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.
