Page 1 of Devlin (Lighthouse Security Investigations Montana #4)

UGANDA REFUGEE CAMP

Mia sat in the dimly lit office, the glow of her computer screen casting light across the cluttered desk.

In the otherwise quiet night, the faint hum of the camp generator sounded out.

She leaned back in her chair, her eyes burning from hours of poring over spreadsheets, trying to make sense of discrepancies in the food supply data.

The last delivery for the evening had occurred, and most of her workers had left.

The sharp creak of the door hinge made her look up. Charlie, the ever-charming Australian, stood in the doorway, his golden hair catching the light, framing his tanned, surfer-boy face. His grin was as irreverent as ever. She could never decide if he was more rogue or rascal.

“I thought I saw your light on in here. What the hell are you doing? Everyone else is over in the dining hall. Someone got the satellite up so we can binge on TV series.”

Mia allowed herself a small smile, the corners of her mouth tugging upward. Before she could respond, Charlie sauntered closer, his tone dropping into playful mischief. “But if you’re determined not to watch shows with us, you and I could head back to your place and binge on each other.”

He leaned in, mockingly nibbling at her neck. Mia laughed and gave him a light shove. “Stop slobbering on me, Charlie!”

He straightened, feigning a wounded expression. “Mia, you’re no fun.”

Settling himself on the edge of her desk, Charlie glanced at the papers spread before her. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“Going through our food shipments for the past six months,” she replied, her tone weary.

His eyebrows shot up. “Shit! Are we getting audited?”

“No, at least not more than the usual visits. It’s just… things aren’t adding up.”

Charlie’s expression softened, concern flickering in his blue eyes. “Girl, you know nothing ever adds up around here. You’re lucky if the food arrives at all, let alone enough for everyone. The camp is huge. How can you possibly figure out where it’s all going?”

Mia nodded, appreciating his concern but feeling the weight of responsibility. “I know. But I can’t let something happen on my watch.”

“You’re amazing at what you do, Mia. The best food security officer I’ve worked with,” he said sincerely. With a grin, he reached over and closed the file. “Now, come on. Be a good little girl and join us for some mindless shows.”

Mia chuckled, shaking her head. “You go on. I’ll join you as soon as I finish this.”

Charlie stood, his grin morphing into a teasing smirk. “If you ever want to review anything privately or decide you can’t stay away from me, you know where to find my room.” He paused dramatically. “Oh! Maybe we should devise a secret knock so I know it’s you.”

Rolling her eyes, Mia leaned back in her chair. “How many secret knocks have you handed out to unsuspecting women determined to tame the outback Australian?”

“Damn, girl. You know me too well,” he said with a mock sigh, spreading his hands in pretend defeat.

“Well enough to know I’m not coordinating anything with you in your bunk.” She smirked.

“Your loss,” he sang, tossing her a finger wave as he headed for the door. He turned and inclined his head toward her desk. “Seriously, Mia, put this to bed soon.”

She nodded, then turned back to her screen as the door clicked shut behind him, her momentary amusement fading. Her brows knit as she traced the suspicious trail that hinted at missing food supplies. Someone, somewhere, was stealing from the camp.

Her stomach churned as her mind cycled through potential suspects: staff, volunteers, and even refugees coerced by external threats. The possibilities were endless. Usually, she’d bring concerns to Dr. München, the camp director. But this felt… bigger.

Mia shoved her chair back with a groan of frustration, standing abruptly.

“Oh, fuck it. I need some air,” she muttered.

The night air greeted her as she stepped outside, a welcome reprieve from the stuffy office.

The camp bustled with its usual evening rhythm.

Children’s laughter echoed faintly as they kicked a ball around in the dirt, their parents’ voices calling them home for the night.

The scent of roasted meat and spices wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of the dusty roads and the outdoor firepits.

She leaned against the main building that housed the camp’s food intake. Her sense of responsibility was heavy, but it was also mixed with gratitude for being part of something so vital. The resilience of the refugees never ceased to humble her.

Hearing a noise, she greeted the roving guard with a nod and a warm smile.

Stepping back inside, she bypassed the stairs to her office and walked into the large storage facility.

Fewer workers were on the night shift, and she waved as she walked around.

Inside, the lights overhead illuminated the neat rows of supplies.

