Too many coincidences.
Millie began to piece together fragments.
Sissy had been here for a month, longer than anyone else currently staying at the shelter.
Sissy asked a lot of questions. About the property. About security. About how things worked.
Sissy was always around but never quite present. Quiet. Observant.
Millie’s hands tightened around the edge of the counter.
What lingered beneath that quiet exterior?
No, she couldn’t think like that. Trauma was making her suspicious of everyone.
Sissy was just a scared young woman having a baby. She was a victim, just like Millie.
But the thought wouldn’t leave.
And Millie couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all missing something important.
Caleb watched Millie from across the kitchen, his trained eye catching the subtle shift in her posture.
She’d gone still. Too still.
Her gaze had fixed on something—or someone—and her expression had changed.
He followed her line of sight to Sissy.
Then he looked back at Millie.
Something was bothering her.
Something was bothering him also. Millie’s mention of the bed-and-breakfast. How had she known that? He didn’t usually mention it.
It was probably nothing . . . but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“Millie,” he said. “Can we talk? Alone?”
Her eyes lifted to his, and relief flickered there, almost as if she’d been waiting for an opening.
“Sure. That would be good.”
“I’ll stay here with Sissy,” Naomi said. “You two take your time.”
Caleb led Millie down the hall to the office, closing the door behind them.
The moment they were alone, the tension in Millie’s shoulders seemed to intensify rather than ease.
She moved to the center of the room and turned to face him, her arms wrapped around herself.
“What’s wrong?” Caleb asked. “And don’t say nothing. I can see something’s bothering you.”
Millie glanced at the closed door, then lowered her voice. “I might be crazy. Or paranoid. Or both. But there are things that still don’t make sense.”
“Like what?”
She took a breath. “Like how Biscuit got out tonight. I know I closed my bedroom door before I got in the shower. I always close it. And even if I hadn’t, Biscuit couldn’t have opened the back door himself. Someone had to let him out.”
