3

Grace stood in the middle of her living room and forced herself to draw in a slow, deep breath. Until the authorities discovered what was going on and who had broken into her house, she wasn’t going to feel safe.

She moved in front of the fireplace mantel and picked up the framed photo of Hannah on her birthday. At four, she’d been a daddy’s girl and fearless of what lay ahead. It was ironic that Grace’s job as a psychologist was to help people understand and calm their emotions. Today, she was the one feeling vulnerable and exposed. She forced herself to push aside the memories of that day. It had taken so long for her to put her life back together, and now it was as if someone—once again—was trying to strip it all away. But she couldn’t give in to the panic. Not this time.

What key had he been looking for?

If he’d wanted to search the house while she was gone, he’d have broken in during the day. Her schedule was fairly predictable. She saw clients at the office four days a week. On Fridays, she volunteered with an organization that offered free counseling to cancer patients and their families. But as far as she could tell, he hadn’t even touched anything of value. Instead he’d come at night when he could safely assume she would be asleep. If she hadn’t heard him, or been prepared . . .

“Grace . . .” Becca stepped through the front door. “Hey . . . you okay?”

“Yeah. Just ready to know what’s going on.”

“Maybe you will. There are a couple of detectives who would like to speak to you.”

Grace set the photo back on the mantel as a man in a gray suit and turquoise tie entered the room in front of a second detective. But she only saw him.

Nate?

Grace felt her breath catch as the figure from her past crashed through her memories. Football games and tailgate parties, all-night study sessions and way too much pizza and caffeine.

“Nate?”

“Gracie. Hey . . . it’s been a long time. I had no idea you were back in Dallas.”

He looked exactly as she remembered him, with his dark hair, strong jawline, and piercing brown eyes, and she couldn’t help but smile. It had been a long time since anyone had called her Gracie.

“And I had no idea you were a detective,” she said.

“Yes. This is my partner, Detective Paige Morgan.”

“So, you’re with the robbery unit?”

Nate glanced at his partner. “Homicide.”

“Wait a minute . . . Why would homicide respond to a break-in?”

“That’s what your friend just asked us,” his partner said. “Can you tell me when the break-in occurred?”

“Early this morning, about two. I managed to get out of the house, then he came after me with a gun.”

“Did he take anything?” Detective Morgan asked.

“I don’t think so, but apparently he was looking for something one of my clients gave me. He kept asking about a key.”

Nate held up his phone and showed her a DMV photo. “Something this man gave you?”

“That’s Stephen Shaw. He’s one of my clients. I’ve been worried about him and trying to get ahold of him all morning.” She watched the shadow that crossed Nate’s face and felt her jaw tense.

“Gracie, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Mr. Shaw’s body was found early this morning.”

“Wait a minute . . . He’s dead?” Grace felt her knees start to buckle. She hadn’t been able to get ahold of Stephen because he was dead? “I’m sorry, but I need to sit down.”

“Gracie . . .”

“I’ll be fine.” Her legs threatened to give out as she moved toward the couch. “I’m just having trouble believing he’s gone. I saw him yesterday in my office. He was stressed, but very much alive.”

Nate followed her to the couch, but she barely saw him. There had to be some kind of mistake. She couldn’t deal with this. Not now. She didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with another death. Today of all days . . . She fought to smother the panic and the darkness pressing in against her.

Nate sat down next to her. “Are you okay?”

Grace pressed her palms against her shaking legs. “Not only did someone break into my house and threaten to shoot me, now I find that one of my clients is dead. What happened?”

“We believe he shot himself,” Nate said, “but it will take some time for the medical examiner to determine the official cause of death.”

“Suicide?” Her fingers pressed in harder against her legs as she worked to process the news. That wasn’t possible. Stephen might have been paranoid, but he would never have killed himself.

“Like I said, we don’t know for certain how he died,” Nate said.

“I can’t see him killing himself.” She looked up at him. “He was focused on what he was doing. Determined to find a solution for some problem he was dealing with at his job.”

“Do you know what he was working on?” Detective Morgan asked.

“No. I’m sorry.” She clasped her hands together.

Why today, God? I can’t handle more loss.

But for the moment, she didn’t have a choice.