She moved methodically down the aisles, pulling back tarps and peering into wooden crates.

Staples like rice and beans formed the backbone of their rations.

Camp members who cultivated small plots of land contributed vegetables to supplement these basics.

Another section contained the perishable goods: root vegetables, eggs, and dried meats.

She moved to the refrigerated containers, where precious stores of cheese and fresh produce were kept.

Everything appeared as it should, matching her earlier inventory.

If someone is taking something, they’re not doing it in broad daylight… too many eyes around . Her gaze drifted back toward the door, her mind lingering on the workers. She knew they were diligent, but desperation could make anyone vulnerable to corruption.

It’s not from here. It must be at one of the smaller storage facilities, she concluded. Waving her hand to the others, her resolve hardened. Climbing into the Jeep she used, she decided to check the smaller storage sites dotted around the camp’s villages.

The road ahead was lined with the simple homes of the camp’s residents, made from corrugated metal, wood, mud, and thatched roofs.

Families had already gathered inside for the night, though a few stragglers lingered.

Men sat around campfires, their voices low and companionable.

Mia waved as she passed, exchanging brief nods of acknowledgment.

The first village she visited was Bulit.

Everything was quiet, with no sign of anything amiss.

The village food distribution centers had a small number of night shift workers, all she recognized.

She drove on to Mukando, then Kaoni, and Sweswe.

Each village mirrored the last, settling in for the night with guards posted outside their storage facilities.

They waved in recognition as she passed, their presence reassuring.

Her final stop was Kaborogota, the camp’s northernmost village. By now, darkness had fully enveloped the area. The faint glow of the facility’s exterior lights cast long shadows, creating an eerie stillness. Mia frowned as she approached, not seeing a roaming guard on duty.

Her unease deepened as she parked the Jeep and scanned her surroundings.

The silence pressed against her, heavy and suffocating.

A sudden noise to her left made her spin, her heart leaping into her throat.

The young guard emerged from the shadows, his rifle slung casually over his shoulder as he fastened his belt.

Relief washed over her as she realized he must have been on a bathroom break.

She chose not to comment, simply offering him a wave before restarting her engine.

Driving back toward the heart of the camp, Mia chastised herself for venturing out alone.

She’d always felt safe here, but the risks of inviting trouble, especially at night, were undeniable.

Once back in her office, she locked the door behind her and flipped on the light.

Sitting at her desk, she powered up her computer, her earlier frustration now tempered by a renewed determination to uncover the truth.

She opened her email and began typing a message to Margarethe Gunther, her superior at the World Food Program. Margarethe would know what to do.

Once finished, she closed her laptop and glanced at the clock.

The others would be far enough in their TV bingeing by now, and she had no desire to join them.

The dusty path leading to her quarters stretched before her, lit by the faint glow of security lights.

She strolled, the cool night air brushing against her skin.

Her room, a converted shipping container, was a stark reminder of the conditions in the camp.

A single bed with a thin mattress was pushed into the back corner.

Next to it was a nightstand with three drawers.

A standing bureau was in the other corner, giving her a place to hang some clothes and store boots and underclothes in the bottom.

A desk with a lamp and chair were just to the left of the doorway, her items stored in the various cubbies and drawers.

A half bath with a sink and toilet was just to the right.

She considered those a luxury, even if showers had to be taken at the staff bathrooms in a building nearby.

She locked the door behind her and flipped the light switch, the fluorescent bulb buzzing faintly.

She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth.

Looking into the mirror, she noted the faint lines around her eyes.

Her body was leaner than ever with hard work and sometimes forgetting meals.

Not wanting to continue to dissect her appearance, she flipped off the light and walked out of the bathroom.

Mia climbed into bed, pulled the mosquito netting around the bed, then slid under the covers.

But sleep didn’t come quickly. Her mind replayed the day’s discoveries.

And as usual, when she was worried about something, her thoughts then danced around memories she’d rather forget.

When she finally drifted off, her dreams were fragmented, haunted by shadows of the past, long placed in the part of our soul where we stored what had hurt us the most.

Morning arrived too soon, and as she opened her eyes, exhaustion settled heavily in her chest. Today would bring answers or maybe just more questions. Either way, she had to be ready.