Chapter 1
chapter
one
Caleb King followed the fence at the edge of the property, his boots crunching softly over fallen leaves. His dog, Hamilton, walked beside him, the canine’s shoulder brushing Caleb’s leg now and then.
Hamilton was a mix of husky and German shepherd and maybe a little something else. The canine had a thick black-and-white coat and pale eyes that missed very little. He moved with his head low, nose sweeping side to side, tail held still.
Too still.
Caleb slowed. The six-foot fence ran parallel to his path. Its black metal panels were anchored into the slope, the vertical bars evenly spaced and solid under the lights positioned around the property. The vertical pickets were capped with dark, dagger-like points.
This was what Caleb did every morning and every evening—he walked the perimeter as a precaution, to make sure there was nothing to be worried about. Of the three hundred acres they owned here at Refuge Cove, only eight were fenced. The rest were the mountainous woods beyond.
He stopped and tested one of the panels, giving it a firm pull. It didn’t move.
Good.
Sarah had spared no expense when she had this installed.
A smile wanted to emerge on his lips at the thought of his sister, but it didn’t. Sarah had loved decorating, and this property had been her dream.
A dream that had ended horribly.
The reality of her situation stabbed at his heart, as it always did when he remembered what his sister had been through.
A few steps later, Hamilton halted. His ears angled forward, body stiffening a fraction.
Caleb followed the dog’s gaze into the woods.
Trees crowded the slope as the ground curved near a small stream.
Branches still threaded with colorful autumn leaves filled the space.
It was too dark outside to see the brilliant hues, but he knew they were there.
Beyond the fence, the ground sharply dipped away, rocks half-buried beneath damp leaf litter.
In the fall, the woods easily lied. Leaves shifted with the slightest hint of a breeze. Sound scattered instead of carried, making it hard to tell if something other than nature made the leaves crunch—and if so, how close it really was.
Caleb waited, staring through the trees.
Wind slid through the branches on the other side of the stream, higher up the ridge, a dry whisper. The water trickled. A squirrel scampered.
Nothing moved, but Hamilton didn’t relax. Neither did Caleb.
“What is it, boy?” Caleb asked, his voice low.
Hamilton’s nose lifted. He took a slow step forward, then another.
Caleb grabbed the flashlight at his belt.
The beam cut across the trees, pale light skimming trunks and rocks. Shadows stretched and shifted.
He swept the ground first, then angled higher.
That was when he saw it.
A nearby branch bent at an odd angle, hanging lower than the rest.
Not fallen. Broken—and fresh enough that the leaves hadn’t wilted yet.
Caleb used his key to unlock the back gate. He and Hamilton slipped through and walked to the spot. He crouched there, fingers brushing the split. The inside of the wood was pale, not yet darkened by cold or moisture.
Someone—or something—had pushed through recently.
Hamilton let out a low sound, not quite a growl. His stance widened, weight settling as he braced himself.
Caleb slowly straightened and surveyed the dark woods.
He saw nothing, no one.
But the shadows offered too many places to hide.
He stepped past the broken branch and scanned the ground for prints. He only saw scuffed leaves and a small, disturbed patch of dried grass near the fence.
Caleb backed away, every sense tuned sharp.
The branch could have been broken by a deer. Or a stray dog. Something ordinary.
But those explanations didn’t settle.
Suddenly, Hamilton turned, his attention snapping toward the road in the distance.
Headlights flared through the trees lining the road leading to the refuge.
Caleb exhaled and reached for his radio.
Whatever had come through the woods would have to wait.
Amelia Anderson, their newest guest, was set to arrive, and he needed to be there to help with intake.
But his muscles remained tense as he made a mental note to keep an eye on these woods.
Millie Anderson slowed, her hands tight on the steering wheel as she watched the headlights catch the edges of trees and rocks on either side of the narrow road cut into the mountain.
The Blue Ridge Mountains pressed closer, the world seemingly reduced to pavement, darkness, and the steady sound of her own breathing.
More than once, she’d wanted to turn around. Especially when the houses around her had thinned. When the road became more secluded. When the streetlights had faded to nothing. When her cell phone signal—a burner phone—had disappeared.
But she didn’t let herself do that. She’d lived in fear for entirely too long.
She couldn’t let the emotion control her anymore.
Biscuit shifted in the back seat.
She glanced in the rearview mirror and met his sweet eyes. “I know you’re anxious. So am I. But we’re almost there.”
The heater hummed. The air smelled faintly of dog and the coffee she’d spilled earlier. She had two bags in the trunk along with a bag of dog food but nothing more—only the essentials.
She’d had to leave quickly. Had to abandon her furniture and other keepsakes. Making a big ordeal out of leaving would have drawn too much attention.
The road curved ahead, and she slowed. She almost missed the weathered wooden sign with simple lettering posted near a dark lane.
REFUGE COVE
Her foot hovered over the brake.
This was it.
Her pulse kicked. Maybe you should turn around, Millie. Maybe you shouldn’t stop. You shouldn’t trust this unfamiliar place.
