Lexie murmured a word he couldn’t make out. “And that wasn’t sufficient to convince everyone she had mental issues?”
“It would have been if we could have proved she did it—but she claimed innocence and left no evidence behind that would implicate her.”
“Man. This is one scary woman.”
“Tell me about it.”
“We’ll keep an eye on her—and call us day or night if there are any new developments or we can help in any way. You might want to alert Marci to the situation too.”
“I intend to. Thanks for giving this so much attention.”
“Goes with the job. But I have to say, this is the most unusual situation I’ve dealt with during my tenure as police chief here. Watch your back—and I’ll touch base with you every day.”
After one more thank-you, Ben thumbed the off button, slid the phone back into his pocket, and raked his fingers through his hair.
In thirty-six hours, Marci would be back in town, anticipating a relaxing date with him at Charley’s.
Instead, he’d have to walk a wide circle around her. The less contact they had while Nicole was lurking around, the safer she’d be.
But he had to talk to her. Explain what was happening.
And a phone call wouldn’t cut it.
This was a discussion that needed to take place in person. He had to tell her the whole story about what had happened in Germany—as she’d told him about her stalker.
Stalker.
As the obnoxious word ricocheted through his mind, the irony smacked him in the face.
All these months, Marci had been worried that the nutcase who’d invaded her world in Atlanta might show up and wreak more havoc in the new, untainted life she’d created here.
Yet it was his past that had reared its ugly head and now threatened the future he’d begun to envision.
They could get past this, of course. Nicole couldn’t hang around forever. He could wait her out if he had to.
But given Marci’s history, would the skeleton in his closet undermine the foundation he’d been laying with her and short-circuit their relationship . . . or did she know—and trust—him enough to believe the story he would tell her when she returned?
20
She was almost home.
Marci turned onto Pelican Point Road and eyed the digital display on the dash. The clock was only closing in on nine, thanks to her three-hour time-zone gain, but it felt like midnight. And after eight hours of flights and layovers, followed by a nearly five-hour drive from Portland, sleep was high on her agenda.
But she’d make time to see Ben, if he wanted to drop by.
Except she wasn’t certain he did.
Frowning, she tightened her grip on the wheel as she navigated a curve on the dark, winding road.
Yesterday, and again today during her layover, he’d sounded . . . different . . . on the phone. Distant, worried, preoccupied—it was difficult to pinpoint the emotion in his voice.
Although he’d sidestepped her query when she’d asked if everything was okay, she intended to get a straight answer before she went to bed tonight. If her experience in Atlanta had taught her nothing else, she’d learned that pussyfooting around hard stuff didn’t make it go away.
In fact, sometimes it made the situation worse.
If Ben was having second thoughts about them, better to find out now. Without some clarity on that question, sleep would be elusive despite her fatigue—and she needed to be ready to charge full speed ahead tomorrow on the crowdfunding campaign. Given their short fund-raising window, it needed to be poised to launch the minute Eric let her know he’d filed the 501(c)(3) paperwork for the lighthouse foundation.
And given that Ben had asked her to call as soon as she got home, he must want to talk too.
She swung into her driveway, retrieved her overnight bag from the backseat, and let herself into the dark house.
After flipping on a few lights, she pulled out her cell, sat at the kitchen table, scrolled through to his number . . . and hesitated as tension began to prickle in her nerve endings.
Maybe she wasn’t ready to hear whatever he had to say, after all.
Finger hovering over the screen, she chewed on her lower lip.
She could always text instead, say she was too tired to talk tonight, and promise to call tomorrow after she got some rest.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, call the man, Marci! Don’t be a wimp.
Right.
Blood might send her into a tailspin, but she could face whatever he had to say without losing her dinner.
She hoped.
Bracing, she tapped in his number.
He answered on the first ring. “Hi. Are you home?”
“Yes. I walked in the door less than ten minutes ago.”
“Long day.”
“Too long.” Wait. That sounded like she didn’t want to talk to him. Better correct that impression fast. “But coming home always gives me an energy boost.”
“How is your mom doing?”
“Much better. You’d never know there was an issue. She seems completely back to normal. How’s everything been here?”
A couple of beats ticked by, and she tensed.
“Not as normal as it could be. There’s been a development I need to discuss with you.”
Her spirits plummeted.
Now that she was back in her snug house and all was well in Florida, he wasn’t dancing around whatever issue was troubling him—which could mean it was about them. Ben was a considerate man; he wouldn’t kiss her off long distance after the scare with her mom.
Sighing, she kneaded her forehead. Allowing herself to hope they could work out some arrangement to explore the chemistry between them despite the geographic challenge had been dumb. She was too old to get all starry-eyed and—
“Marci? Are you there?”
“Yes.” She rose. Two aspirin and a glass of water might help her get through this—or at least dull the headache beginning to form in her temples. “What’s the development?”
“I want to talk about it face-to-face.”
He was trying to be a gentleman and let her down in person.
But it would be easier for her if they did this now. She could hide her reactions—along with any stray tears that might leak out.
“Um . . . like you said, it’s