Nate leaned forward. “Gracie . . . Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I will be. I just . . .” She hesitated. She couldn’t tell him how fresh death was on her mind at the moment. How much she’d lost since she’d last seen him. Because this wasn’t about her. “Just tell me how I can help.”

“Okay. Let’s start with the man who broke in,” Nate said. “Do you have any idea who he was?”

“No, though I gave a fairly detailed description to the police who were here earlier. They also dusted for fingerprints, but I’m not sure if they found anything.”

“Do you know how the guy got in?” Detective Morgan sat down across from them on the matching recliner.

“One of the officers told me he came in through the front door. I have an alarm system that I know was armed, so I have no idea how he got past it.”

Nate glanced at his notes. “You said he spoke to you. Please think very carefully and tell me exactly what he said.”

She hesitated at the question. “He kept telling me that he wanted what Stephen had given me. A key, like I mentioned. But Stephen never gave me anything.”

“So you don’t know what key he meant?” Detective Morgan looked up from her note-taking.

“No, though I’ve asked myself the same question over and over.” Grace gripped the edge of the couch cushion, trying to steady her hands. “I can’t think of anything that Stephen might have given me that seemed classified or confidential. Nothing that raised any red flags.”

“That’s okay. Let’s switch to who Stephen was. What can you tell me about him?” Nate asked.

She automatically replayed their last conversation in her mind. A surge of guilt swelled. If she’d taken Stephen seriously, would things have turned out differently?

“Stephen had been coming to see me off and on for the past few weeks, mainly because he was under a lot of stress at work and, on top of that, believed someone was stalking him.”

“You don’t sound as if you believed him,” Nate said.

“Honestly, I thought he was a bit paranoid.” During all their sessions together, he’d never given her any kind of proof that someone had actually been watching or following him. Because of this, her focus had been to help him deal with his stress and anxiety.

“Do you know what he was afraid of?” Nate asked.

She caught his gaze, wondering if there were other things he wanted to ask her. Like why she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Why she’d moved back to Dallas. And why there were no photos of her and Kevin on the mantel. All things she really didn’t want to explain to him.

She switched her mind back to the subject they were discussing. “He told me he was worried he’d gotten involved with the wrong people.”

“Do you know who?” Detective Morgan asked.

“He never gave me specifics. Just told me about several incidents when he felt that someone was following him. How he’d ordered some bug detector online because he was convinced someone had bugged his office.”

“Did he find anything?” Nate asked.

Grace shook her head. “If he did, he didn’t tell me.”

Detective Morgan leaned forward. “Why didn’t he go to the police?”

“I told him that if what he believed was true, then he needed to report what was going on. But he didn’t have any solid proof, so he kept hesitating. I think he was convinced the authorities wouldn’t believe him.”

“And what about you?” Nate asked. “Did you just think he was being paranoid?”

“I believed he was truly afraid of something. But honestly, I didn’t know if it was in his head or if someone was really after him. At least I didn’t know until now. Clearly he was right and someone was after him.”

But why?

Grace squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to figure out what she might have missed. Stephen had come in to her office a few minutes late yesterday, clearly flustered and upset. He’d been struggling to keep things together like he did every week, but had something been different yesterday?

“What about his work?” Nate asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Do you know what he did for a living?”

“Yeah, he . . . he worked for a company as a computer security specialist—I’d have to look up the name—and was also doing some consulting work on the side for the FBI. He told me what he did was classified, but I know that he was working on top clearance security issues. Really, that’s all I knew.”

Nate turned to his partner. “If our victim was working with the FBI, they’re going to want to be read in on this.”

“Agreed. I’ll call them now.” Detective Morgan slipped out of the living room to make the call.

“I know there are doctor-patient privilege issues involved even after a client is deceased,” Nate said, “but can you tell me more specifically why he was coming to you in the first place?”

Grace hesitated, careful with the wording of her response. “We worked on things like self-talk and relaxation techniques. Basic things that helped him handle the strain of his work better.”

“You said you saw him yesterday?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what his state of mind was?”

She stared at a spot on the couch, then pressed her finger against it. “He was extremely upset when he came in, but to be honest, most of what he said to me didn’t make sense. He just kept saying that he was in too deep, and he didn’t know how to get out.”

“Out of what?”

