She wasn’t hiding. At least, that’s what she told herself. She knew how her appearance had changed. She’d become well acquainted with each scar. The small ones where only a shard of glass had penetrated. The jagged, rough ones that crisscrossed where the skin ripped open when larger pieces of glass sliced through her and the best plastic surgeons in Los Angeles had only been able to ease the appearance somewhat. And then there were the neater scars the plastic surgeons had worked on the most—the ones on the side of her face and arms.
No, she wasn’t hiding while taking a shower. She’d memorized each scar. The look, the shape, the feel. For a while, she’d constantly studied them daily, wondering if they’d ever fade while knowing the emotional scars would stay. Now, she’d learned with the bath gloves that she could shower without having the raised skin meet her fingertips in a constant reminder.
Turning off the water, she squeezed the special lotion onto the gloves and moisturized her body. Sliding off her gloves, she hung them on the towel bar. She wrapped herself in an oversized towel and dried off, her rote movements mechanical—it was easier that way. After squeezing the water from her hair, she stood at the vanity and slid a comb through the tresses. Dressing in long pajama bottoms and a long-sleeve T-shirt, she moisturized her face and brushed her teeth.
The bathroom mirror held no reflection considering she’d draped a sheet over the large glass. She stared at the material for a long moment. One day, she’d take it down. One day, she’d bathe using her ungloved hands. Sucking in a deep breath, she let it out slowly. But not today.
Flipping off the light, she moved to the bed and pulled down the covers, having already put her sheets over the mattress. Climbing into bed, she patted the pillows behind her and grabbed her e-reader.
Her phone rang, and she jumped even though only two people had her phone number. A genuine smile curved her lips as she glanced at the caller ID. “Hello, Mr. B.”
“Camilla, did you get settled? I worried when I didn’t hear from you.”
His calm, businesslike voice soothed over her nerves which had been on edge ever since the police chief had stood on her porch. Martin Baxter was her attorney, but more importantly, someone she could trust with her life. He had been her parents’ attorney, handling not only their family and career legal needs but loyally watching out for her since their deaths.
“Yes, yes. I was going to call you before I went to bed.”
“How’s the house? When I saw the pictures, I was concerned at first because it’s nothing like what you’re used to, but then you insisted it was exactly what you wanted.”
“Mr. B., you know I don’t need five-star accommodations. The house is lovely. The faded cedar shingles give it a perfect beach look. The furniture is old but clean and comfortable. It was easy to move into since all I had were some suitcases of clothes, a few personal items, and my laptop. You’ve already arranged for food delivery, and that came a few hours ago.”
“And the security? I wanted to procure Lionel to come check it out for you. He’s the only one I trust to know where you are.”
“There’s no reason. Honestly, I feel as safe as I can.”
“As you know, Lionel set up security on your laptop, but all the social media accounts for Camilla Gannon have been disabled. You still need to be careful, though, my dear.”
“I have no desire to search the Internet for anything other than a good book to download onto my e-reader.”
“And the location of the house? You’re satisfied with that?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s far enough out of town and off the road that no one will be walking by. And there’s only one neighbor.”
“I know, Camilla. Your neighbor is the police chief.”
She gasped, then shook her head. “I don’t know why I’m surprised you know that.”
“My dear, you know there’s no way I’d send you to the other side of the country to an unknown, private hideaway without checking out everything I could about that place. When you wished for a place to continue to heal and think, somewhere far away from Southern California, I searched high and low. Granted, I could have rented a place in the mountains or the middle of nowhere, but I couldn’t stand the thought of you not being able to have people around you.”
She sighed, her voice small. “You know I’m not ready to have people around me. Even those at the private hospital have been around too much.”
He was quiet for a moment, then his voice softened as he said, “My dear, I cannot help but feel that I have failed you, and in turn, failed your parents.”
Her heart squeezed with an ache that made it hard to breathe. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she said, “Mr. B., you haven’t failed me. You’ve done nothing but protect me for as long as I can remember. And believe me when I say that I could not have made it through the past months without knowing you were there.”
“I just hate for you to be there alone.”
“Alone is best. For now.” A silent tear slid down her cheek.
His familiar voice continued to soothe her. “Camilla, when you’re ready to face the world again, I want it to be on your terms. Gentle. Easy. With confidence. And you will, my dear.”
“Well, until then, this place is perfect.” As the words left her mouth, she glanced out the side window toward the house through the trees. The house that held the gorgeous, smiling Wyatt Newman. Someone I need to avoid. After all, she felt sure his eyes could see straight into her soul. She shivered—but not with cold.
4
The Manteague police station was a small, one-story brick addition onto the back of the town hall. The mayor’s position was part-time, and the town’s staff included a town manager and administrative assistant plus various other staff to handle public works, zoning, the harbor, and town council. The police station held the workroom that had desks for each of his officers, filing cabinets, computers, and various other office equipment needed for the everyday function of their duties. A conference room was across from his office. A locked equipment room was down the hall. A small jail cell was available to hold a prisoner, either for a few hours or until they could be transported to the regional jail.
Wyatt’s desk sat at an angle in his office, affording him visibility into the hall as well as the window that had a view of the town park that led toward the harbor. His tinted windows kept anyone from seeing in, but it afforded him a peaceful view, often needed while working.
This morning, though, he couldn’t find peace. He’d run Millie’s name through the various databases available to him but had come up blank. No outstanding warrants. No police record. Not only did she not have a Virginia driver’s license but he was unable to find a driver’s license from any state that matched her description. No car registration. So, if she doesn’t drive, how did she get here?
There were only a few taxi services on the Eastern Shore, but he determined none of them had brought her to the rental house with a few quick calls. Checking the utilities, he discovered they were still in Ms. Hawthorne’s name. So, Millie’s rent must cover all utilities.
Wondering if Millie was a nickname, he looked up as Roxie walked by his office. “Roxie!” When she backed up and popped her head around the corner, he asked, “Have you got a minute?”