chapter
twenty-five
Caleb awokethe next morning to his phone buzzing.
It was Max. “I need you to come to the back of the property. Now.”
“On my way.” He swung his legs out of bed, not asking any questions.
But he heard the urgency in Max’s voice.
He got dressed and pulled his jacket tighter as he stepped outside. It was raining, and the cold drops stung any exposed skin.
It was colder than he preferred. He wasn’t ready for winter yet, but the mornings and evenings kept reminding him that the new season was quickly approaching.
He scanned the yard as he moved.
Max stood on the other side of the fence near the tree line, shoulders hunched as he looked at the ground.
“What’s going on?” Caleb called out, rain still stinging his face.
When Max looked up, his face was gray.
Caleb’s chest tightened as he approached.
“I knew you’d want to see this right away,” Max said.
Caleb stepped closer and wiped the moisture from his eyes. “See what?”
Max nodded to the ground.
Caleb reached the spot where Max stood, and his breath left him in a hard rush.
A man lay on his side near the edge of the trees, half-shadowed, wet leaves plastered across his coat. His eyes were open, staring at nothing. Blood darkened the ground beneath him, already stiffening in the cold.
Caleb didn’t have to touch the man to know that he was dead.
Millie woke to gray morning light filtering through the curtains and steady drops of rain hitting the glass.
Her body was heavy with exhaustion despite the hours she’d spent in bed.
Sleep had come in fractured pieces—twenty minutes here, an hour there—each segment punctuated by the feeling that had settled over her like fog.
Someone had been in her room yesterday.
The feeling—and certainty—wouldn’t leave her.
She couldn’t prove her theory was true. She couldn’t point to a single thing out of place. But the conviction sat in her chest, solid and unmovable.
Biscuit had sensed it too. He’d stayed alert most of the night, ears twitching at sounds she couldn’t hear, his body tense against her legs.
She pushed herself upright and rubbed her eyes, trying to organize her thoughts into something logical.
But they led back to the same place, to the same person.
Valentina.
If anyone in this house was guilty, Valentina made the most sense. She’d arrived after Millie had, carrying that overly groomed dog and wearing clothes that didn’t quite fit the profile of someone fleeing danger. Plus, there was that nagging familiarity Millie couldn’t shake.