But the thought of going back to DC—to Garrick—tightened her chest until breathing felt harder than stopping.
As resolve hardened inside her, she eased onto the long, gravel drive. The tires of her Lexus crunched loudly, the sound echoing more than she expected.
The drive curved and opened onto a wide clearing, headlights catching the outline of a large house set back from the road.
Even in the dark, the place felt substantial—farmhouse in style, broad and sprawling, its shape stretching upward two stories.
A wide porch wrapped the front, decorative lights glowing along the railing and spilling warmth into the night.
A matching outbuilding sat to one side, lower and darker, with a design that showed it was intentionally part of the property.
In the back, she saw a white barn rising high above the other buildings.
A pond lay out front, barely visible until her headlights skimmed its surface.
Millie slowed, something in her chest easing. The place didn’t feel secretive or temporary.
It felt lived-in. Rooted. Like a place where people were meant to stay.
For the first time since she’d turned onto the mountain road, she thought she might have made the right choice by coming here.
She paused by the gate, noting the black iron fence that stretched across the front of the property.
It screamed security and safety.
Her heart slowed even more.
She pressed the intercom. A moment later, a woman said, “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to pick up the Wednesday eggs for Sabrina. She said to come after dark.”
That was the line she’d been told to use when she arrived.
“How many cartons?” the woman asked.
Millie swallowed hard and remembered her instructions. “Three.”
A buzz sounded. Then, “Come on in.”
She drove through the gate toward the house, stopping near the attached garage. Once there, she shut off the engine and remained where she was, hands still on the wheel.
Her instructions had indicated someone would come out to greet her. Until then, she would wait.
Biscuit leaned forward, tail thumping, low and hopeful.
“You ready for this, boy?” she murmured.
He wagged his tail more, and she gave him a good head rub.
She’d adopted the dog from a rescue three years ago. He’d been her best friend—and one of the reasons she’d stayed with Garrick for so long. There had been nowhere she could go where she could bring her dog with her.
And she refused to leave Biscuit behind. She knew how Garrick acted when he was angry, and there was no way she’d let Biscuit take the brunt of any of that.
She rubbed his head again, bristling at the thought of anything happening to her dog.
A moment later, a shadowed figured appeared beside her car and motioned for her to get out.
Millie opened the door, and cold air rushed in, sharp and clean. It cleared her head even as her heart hammered harder.
She stepped out, taking Biscuit’s leash and letting him jump onto the concrete at her feet. Then she closed the door and scanned the shadows—a habit she hoped she could eventually break.
The figure who’d motioned to her several seconds ago stepped closer, a large dog by his side. “Welcome to Refuge Cove. We’re glad you made it.”
That voice . . . Why did it sound slightly familiar?
She looked up trying to get a glimpse of the man, but his features were obscured by the light behind him.
Then he shifted, and his features finally came into view.
She sucked in a breath, her stomach dropping.
No . . .
She blinked once. Then again.
But she wasn’t seeing things.
Caleb King stood there.
Millie stared. He’d filled out since she’d last seen him six years ago.
He was broader through the shoulders and thicker through the chest, with the kind of muscle that came from hard labor not a gym.
His hair was longer now, light brown and slightly unruly, brushing his collar instead of trimmed to regulation. A short beard darkened his jaw.
He wore a flannel shirt and jeans, clothes chosen for usefulness, not appearance. When he looked up, his eyes—light and steady—met hers without hesitation. There was no tension in his expression. Just recognition.
He belonged to another version of her life. One she’d packed away and tried not to reopen.
He’d been her first love.
The man who’d taught her how safe the world could feel—and the man who’d shattered that illusion with one conversation.
This couldn’t be real.
She took a step back. Was this some sort of trap? What if Caleb and Garrick were working together?
But what sense would that make?
It wouldn’t.
Caleb would never partner with a man like Garrick.
Or would he? The man had broken her heart.
She squeezed her eyes shut as thoughts crashed inside her.
Memories stung at her—memories of late nights, of promises spoken like they’d last forever.
The quiet way their relationship had all ended, leaving her with questions she’d never been able to ask.
She opened her eyes as clarity struck.
Coming here had been a mistake.
She should leave. Pretend she hadn’t seen Caleb. Find somewhere else. Anywhere else.
She tugged Biscuit closer to her car. “Come on, boy. We’ve got to go. We shouldn’t be here.”
“Millie?”
She stopped, her heart thumping in her ears.
Caleb remained standing where he was, hands visible, dog calm at his side. His gaze flicked briefly to her car, then back to her face.
“I didn’t know you were our new guest,” he murmured. “I know you’re surprised to see me—I’m surprised to see you also. But please don’t go. You’ll be safe here.”
Biscuit whined softly beside her, pressing against her leg as if sensing her tension.
She swallowed hard before saying, “I had no idea you were a part of this place.”
“I know. This is . . . unexpected. But please don’t leave. We have a room for you.”
Don’t leave?
Running was all she wanted to do.
She’d thought by coming here, she was making the right choice.
But now she was questioning everything.