"I worked with her." Tessa's mind was racing, trying to reconcile the woman she remembered with the surveillance notebook, the break-in, the methodical violation of her home. "She was good. Efficient. A little cold, maybe, but I never thought..." She shook her head. "Why would she do this?"
"That's where it gets complicated." Diaz swiped to another document on her phone. "After Daniel Webb died, there was an internal review. Standard procedure for any death in the ER. The review found some irregularities in the nursing notes. Medications administered late, vitals not recorded on time. Nothing that directly caused the death, but enough to raise questions."
"I remember that review," Tessa said slowly. "They questioned all of us. But I was told it was just routine."
"It was routine until it wasn't." Diaz's expression was grim. "Carla Reeves was terminated two weeks after Daniel Webb's death. The official reason was 'failure to meet professional standards,' but the timing wasn't coincidental. She blamed you."
"Me?" Tessa's voice cracked. "I was the attending surgeon. I tried to save him. I did everything I could."
"I know." Diaz's tone softened slightly. "But grief doesn't follow logic. Carla Reeves and Marcus Webb both needed someone to blame. You were the face of that night, the surgeon who called the time of death. It didn't matter that you weren't responsible. It mattered that you were there."
Bree set a plate of pancakes on the table, her face tight with concern. "So this woman and the psychologist have been working together?"
"That's what it looks like." Diaz nodded. "We found communications between them dating back eight months. Emails, texts, and a shared cloud folder. They connected through an online grief support group, if you can believe it. Bonded over their shared obsession with Dr. Callahan."
"Eight months." Brian's voice was hard. "They've been planning this for eight months."
"At least. Webb handled the visible stalking, the intimidation, the direct contact. Reeves stayed in the shadows, gathering information, tracking Dr. Callahan's movements, feeding everything to Webb." Diaz put her phone away. "When Webb got arrested, Reeves didn't stop. If anything, she escalated. The break-in was her way of proving she could still reach you."
Tessa sank into a chair at the table. Her legs didn't feel steady enough to hold her anymore. "Where is she now?"
"That's the problem." Diaz grimaced. "We don't know. She hasn't used her credit cards in three days. Her apartment in Chicago is empty; looks like she cleared it out recently. She could be anywhere."
"So she's still out there," Hank spoke for the first time, his voice flat. "Watching. Waiting."
"We've got a BOLO out on her vehicle and her photo. Every officer in the county knows her face. She won't be able to move without us knowing." Diaz looked at Tessa. "In the meantime, I'd recommend you don't go back to the cottage. Not until we've apprehended her."
"She can stay here," Bree said immediately. "Both of them. As long as they need."
Hank nodded. "The guest room's yours. And we've got eyes on the property. Between the shop and this place, there's always someone around."
Tessa looked around at these people who had opened their home to her without hesitation. Bree, whom she'd known for only a few weeks, standing at the stove as if feeding people in crisis was just what you did. Hank, quiet and steady, already calculating security measures. Brian beside her, solid and warm, his hand still on her back.
"I don't want to put anyone else in danger," she said.
"You're not." Brian's voice left no room for argument. "This isn't up for debate."
"He's right." Diaz stood, gathering her things. "Isolation is what Reeves wants. She's been watching you long enough to know your patterns. Breaking those patterns, staying with people, being unpredictable, that's your best defense right now."
Tessa nodded slowly. She didn't like it, the feeling of being hunted, of needing protection. But she wasn't stupid. Going back to the cottage alone would be exactly what Carla Reeves was hoping for.
"Okay," she said. "We stay."
Diaz headed for the door, then paused. "One more thing. We searched Webb's apartment and found more of those notebooks. Years of them. Different targets over the years, not just you. He's been doing this for a long time, finding people to stalk, fixating on them, then moving on when they leave or when he loses interest." She met Tessa's eyes. "You're not his first victim, Dr. Callahan. But with any luck, you'll be his last."
The door closed behind her, and the kitchen fell silent.
Bree was the first to move. She set a plate of pancakes in front of Tessa and squeezed her shoulder. "Eat. You can't think straight on an empty stomach."
The pancakes were golden and perfect, dotted with blueberries. Tessa picked up her fork more to be polite than because she was hungry, but the first bite surprised her. They were good. Really good. She took another, and some of the tightness in her chest eased.
"Bree's pancakes have healing properties," Hank said, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. "Scientifically proven."
"Anecdotally proven," Bree corrected. "The sample size is just this household."
"And everyone at the shop," Hank added. "And half the town when you do the charity breakfast."
"Fine. Large sample size. Still anecdotal." But Bree was smiling now, the tension in her shoulders easing.
