The Restorer

I pretended not to notice that touch or the glance they exchanged as I mustered up a pleasant greeting. “Oh, hello. I was just looking for you.”

“Aren’t you early?” Camille’s voice sounded tense.

Devlin glanced at his watch. “We said one so you’re right on time.”

I nodded, unexpectedly pleased by his defense. “I see the search is already underway.”

He cast a skyward glance. “It’s clouding up. We’re trying to beat the rain.”

“Then I suppose we should get down to business, as well,” Camille said, her tone brusque. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a moment with Amelia.”

“No problem.” Devlin stepped away and took out his phone.

I tried to focus on Camille, but I could feel his gaze lingering on me. It was a little disconcerting to be the target of all that intensity, and I found myself wishing that I’d taken a little more care with my appearance. My ponytail hung limp in the humidity and the only cosmetics I’d bothered with were SPF 30 and a liberal spritz of insect repellent. A more pulled together look, even for the cemetery, might have done wonders for my poise.

Camille, on the other hand, looked cool and collected even in the heat.

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