“You know the code to their safe?” I ask as I turn the lights in the living room back on.
“Of course, I do.”
“Sit down, and try to relax. I need to put it back.” She stares at the door that I’ve already relocked and then back to me like she’s afraid someone will barge in at any moment. “You’re safe, now, but I need to put the gun away. I’m a felon.”
That word shifts her demeanor entirely, like she finally remembers who I am. I try not to let it gut me.
When I come back downstairs, she’s pacing back and forth in front of the green couch.
“The light bulb on the porch was tampered with. Someone was fucking with you,” I tell her as I sit down in the chair beside the coffee table.
“Someone was out there, and all I could think about was the baby.” Her body sinks to the couch cushions, finally, and she covers her face with her hands.
“What’s her name?” I ask, trying to distract her from the real issue at hand because I can see the panic building.
“Catherine Olivia Callahan. But we call her baby Kate.” She smiles to herself, as if saying the name brings her that much joy. “Thea wanted her middle name to be Olive, but I insisted that she give her the normalcy I always wanted and use Olivia instead.”
“I like your name.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re the one who started calling me Liv.”
“Because I wanted your full name all to myself.”
“Stop, Hayes.”
My rebuttal dies as someone raps on the front door, and her face drains of color.
“It’s only Malec.”
“What? You called him!”
“I called him after your call disconnected. I didn’t know what was happening.”
“I wasn’t ready to tell anyone, and you went behind my back?”
“It’s not just anyone, it’s the Sheriff.”
“Why? You hate the police!”
“It’s you, Liv. You! I have to keep you safe.” I rake my hands over my scalp, trying to rein myself in. “Do you think I can sit back and letanyone hurt you?”
“Right. Only you’re allowed to do that,” she snaps after I turn my back to open the door, making my shoulders tense.I deserve that.
I stay silent as Liv reluctantly tells Malec what happened. I melt into the wall as the conversation ticks every nerve ending in me until I’m ready to blow.
“How long have you noticed the gifts?” Jackson asks, writing on a notepad.
“It started a couple of weeks after I moved here. I thought it was the locals being friendly at first, until the flowers on my car. They’ve shown up whether I was at home, work, or the store. Chocolate-covered strawberries have been left on my porch. Bottles of wine.”
“Any notes?”
“No,” she states bluntly.
“Is this the first time someone has tried to approach you?”
“I guess. I encounter the public all the time in the courthouse and in town. I’ve never noticed anything odd.”
“This shows an escalation. Until we know the intentions of this person, you need to be cautious. We need to save anything left for you. If you notice anyone following you or anything out of place-” She glances at me briefly but looks away just as quickly. “Let me know right away.”
