Chapter Five
Googling Sunday Byrd and her situation only to come up with nothing should have given Billy Jo some peace of mind. But something about the girl, her face, and her story bothered her in ways she couldn’t have put into words. Worse, she was unsettled and furious because she’d seen the way Mark had looked at Sunday, and she knew he didn’t see her the same way Billy Jo did.
She was perched on a stool at her small island with a coffee, her French press half full in front of her, Harley munching his kibble in a bowl on the floor, when she heard a vehicle. She was still in a T-shirt and pajama shorts, her hair a mess, but she heard footsteps on her stairs, so she closed up her laptop and slipped off the stool to walk barefoot over to the door just as there was a knock.
She flicked
