correct. Then maybe I’ll be at peace. ”
Chloe took a step forward, Hayes matching her pace at her side. It was hard not to stare at Fedora. Her mouth tapped shut. Her eyes were wide with fear.
They were familiar. There were similarities. Could they be related?
“You hurt her, and I swear—” Chloe started.
“You’ll what?” Dewey’s voice was eerily calm now. “Kill me?” Dewey pressed the weapon to Fedora’s temple. “How will you do that? And before I manage to pull this trigger?”
Hayes’s pulse thundered in his ears as he positioned himself slightly in front of Chloe, the beat of the Everglades fading beneath the sharp focus of imminent danger.
Dewey’s gun pressed harder into Fedora’s temple.
Her eyes shimmered with tears, lips trembling behind the tape, bound to the chair in the corner of the swamp shack like a pawn in some unholy checkmate.
Hayes kept his voice steady. “You don’t have to do this. Let her go.”
Dewey’s stare locked on his, cold and resolute. “You still don’t get it. You still think this is about right and wrong. Justice. You’re all still clinging to that nonsense.”
Hayes took another slow step forward.
Behind him, he heard Chloe shift. She was poised, ready to act, but also scared. He knew that tension intimately. He felt it, too.
“Dewey,” Chloe said, voice level, firm. “You wanted to be seen. You wanted your truth out. You’ve said it. Done it. There’s no going back, but you don’t need to add another body to this.”
Dewey tilted his head. “But that’s just it. This one’s different. She matters. You matter. Another betrayal that I just can’t let go of anymore.”
Hayes caught the faintest tremor in Dewey’s fingers. His mind was unraveling.
And then it happened.
A crunch of brush outside. Footsteps. Subtle, but unmistakable.
Dewey heard it, too.
He swung toward the shack’s entrance, gun raised—just as the door exploded inward with a crash.
“Drop it!” Dawson’s voice roared like a gunshot. Buddy and Remy swept in behind him, weapons drawn, tactical and precise.
Keaton and Fletcher came next, fanning out, eyes hard and scanning every inch of the room.
Dewey moved fast.
Too fast.
He swung the gun back toward Chloe.
Hayes didn’t think.
He dove.
A crack split the air—a sharp, brutal sound that echoed through the swamp like thunder.
Pain seared through Hayes’s side as he collided with Chloe, dragging her down behind an overturned table.
He heard her gasp. “Hayes!”
Blood bloomed hot beneath his shirt, soaking through as he pressed a hand to his ribs.
“Fuck.” He hissed through clenched teeth. “I’m fine. Stay down.”
“Dewey!” Dawson’s voice roared again. “Don’t make this worse!”
In the confusion, Chloe scrambled to her knees.
But Dewey didn’t shoot.
Didn’t run.
He stared at Hayes—at the blood spreading, at Chloe trying to shield him—and for the briefest moment, his face cracked.
Regret.
Grief.
And something else entirely—something that looked a hell of a lot like surrender.
Dewey lowered the weapon.
Just a few inches.
“Take her,” Dewey rasped, nodding toward Fedora.
And then he turned the gun on himself.
“No!” Chloe lunged.
So did Dawson.
But they were too far away.
Too late.
Another shot rang out.
Dewey crumpled.
Hayes fell back, his vision blurring at the edges. Chloe’s hands pressed to his side, trying to stop the bleeding. “Stay with me,” she whispered. “You stay with me, Hayes Bennett.”
He blinked up at her—her face hazy, frantic.
Behind her, Fletcher cut Fedora free while Buddy called for backup.
The air smelled of gunpowder, blood, and swamp rot.
Hayes let out a shaky breath.
It was over.
But the story wasn’t finished yet.
Chloe crouched beside Hayes, her hands stained with blood, her body trembling in ways she didn’t fully understand. He was conscious, but the color was draining from his face too fast.
“Paramedics are five minutes out,” Keaton said, kneeling beside her. His voice was steady, but his eyes told a different story.
Fletcher hovered on the other side of Hayes, applying pressure to the wound.
Hayes gave a pained smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Chloe pressed her lips to his temple. “Damn right you’re not.”
Buddy appeared at her side, his face drawn. “I took Fedora outside. She’s banged up and dehydrated, but otherwise, okay.”
Chloe exhaled, relief fighting its way through her panic. “Anyone call her mom?”
“I did. Fedora’s speaking with her now. She’s got lots of questions. Questions I’m not sure her mom wants to answer right now.”
“Yeah.” Chloe nodded. “Dewey dumped a lot on us—on her—and it’s going to take some time for everyone to figure that out.”
Buddy’s eyes dropped to Hayes. “How’s he?”
“Stable enough,” Fletcher said. “But we’re not moving him until the paramedics get here.”
Dawson stepped into the shack, eyes sweeping the chaos like a man trying to file it all away. “Scene’s secured. Dewey’s gun’s accounted for. This is going to get messy.”
“No shit,” Chloe muttered, brushing sweat from her brow. “He had jars, Dawson. Jars of fingers. Twenty-five, maybe more. And that’s not even the worst part.”
Dawson tilted his head. “What could be worse than that?”
“He had Tripp’s journal. Tripp was on to him, but I bet there are some other things you might want to examine in there.” She swallowed. “Like I saw Ken’s name on a couple of pages.”
“Jesus,” Dawson muttered.
“And this.” Buddy handed her a Ziplock bag containing a folded piece of paper. “We found it tucked in a box labeled ‘for her.’ It’s a paternity test. He managed to have one done on Fedora a while back.”
“What?” Hayes managed with a shaky breath.
“About the time you came to Calusa Cove,” Buddy said. “I’m guessing he did his research. Put some things together, got a hair sample or something…anyway, that’s his kid out there.”
Hayes groaned.
She took the paper with a shaking hand, her gaze drifting toward where Fedora sat just outside the shack, wrapped in a blanket. She looked like a ghost—frightened, lost. A piece of the puzzle that none of them had seen coming.
“He was dying,” Chloe whispered. “He had cancer. He said he wanted to go out on his terms, to watch me work the case…to show me who he really was. I guess he also wanted to bring me and Fedora together.”
Buddy nodded slowly. “Yeah, and then what? What was the endgame?”
“We watched his endgame. We played right into it, only he thought we’d go out with him,” she said flatly.
Dawson placed a hand on her shoulder. “You did good tonight.”
Chloe shook her head. “No. I did what I had to. There’s a difference.”
A distant siren echoed through the swamp, growing louder.
Hayes stirred, his voice barely above a whisper. “Hey.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m right here.”
“You ready to hear those words yet?”
She chuckled. “I want a romantic dinner. I want you to pull out all the stops. I don’t want it like this.”
“I can do that, just so long as you know those three little words are true,” he managed in a faint whisper.
Chloe blinked away the moisture in her eyes. “You’ve got a lot left to do, Bennett. You better not check out on me.”
He closed his eyes, just for a second. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Behind her, the flashing lights of emergency vessels broke through the swamp’s dense shadows.
But even as they approached, Chloe’s mind wasn’t done racing.
Dewey was gone. The Ring Finger Killer case was closed.
But her life?
Her past?
Her identity?
That storm had only just begun.