She sank into the chair he indicated, Biscuit at her feet. “I never pictured you doing something like this.”
He leaned back slightly, curious about her thoughts. “What did you picture?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “I thought you’d stay in the military. Make a career of it.”
Caleb thought of the plans he’d once been certain of. The future that had felt locked in. “I did too. Until Sarah died. That changed everything.”
Their eyes held for a moment—long enough for familiarity to surface, long enough for regret to brush close.
He couldn’t afford to revisit that past right now—now when so much was riding on what was happening in the present.
Caleb cleared his throat before reaching for the folder on his desk and opening it. “I guess we should get started. I need to ask you a few questions. Everything we talk about will stay confidential. We only need this information so we’ll know how best to keep you safe while you’re here.”
Millie nodded, hands folded in her lap. “I understand.”
Caleb would start with the basics—safe territory.
He almost didn’t want to move beyond that.
Because Caleb knew if he’d stayed in Millie’s life, there was a good chance that she wouldn’t be sitting here now—carrying heartache she never should’ve had to shoulder and running from an unfair danger.
He kept going anyway.
Because this was where she was.
And this—this place, this moment—was where Caleb would protect her.
The questions started simply, Millie mused.
Name. Date of birth. Medical concerns. Biscuit’s vaccination records. Where she’d been staying before she arrived.
With Biscuit at her feet, Millie answered each one.
She’d expected the questions.
But she also knew what was coming. Soon, she’d have to talk about how she’d fallen for Garrick. Why she’d let him treat her so horribly. Why she hadn’t been strong enough to leave earlier or smart enough to see the signs.
A moment of quiet filled the room, and Caleb set his pen down. He didn’t lean back or soften his posture. His attention stayed on her, complete and unflinching.
“Tell me about the man you’re running from,” he finally said. “We need to know—not because we’re nosy. But because it helps us protect you.”
There it was . . . the question she dreaded most.
She stared at the edge of the desk until the room steadied again. “His name is Garrick Anderson. He’s a lawyer in DC, and he has lots of powerful connections and a sparkling-clean reputation that he likes to protect at all costs.”
“Did you bring a photo of him? We’d like to know what he looks like, just in case.”
She nodded and reached into her pocket. She pulled out their wedding photo and slid it across the desk.
The image caught Garrick mid-laugh, dark hair neatly styled, a tailored linen suit crisp against sun-bright water. He was handsome in an effortless, calculated way—clean-cut, confident, every detail considered. He was the kind of man people trusted on sight.
In the photo, she and Garrick stood barefoot on pale sand, turquoise water glittering behind them. Their wedding had been an elopement in the Caribbean—just a handful of friends, warm air, and no obligations.
Millie barely recognized herself in the photo. She wore a simple, strappy white dress, her hair loose, her smile wide and unguarded. She looked . . . happy. Certain.
And wrong. She’d been so wrong about Garrick. About their future together.
Only she’d been blissfully unaware at that moment.