“I assumed his job, though he might have had money issues. I can’t be sure about that. He was always careful not to give specifics, which is why I assumed whatever he was working with—in particular with the FBI—must be classified.”

“So he never specifically mentioned money issues or any other problem?”

She shook her head, wishing she could be more helpful, but she’d never pressed Stephen to disclose details he wasn’t comfortable divulging.

Nate made another note. “Anything else you can think of?”

“He . . . he told me he was going to meet with his FBI handler last night and confront him with his concerns. And if the handler wouldn’t listen to him, he was planning to get out.”

Nate’s brow rose. “Meaning?”

She shook her head. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I know this sounds a bit crazy, but I couldn’t help wondering if he was planning to disappear.”

“That would explain a few things. We found his car parked not far from where he was killed, and there were two suitcases in the trunk.”

The initial shock of Stephen’s death was beginning to pass, but not the guilty emotions that had come with it. “Do you have any idea who killed him?”

“At this moment, we can’t confirm how he died, but he had your business card on him, and he called you late last night. That’s why we came here.”

“He called me?” Grace grabbed her phone off the coffee table and checked the call log. “You’re right, but I missed it. I turn the volume off at night so I can sleep. And then with everything that’s happened since then . . .”

She found the message and put it on speaker.

“Dr. Callahan . . . this is Stephen, though I guess you know that. Um . . . it’s late, and I probably shouldn’t be calling you, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m on my way now to meet with my FBI handler, but I don’t know . . . something’s not right. Something big’s in the works, and I don’t know who to trust. And I think they figured out I’m on to them.”

There was a pause, as if he was walking fast and struggling to catch his breath.

“Listen . . . I know you think I’m just paranoid, and to be honest, I hope you’re right. Though I don’t know which is worse. Feeling like you’re crazy or knowing you’re crazy. Anyway, if things turn out the way I think they might, I’m going to need you to get ahold of the Colonel. He’s the only person I know who could actually stop this. Because if they use what I have, the fallout’s going to be huge. I know . . . I know you think I’m acting crazy and maybe I am, but I’ve seen now what they can do and I don’t know how to stop them.”

Another pause, followed by something ruffling in the background. “There’s a key to a safe-deposit box . . . Hopefully, I’m wrong about what’s going on, but either way, I need you to find him . . . He can help stop this. I left everything you need to put an end to this with Oscar. I put your name on record with the bank, so you shouldn’t have problems getting what’s in the box. Take it to the Colonel, and please know that I’m sorry. For everything. I just . . . I don’t know who else to trust—”

The message cut off.

“He left me a key.” Grace stared at the phone, her pulse racing. If she’d picked up the call last night and talked to him, he might still be alive. “But I still don’t understand. He never gave me anything.”

“Who’s Oscar?” Nate asked.

“I have no idea.”

“And the Colonel?”

“I don’t know that either.”

She stood up, confused with Stephen’s cryptic message. If whatever he had left her was so important, why had he been so vague with his directions? Why talk in code, especially if it was something so critical?

She turned back to Nate. “Why not just tell me outright what he needed me to do?”

“I don’t know, but you said he’d been acting paranoid. Maybe he was afraid someone was listening in to his conversations.”

She nodded. That made sense. If Stephen had been right about his phone or office being bugged, his vagueness would be justified.

But the Colonel . . . Oscar . . . What was he talking about?

Whatever his reasons were, she needed to figure out what he’d been trying to tell her.

“Okay. Was Stephen in the military?”

“If he was, he never mentioned it.” Guilt continued to eat at her as she sat back down on the couch. “How could I have been so wrong?”

“You know, don’t you, that none of this is your fault.”

“I know. But I’d given him my private number—something I rarely do. He was so convinced his life was in danger. If I’d taken him more seriously or found a way to help him deal with what he was so afraid of, maybe he’d still be alive.”

“Stop.” Nate leaned forward and brushed his fingers across her hand. “You have no way of knowing if you could have prevented this.”

“I just made a couple calls,” Detective Morgan said, stepping back into the room. “Stephen Shaw wasn’t on the FBI payroll.”

Nate glanced up at his partner. “What do you mean?”

“I talked to our FBI liaison, and they don’t have any record of our victim working for them.”