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  He shook his head. “That would be hypocritical. There have been times I’ve felt the same way you do about God.”

  She clasped the cup in both hands and raised it to her lips, inhaling quietly. “I don’t seem to be able to overcome this…this resentment.” She took a sip of her drink and closed her eyes. “Believe me, I know all the trite platitudes anyone could offer, because I’ve offered them myself in the past. Not anymore.”

  “Have you ever considered that platitudes become what they are because of the truth in them?”

  “You mean like the one such as ‘Nothing happens to God’s children without a reason’? Or maybe the one about good coming from our trials? Sorry, I’m not to the point where I can deal with that yet.”

  “Most people aren’t when they’re in the middle of the crisis, which you are.”

  “I wish someone would tell me how long this crisis is supposed to continue, because to me it seems as if God’s allowing me to be hit over and over again, driving me to my knees.”

  “Believe me, I understand. Some might say on our knees is exactly where we should be.”

  “Another platitude,” Willow said. She stretched her long legs out in front of her and sighed. “Did you know I catch myself in the middle of automatic prayers even now, when I’m trying so hard not to speak to God? I never realized how difficult the habit would be to break.”

  “Maybe it isn’t just a habit,” Graham said. “Maybe it’s God pursuing you. One of my favorite passages of scripture is in Psalm 139. “‘Where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend into heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in hell, behold, you are there.’”

  Willow finished the passage. “‘If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me.’” She sighed. “I know all that. Honestly, I do.”

  “Sorry, I guess I was preaching.”

  “Do you want to know what worries me the most about all this? Preston isn’t a believer, and I’m torn between putting on a good front for him or letting him see how much I’m struggling with God right now.”

  “You’re afraid you’d be lying if you try to tell him God is the answer to every struggle?”

  “Exactly. I’m blaming Him for everything right now.”

  “He’s big enough to shoulder the blame,” Graham said. “Remember He did that when He walked this earth.”

  “Okay, now you’re preaching,” she said. But she didn’t seem annoyed.

  He only wished he could do or say more to help her.

  But one preaching service was enough. “I noticed you haven’t gone into town in the past couple of days,” he said, changing the subject.

  She hesitated. “No. Preston has several friends who visit him on the weekends. He doesn’t need me every day.”

  Graham waited. Something in her tone was different. “Willow, you’re understandably tense about the events that have taken place lately, but is something else wrong? Has something happened at the hospital that made you nervous?”

  “Well, there was something that bothered me,” she said softly. “Probably nothing at all, but I’m hypersensitive lately.”

  “You’re allowed,” Graham said. “You’ve been through enough to warrant it. What did you see?”

  “I think someone was following me.”

  His hands tightened around the mug. “Where? When did it happen?”

  “The first time I noticed it I was on Shepherd of the Hills Expressway, last Wednesday, when I glanced into my rearview mirror and saw a black late-model car. Possibly a Ford, though I’m not good at identifying makes of cars.”

  “How often did this happen?”

  “Once on Wednesday and twice on Friday, but as I said, I’m not sure it was the same car.”

  “This happened three times?” He’d have to talk with his P.I. again. “Do you think it was the same car, or do you think you’ve just become particularly alert to that type?”

  “I don’t know for sure. After what happened to Preston, and to Lucy and Brittany, I can’t risk allowing someone to follow me back here and endanger you and Ginger, as well. I always managed to lose the car in traffic before I came here—if it truly was following me in the first place.”

  “Were you ever able to see the driver?”

  “I could never get close enough to get a clear view of who was inside, but it looked like a man alone.”

  “Willow,” he said with a sigh, “I wish you’d told me about this sooner.”

  “As I said, it could have been my imagination.”

  “After everything you’ve been through, you’re ready to dismiss something like that as imagination?” He heard the sharpening of his tone, and saw Willow’s eyes widen a fraction.

  She didn’t say anything.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I probably should have told you about this, but two weeks ago, after the girls were kidnapped, I hired a private investigator.”

  For a moment Willow didn’t react. She continued to stare across at the horizon. But he saw her hands clench into fists, and he realized he’d given her quite a shock.

  She pressed her lips together, her chin jutting forward a fraction. She swallowed, then turned to meet Graham’s gaze. “You’ve been having me watched?” Her quiet voice betrayed deep disappointment.

  “I’ve been having your background investigated, your husband’s previous cases checked out and, yes, I’ve instructed my investigator to do some surveillance.”

  She closed her eyes. There was a long silence.

  “Willow, I was worried about your safety.”

  She looked back at him, and the hurt disappointment had metamorphosed into anger—vivid anger. “If you were worried about my safety, shouldn’t you have told me what you were doing? The problem is, you don’t trust me.”

  “I didn’t want to place more worry on your shoulders right now. I just wanted to make sure this monster didn’t have another chance to get at you.”

  She studied his face for a moment, as if she were trying to read fine print in a contract. “Are you sure that’s what you wanted?”

  He met and held her gaze. “I’m sure.”

  “It had nothing to do with protecting others from me?” Her tone held reproach.

