Tessa woke to the sound of voices.
For a disorienting moment, she didn't know where she was. The pillow smelled wrong, like sawdust and something woodsy, and the light was coming from the wrong direction. Then memory flooded back: the motion light, Brian chasing someone through the woods, the first aid kit, the kiss.
The kiss.
She sat up, pushing tangled curls out of her face. The other side of the bed was empty, the covers still smooth where Brian had lain on top of them. The voices were coming from the living room: one of them, Brian's low rumble, and the other unfamiliar, female, with a note of authority.
She pulled on jeans under her flannel shirt and padded out to find Brian standing by the front door with a woman in a Copper Moon Police Department uniform. The officer was in her early forties, with dark hair pulled back in a neat bun and sharp brown eyes that missed nothing. A silver sergeant's badge glinted on her chest.
"This must be Ms. Callahan," the officer said, extending her hand. "Sergeant Marisol Diaz. Brian was just telling me about what happened last night."
"Tessa." She shook the sergeant's hand, noting the firm grip and the calluses that suggested time at a firing range. "Thank you for coming out."
"Happy to help. Why don't we sit down and go through everything from the beginning?"
They settled in the living room, Tessa and Brian on the couch, Sergeant Diaz in the armchair across from them. She pulled out a small notebook and a pen, her movements unhurried but efficient.
"Brian gave me the basics," she said. "Man on the property last night, approximately eleven forty-five. Fled into the woods when confronted. But he mentioned there's been more than that. Previous incidents."
Tessa took a breath. She'd known this was coming, but that didn't make it easier. "It started about ten days ago, the day after I arrived. I was at the craft fair, and I noticed a man watching me. Gray ball cap, sunglasses. He wasn't doing anything obvious, but something about him felt wrong."
Sergeant Diaz wrote without looking up. "Did you get a good look at him?"
"Not really. The sunglasses covered most of his face. But he was tall, lean build. Dark hair."
"That matches what Brian saw last night." The sergeant looked up. "What happened after the fair?"
"A few days later, Brian found footprints along the back fence. Fresh ones, like someone had been walking the property line during the night." Tessa glanced at Brian, drawing strength from his steady presence beside her. "And then last night, the motion lights went off, and Brian saw him. Standing at the fence, watching the cottage."
Sergeant Diaz was quiet for a moment, her pen still. "Is there anyone who might have reason to follow you, Ms. Callahan? An ex-partner, a disgruntled colleague, anyone with a grudge?"
Here it was. The question she'd been dreading.
"Yes," she said. "There was an incident in Chicago about eight months ago. A man named Marcus Webb. His brother died in my ER. I was the attending surgeon. The injuries were too severe; there was nothing anyone could have done. But Marcus blamed me."
"What kind of blame are we talking about?"
"Notes on my car. Phone calls at all hours. He followed me home from the hospital a few times." Tessa's hands had started to shake, and she pressed them flat against her thighs. "I got a restraining order. The police in Chicago talked to him, and it stopped. I thought it was over."
Sergeant Diaz's expression remained neutral, but something sharpened in her eyes. "Do you have documentation of the restraining order? The police reports from Chicago?"
"I can get them. My friend Julia is a nurse at the hospital. She helped me through all of it. She'd be able to obtain copies."
"Good. I'd like to see those as soon as possible." The sergeant made another note. "Do you have a photo of Marcus Webb?"
"I think so. From the restraining order paperwork." Tessa pulled out her phone, her fingers clumsy as she navigated to her files. She found the photo and handed the phone over.
Sergeant Diaz studied the image for a long moment. Lean face, dark hair, eyes that seemed to stare right through the camera. She held the phone out to Brian. "Is this the man you saw last night?"
Brian took the phone, and Tessa watched his jaw tighten as he looked at the photo. "Could be," he said slowly. "It was dark, and I only saw him for a second before he ran. But the build is right. The hair. It could be him."
Sergeant Diaz nodded and handed the phone back to Tessa. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to contact the Chicago PD and get the details on the original case. If Marcus Webb has violated the restraining order by following you across state lines, that's a federal offense. We can involve the FBI if necessary."
"FBI?" Tessa's voice came out smaller than she intended.
"Interstate stalking is serious business." The sergeant's voice was calm but firm. "We take it seriously here. In the meantime, I want you both to be vigilant. Keep those motion lights on. Don't go anywhere alone if you can help it. And if you see him again, don't engage. Call 911 immediately."
"I shouldn't have chased him last night," Brian said. "I know."
