But why would Valentina sneak into her room? What would she be looking for?
Millie swung her legs over the side of the bed and pressed her palms against her thighs, steadying herself.
Maybe she was losing it. Maybe Garrick had broken her so thoroughly that she could no longer distinguish between real threats and imagined ones.
No. She needed to trust her instincts. God had given those instincts to her for a reason—survival.
She’d just have to be smarter about it. She needed to watch Valentina more carefully. To pay attention to the small things—where Valentina went, who she talked to, what questions she asked.
Biscuit stretched beside her, tail thumping once against the quilt.
“You felt it too, didn’t you, boy?” She reached down to scratch behind his ears. “I’m not crazy.”
He licked her hand, and some of the tension in her shoulders eased.
She stood and moved to the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to look out.
That was when she saw them.
Sheriff’s cruisers. Two of them, parked near the kennels, their lights off but their presence unmistakable. Several figures moved near the tree line.
Crime scene tape stretched across the area.
Her heart lurched. “No . . .”
Something had happened.
Something bad.
She dropped the curtain and spun toward her clothes, grabbing yesterday’s jeans from the chair and yanking them on. Her hands shook as she pulled a sweatshirt over her head.
What if something had happened to Caleb?
The thought hit her with unexpected force, stealing her breath.
What if he’d gone outside to walk the property? And what if, while doing so, someone had hurt him?
chapter
twenty-six
Caleb stoodwith his back to the house, listening to Sheriff Sutherland outline the next steps—securing the scene, waiting for the coroner, canvassing the property for evidence.
The words blurred together, background noise to the louder thought hammering through his head.
Someone had been murdered on his property.
At the refuge.
At the one place that was supposed to be safe.
How could he have let this happen?
Movement sounded behind him, and he automatically turned.
Millie had burst out the back door, her hair loose and Biscuit at her heels. Her gaze swept the yard, wild and searching . . . until it locked on him.
Relief flooded her face—visible even from this distance—but the emotion was quickly replaced by confusion and fear as she took in the law enforcement presence, the yellow tape, and everyone’s grim expressions.
