Chapter 16
chapter
sixteen
The next morning, Millie shifted the laundry basket on her hip and eased another towel into the washer.
Her thoughts wouldn’t slow. They kept going back to that light she thought she’d seen in the woods last night.
Had she been imagining things? Or could someone have been out there?
She didn’t know. She didn’t want to be the girl who cried wolf. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
As she worked, she glanced around the room.
Even the laundry room in this house was beautiful with its black-and-white tiled floor and clean white shaker cabinets. The space smelled faintly of detergent, and pipes occasionally knocked in the wall.
She’d volunteered to help with the washing. In actuality, she desperately wanted to keep her thoughts occupied.
So far, it wasn’t working.
Naomi folded items Millie had pulled from the dryer. T-shirts. Sweatshirts. Dog blankets.
She liked the rhythm of doing laundry. The comforting routine of folding, sorting, and talking about nothing that mattered. The cottony scent of the detergent and dryer sheets.
Biscuit stayed at her side, shadowing her every move.
A door in the distance opened. Footsteps followed.
Naomi paused. “That should be our new guest. You can come with me to meet her if you’d like.”
Millie’s chest tightened. A new arrival meant more change.
Lately, she didn’t love change. But she especially didn’t like the idea of more change right now, just as she was getting settled here.
Still, the shelter was doing important work. Other women needed help also, and she would never want them to be turned away, even if it meant her own comfort was disrupted.
She started the washer, then followed Naomi into the hall.
Max stood inside the kitchen with a woman. She was slim, early thirties maybe, with long, carefully styled dark hair. Her coat was fitted and clean, and her boots practical but new enough to still look stiff.
She held a tiny dog in her arms—white and tan with long ears. The canine wore a pink collar with a tiny bow clipped near the buckle.
Naomi stepped forward. “Welcome to Refuge Cove. I’m Naomi.”
“I’m Millie.”
The woman’s gaze flicked to her and lingered a beat too long before she nodded. “I’m Valentina. This is Pippa.”
Valentina shifted the animal in her arms, and the dog gave a small, high-pitched whine as if she didn’t approve being jostled.
“She’s cute,” Millie murmured.
Pippa’s eyes darted, then fixed on something behind Millie.
A low sound rumbled at her calves.
Millie turned just as Biscuit stepped forward, body stiff and ears angled back. He wasn’t growling, but every line of him said he didn’t like their new guests.
“Hey.” Millie reached down and rubbed the top of his head to reassure him. “Easy.”
Biscuit’s gaze stayed locked on the smaller dog, tail rigid.
Pippa let out a sharp bark that echoed off the walls, thin and shrill. Biscuit lunged a half-step before Millie tightened her grip on his collar.
“I’m so sorry.” Millie pulled Biscuit closer. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
“It’s fine,” Valentina said. “He’s protective of you. That’s not a bad thing.”
Biscuit’s chest vibrated once more, then he settled, though his eyes never left the dog.
As they stood there, Millie got a better look at the woman and paused.
Why did something about her seem familiar? It didn’t make sense.
She didn’t ever remember seeing this woman before. So why did she feel as if she had? Was it just her mind playing tricks on her?
She wished she knew.
The sun was just cresting the ridge when Caleb climbed the ladder propped against the side of the barn. His breath misted in the cold morning air as he reached for the security camera mounted near the roofline.
The thing had been glitching for two days now—losing signal, cutting out at random intervals. He’d meant to fix it sooner, but with everything else going on it had slipped down on his priority list.
That ended now.
He pulled his screwdriver from his tool belt and started loosening the camera’s housing. The metal was cold against his fingers, but the physical work felt good. Productive. Something he could actually control.
Unlike everything else happening around here.
The thought settled heavy in his chest as he worked.
When he’d first started Refuge Cove, he’d been so certain. So convinced this was what God wanted him to do with his life after the Navy, after his sister’s death. He’d felt called to create a place where women could find safety, where they could heal without fear.
He’d never imagined it would look like this—especially not the part where his own past walked back into his life in the form of Millie Anderson.
Caleb tightened a screw and tested the camera’s angle. The morning sun cut sharp across the property, illuminating the fence line and the woods beyond. Beautiful and treacherous at the same time.
He’d always been a believer. Even as a kid, even through the hard years after his father died, even during his deployments when he’d seen things that made faith feel foolish. He’d held on to the truth that God had a plan, that all things worked together for good for those who loved Him.
Even when they didn’t feel like they were working out at all.
Even when his sister had died, leaving him with grief so raw he’d barely been able to breathe.
Even when he’d had to say no to the woman he loved instead of giving their relationship a real chance.
Even now, with women depending on him for protection he wasn’t sure he could provide.
Caleb adjusted his grip on the ladder and reached for the camera’s power cable, checking the connection. The sun was higher now, warming his shoulders through his jacket. A cardinal called from somewhere in the trees, bright and insistent.
Trust Me.
The thought came quietly, the way God’s voice usually did. Not audible, but certain. A steadiness beneath the chaos.
Caleb exhaled slowly, his hands stilling on the camera housing.
He wanted to trust. Wanted to believe this nightmare would resolve, that justice would come, that the women here—that Millie—would be safe.
But trust required surrender. Required admitting he couldn’t fix everything himself, couldn’t protect everyone through sheer force of will.
That was harder.
He focused back on the camera, running a diagnostic on his phone to test the feed. The image came through clear and steady. Good.
One problem solved.
He was about to climb down when something caught his eye.
A scratch on the camera’s mounting bracket. Fresh metal showing through the weathered finish.
Caleb leaned closer, frowning.
The bracket had been loosened recently. He could see the marks where a tool had slipped against the metal, leaving bright gouges. And the angle was wrong—tilted just slightly away from where it should be pointing.
Someone had moved this camera.
His pulse kicked up as he examined it more carefully.
The screws weren’t seated properly, like they’d been removed and hastily replaced.
A couple bolts appeared to be missing. And when he checked the housing, he found dirt smudged on the lens—deliberate, positioned to obscure the view without being obvious enough to trigger an alert.
This wasn’t a malfunction.
This was sabotage.
Caleb’s jaw clenched.
Someone had tampered with his security system. Had created a blind spot. Had made sure they could move around the property unseen.
And he hadn’t noticed until now.
God, what am I missing?
He scanned the property from his vantage point, looking for anything else out of place. The other cameras appeared untouched from here, but he’d need to check them all.
One thing was certain: Whoever had done this knew the property layout. Knew where the cameras were positioned. Knew exactly what they were doing.
That meant it was someone who’d been here before.
Or someone who was still here now.
Caleb climbed down the ladder, his mind racing. He needed to tell Sheriff Sutherland. Needed to check every other camera. Needed to figure out who had access and opportunity.
But if someone was creating blind spots in his security system, that meant someone was planning something.