Callie flopped a hand over her face in a vain attempt to block out the morning sunlight currently stabbing her in the eye. Despite the sleeping pill, sleep had been hard to come by, and her eyes were gritty and sore. She’d dropped off to sleep for a while but then half woke numerous times throughout the night, brain ticking away before she was even fully awake. It didn’t want to rest. Didn’t want to stop thinking.

Giving up, she stepped out of bed and immediately felt unbalanced. That was nothing particularly unusual since David had died, but now it was coupled with anxiety. She needed to talk to Grady, get this out of the way. What had happened between them? Would it happen again? Did she want it to?

She forced herself to get dressed, to nibble on a piece of toast, and then to water her inside plants, hoping to settle her thoughts before she picked up her phone. Finally, she couldn’t put it off any longer. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her phone and dialed. Would he answer? Did he carry his phone around with him all day? Maybe he was out on his bike, doing God knows what and wouldn’t hear her call. She’d leave a message, then she wouldn’t—

“Callie?”

The sound of his voice froze her in place, suddenly unsure. She shouldn’t have called. She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t expected her reaction to the sound of his voice. And what should—

“Callie, what’s wrong? You okay?”

“I’m okay, Grady.” Pause. “I’m sorry to bother you, it’s just that . . .” she paused again. Was she overreacting? Yeah, she was sure of it. In the literal light of day, the shadows that had been chasing her the night before almost seemed imagined.

“Callie, what is it?”

He sounded calm. He sounded like he always did, as if that night together had never happened. No hesitation, no inkling of embarrassment, or . . . “Grady, did you call the facility yesterday?”

A pause on his end this time. “The nursing home?”

She almost smiled. “They’re not called nursing homes anymore, Grady. They’re called long-term care centers or rehab facilities. It’s—” She broke off. “Sorry, it’s just that someone called me there yesterday afternoon and didn’t leave a name. I was wondering if it was you.”

Another pause, from him that time. “No, I didn’t call,” he said softly.

Was that embarrassment she heard in his voice? She couldn’t tell, but did she want him to be? Because he hadn’t called after they’d had sex? “Okay, I just wanted to—”

“Someone called you at work and didn’t leave a name? Why? What did they say?”

Should she tell him? She sucked in another breath. It felt good, talking to someone about it. “The receptionist told me that a guy called and relayed a message for me. The message was ‘I’m thinking about you.’” She paused, tried to laugh it off, but it came out more like a squeak. “I’m sorry, Grady, I thought it might have been you.”

He said nothing for several beats. “Has this happened before?”

Was that surprise she heard his voice? Jealousy? Annoyance? Should she tell him she thought she’d been followed last night? No . . . the car had driven on without pausing. “No, but last night when I got home, there was a rose in my mailbox along with an unsigned note. It had a heart drawn on it with red marker. I’ve been getting notes and flowers over the past couple of months—”

“Months?” he interrupted, his voice rising. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Why hadn’t she?

“Callie, tell me what’s going on.”

The tone of his voice, the barely restrained anger she heard in the undertone, gave her pause. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t told him, because she knew how he’d react. After yesterday, though, maybe she’d better. “I just thought that my . . . obviously a secret admirer . . . would get the message that I wasn’t interested and stop.”

“And whoever it is knows where you live. You should’ve told me, Callie.”

“At first, well, a few days ago, there was a bouquet of flowers left here. It was the anniversary of David’s funeral . . .”

“I know,” he said, his voice soft.

“Later on, I got a call. It was from Captain Andrews. He was calling to ask if I got them.”

“He’s the one that’s been sending you flowers and notes?” Grady asked, blatant disbelief in his voice.

“That’s just it,” she said. “I don’t think so. The flowers he sent had a note, but he signed it ‘Hope you’re doing okay. Mark.’ The others, they haven’t been signed. Why would he sign one and not the others?”

“Others?” Grady’s pitch rose again. “How many have you received?”

“A few,” she admitted.

“Have you saved any of them?”

“Any of the notes or flowers, you mean? No,” she said, shaking her head. Why would she have kept the notes? She gasped, realization striking hard, leaving her slightly breathless. For evidence. Did she have a stalker? Who? If it wasn’t Grady, and it wasn’t Captain Andrews, then who—

“I’m going to come over tomorrow, Callie. We have some stuff we need to talk about anyway, but this . . . this needs to get taken care of sooner rather than later. Have you told any of your cop friends about it?”

Cop friends? She didn’t have any cop friends. “I haven’t told anyone about it except you.”

“Why not? You work for the Oklahoma City Police Department.”

“It didn’t seem that serious . . .” she paused, realizing how lame that sounded. What was she waiting for? Why had she hesitated? But she knew, deep down inside. She didn’t want to be the helpless, distraught widow, the one who cried wolf. She also didn’t want anybody nosing into her private business, didn’t want anyone at the police department questioning her about her private life, or lack of one. If they thought she was being stalked, she might lose her job. They might also think she was overreacting and that wouldn’t do, not with her job as a dispatcher. Would they want to conduct a psych evaluation? What if they didn’t believe her? She hadn’t saved any of the evidence. Would they think—such lame excuses. Grady was right. She should have said something to someone about it. Now it was too late to go back.

“Grady, I don’t think—”

“I’m coming over tomorrow, Callie. You and I both know that David would want me to. So that’s what’s going to happen. And like I said, we’ve got some things to talk about anyway.”

With that, he disconnected the call. Callie lowered the phone, staring at it a moment, slowly shaking her head. Had she just made another mistake? Grady was volatile, and she didn’t need any trouble, not from him, not from anyone at the police, and definitely not from a supposed stalker.