  “Of course not. Willow, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to upset you with this. I merely wanted to put your mind at ease, and it seems I’ve handled things poorly.”

  She sighed and reached down for her half-empty coffee cup and the blanket throw he had brought out for her. She stood up.

  “Willow, we need to talk about this.”

  “What is there to talk about? You seem to have taken matters into your own hands without consulting me. That implies that you don’t have a high enough regard for my emotional stability to trust me with your plans to secure my safety.”

  He winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see it that way.”

  “I do,” she said, not looking at him. She sounded suddenly tired. “When you talked me into coming to stay here, you promised not to allow Ginger to take over my life. She hasn’t. It seems you have.”

  “Please sit back down and talk to me about this. All I did was arrange for extra protection for you. I haven’t taken over your life.”

  “I think I’ll pay Preston a visit. May I use your canoe to cross the lake? My car’s at the ranch.”

  “Please use the jet bike. It’ll be much easier.”

  “I need the exercise,” she said. “And I need the peace and quiet of the canoe right now.”

  He’d stepped over the mark again. He’d learned before she arrived here that she did not like to be overprotected or coddled. Which was one reason he had hesitated to tell her about Larry Bager, because he’d been concerned that if he did tell her about the P.I., she would protest.

  “Take the canoe with my blessing.” He knew he sounded irritable. Her determined independence irritated him.

  “Thank you.”

  A few moments later, as he watched her
paddle the canoe across the lake, he was very aware of his own disappointment. Why hadn’t he handled that differently? And why wouldn’t she at least stay and talk to him about it?

  And then he realized why her response meant so much to him. It was because she had come to mean increasingly more to him.

  What he was dealing with here was an old-fashioned crush. This transparent, hurting, loving woman had touched a place in his heart no one had touched in a long time—a place no one had been allowed to reach.

  He felt a deep need to help Willow, to protect her, but would she believe that? Apparently not. He was surprised, himself, by his instinctive response.

  “Oh, Lord, please keep her safe,” he murmured as he continued to watch her progress across the water. “And please, Lord, draw her back to You.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Monday morning, April 22

  Willow drove over the rough country road that led to Highway 86 south of the lake, unable to enjoy the burgeoning colors of vibrant Ozark springtime. A heart-healthy canoe ride across the lake had served only to give her time to brood.

  Did Graham really think she was so helpless he couldn’t even trust her with information about safety measures he had taken for her? He certainly never treated others like that. Oh, sure, he was considerate of his sister, and seemed to dote on his patients, but he was straightforward with them. If a patient needed particular treatment for a physical condition, he didn’t just prescribe it for them without explaining what he was doing and why.

  She slowed for a pothole in the road. Okay, she wasn’t being completely fair—she knew that. He’d been honest about his fear that she might be in danger, but to hire someone to watch her without her knowing?

  It hurt. She couldn’t help it.

  What mystified her was that he’d been a little miffed by her reaction, as if he’d expected her to gratefully welcome his attempts to control her life without her input.

  What if he really did suspect her, down deep, as the police had?

  Stop it, Willow. You’re overreacting.

  Instinctively she glanced in the rearview mirror and caught movement in the distance on the road behind her. Someone was speeding toward her.

  Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as her heart rate soared with a rush of adrenaline. Then she saw the flashing yellow light on the car’s roof. It was a rural mail carrier.

  True to its mission, the vehicle pulled over at the next mailbox, and the driver, sitting on what was typically the passenger side of the automobile, shoved mail into the box.

  Willow had definitely overreacted. Again.

  “Relax,” she muttered as she slowed at the stop sign, then turned left onto Highway 86. “It’s nothing. You’re just scaring yourself.”

  Surely Graham couldn’t have been that surprised at her reaction to his news. Why couldn’t he just have told her immediately that he’d hired a detective to tail her? The logic remained the same. If he trusted her, why not tell her what he was doing? Therefore, he didn’t completely trust her.

  Of course, there was also the possibility that he was afraid she would never agree to a P.I., and therefore he’d decided to hire one quietly to avoid conflict. That was still wrong. She still resented it.

  But would she have refused if he’d asked her first?

  Okay, yes, she probably would have, even if a P.I. was a good idea. She was well aware that she overemphasized her independence, even when it could be to her detriment.

  As she passed the turnoff to Blue Eye, she finally, grudgingly, reached the conclusion that although Graham had gone about it all wrong, he had probably done the right thing by hiring the P.I. Maybe that was why nothing else had happened the past two weeks. Maybe he’d scared off her stalker.

  But had he, really? Her enemy was still holding her hostage, if only in her mind. She couldn’t relax, she was always on her guard, and when she slept, the nightmares plagued her.

  Somehow she had to break free from the constant heart-pounding tension she’d lived with for so long.

  Graham dialed Larry Bager’s cell phone number, wondering if the P.I. would be in range to intercept Willow this morning. Why didn’t I tell her about hiring Larry? This could all have been avoided.

