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“You know what your problem is. You’re too proud to let anyone help you,” he snapped. “You won’t let anyone in, and you’re as guarded as hell.”
I took his key out of my purse and handed it to him. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Navy-”
I didn’t stay to listen but walked down the hallway and out the main door to the elevator. The only sound was the click of my heels on the tile floors.
I was coldhearted.
I had to be in order to survive.
ChapterTwo
RHYS
St. Ishmaels was quiet. The disappearance of the missing girls cast a long shadow over the small village. Mary Howell was just fifteen and had grown up in the town. She had been gone for four weeks. No phone call, no signs of a struggle. She just vanished. Most residents had opted to stay indoors on this cold, blustery day where it was safe and they could mind their children’s whereabouts.
I sat at the bar in The Brooks Inn, finishing my supper. Even Owen, the bartender, was not his usual jovial self.
So, when the foreign girl walked in, it caught both of our attention. She sat down at the bar, pushing a strand of raven hair off her forehead.
“What will it be?” Owen asked, leaning against the dark mahogany wood.
“A glass of white wine.” She offered no smile and pulled her phone out, looking at the screen.
“You’re not from around here,” he said.
“No, I’m from London.”
He cocked a brow at her.
“Well, originally, I’m from the States.” She went back to her phone.
“What brings you to St. Ishmaels?” Owen asked, setting a glass of wine down in front of her. Everyone had become suspicious of outsiders. When the first girl went missing from Milford Haven three months ago, the surrounding parishes had been inundated with the press. It had finally quieted down.
“Just getting away from the city.”
“You’ll be staying close by then.”
“In Milford Haven. I’m actually looking for Môr Haven Manor,” she said, putting her phone away.
“Wyt ti’n ei nabod ei?”Do you know her?Owen asked me in Welsh, keeping his back to me.
“Nac oes.”No, I answered softly.
She glanced over at me with piercing blue eyes lined in thick black eyeliner, but I looked down, concentrating on my meal. Strangers were rare in the small town. Especially angsty, rebellious girls.
“It’s down the road. Not far from here,” Owen said.
“I was hoping to speak to the owner. Mr. Ellis.”
“Mr. Ellis hasn’t been around for quite some time.”
Her brows turned down. “How long has he been gone?”
Owen frowned. “I couldn’t tell you.”
She finished her wine in two gulps and pulled her wallet out to pay. “Perhaps I’ll check it out anyway.” She handed him a twenty-pound note.