  If he’d told her two weeks ago that she had a licensed private investigator on her case, it was possible she might have been willing to cooperate with the investigation. And maybe she wouldn’t have been so alarmed by the car following her. He felt remorseful about that.

  The call connected. “Bager,” the investigator said curtly.

  “It’s Graham. Can you get to the hospital? Willow’s on her way there to see her brother.”

  “Finally,” Larry muttered. “When we set this up you told me she would probably be at the hospital every day. Not only isn’t she there when I expect her to be, she shows up at odd hours, when I’m not expecting her. It’s hard to keep up with that lady.”

  “She spotted someone following her in traffic and she’s a little spooked,” Graham said. “Can’t say I blame her. Do you drive a dark sedan?”

  “Nope. I trade off between a tan pickup and a silver sedan.”

  Graham felt fear tighten his gut. “So you never tailed Willow in a dark car?”

  “Never. The only time I’ve tailed her was when I happened to catch her at the hospital, and then she only drove to the clinic. I saw no one following her. When did she see this car? Is she positive that’s what she saw?”

  “It happened more than once,” Graham said. “She admitted she might have been imagining things, but I don’t want to take any chances. How long will it take you to get to the hospital?”

  “It’ll be at least an hour. I’m in Bolivar, but I’m in my car now. I’ll get there as quickly as I can.”

  Graham glanced at his watch. His first patient was due at the clinic in an hour. “I think I’ll call Detective Rush. Maybe the police can make a pass by the hospital just to check on things.”

  “If you were that worried you could’ve gone with her,” Larry said.

  “At the time she left, I thought you were the one she’d seen following her. Besides, you obviously don’t know Willow very well if you think she’d docilely allow me to bodyguard her.”

  “Whose fault is that?” Larry grumbled. “I could have been best friends with her by now if you’d introduced us. Look, just relax, okay? If she’s as watchful and as smart as you’re saying, it’s unlikely a nonprofessional has followed her out of Branson without her noticing.”

  “Which means, if he’s watching for her, he’ll likely be at the hospital, where he will know he can find her if he waits long enough,” Graham said.

  “And if he makes a move on her, it probably won’t be in a crowded hospital corridor.”

  “True.” Graham willed himself to relax. Larry knew what he was talking about.

  “I managed to cadge a copy of video footage from hospital security. I’ve marked every place where Willow is either entering or leaving. I don’t see anyone following her from the building or the parking lot. If someone’s waiting for her, they could be parked off hospital property.”

  “If we can meet with her this morning at the hospital, maybe we’ll have time to run through some of that footage with her, see if there’s anyone she recognizes,” Graham suggested.

  “I’ll make some still shots to show her. The video is time-consuming. Maybe I can meet with her later today.”

  “Have you found out anything more about Sandi Jameson?”

  “A few things,” Larry said. “I was going to call you when I got home today. I’ve still got some buddies on the force in K.C. Jameson is her maiden name. There’s no record she’s ever been married, and there’s no record of the father of the children, so far. There is a police record on Sandi, though it’s old.”

  “A record of what?” Graham asked.

  “Drug trafficking in Kansas City.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Four years.”

  “J
ail time?”

  “None.”

  “Any connections there?”

  “I’m still looking.”

  “Let me know.”

  “Will do. Later.” Larry disconnected.

  Graham knew that if Larry said he would be at the hospital in an hour, he would be there in forty-five minutes. He had proven to be prompt with information delivery, and he had good contacts with the police in Kansas City, having worked there for ten years before his transfer to Branson.

  After burning out on police work a couple of years ago, he’d taken a year off to work as a car salesman, hated it, and started his own investigation company. Graham had checked his credentials and found he had a clean record with the force.

  Graham dialed Willow’s cell, and as he’d expected, got no answer. She didn’t use her cell phone when driving because it wasn’t hands free. Besides, if she saw who was calling, she might still be angry enough to ignore him.

  He wasn’t surprised when her voice mail kicked in. “Willow, this is Graham. The car you saw was not my investigator. We need to talk. Call me.”

  Willow was pulling into the covered hospital parking lot when her cell phone beeped for the second time that morning. She checked her call screen and saw that this time it wasn’t Graham. This time the call was coming from Sandi Jameson’s telephone.

  This was the pits. Her cell phone hardly ever rang, and now that it did, it was announcing calls from two people she did not want to talk to right now.

  She allowed it to ring four times while she found a parking space and stopped, then she relented and answered.

  “Willow? It’s Sandi. Is everything okay?” Her voice was high-pitched, her words clipped. It didn’t even sound like Sandi. “I haven’t heard anything about the investigation for at least a couple of weeks—you know those police won’t talk to me. I’m always scared when the girls take off for school in the morning.”

  Willow frowned. “Why are you calling me? I don’t even think we should be talking.”

  “Please don’t…don’t be that way,” Sandi said. “I called to apologize for the things I said to you. You’ve got to understand that I was more than a little freaked about the situation. I mean, my babies were missing. But I shouldn’t have blamed you, I know that now, because you were the one person who cared enough to try to get involved and help me with them. And what did I do? I spat all over you. I knew better than that, because I knew who—”