She opened the door warily.

Gabe stood there, one hand braced on the door frame. There was no sign of his car. He was dressed in a black-and-tan windbreaker, jeans, and running shoes. His dark hair was tousled from the wind and a little damp from the mist-heavy air.

“We need to talk.” He walked into the hall and shrugged out of his jacket.

His cold, grim expression silenced whatever comment she had been about to make on the subject of interruptions.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I’ve been thinking about something Flint said about Claire.”

She took the jacket from him. “What was that?”

“He mentioned that disgruntled employees could be dangerous. It occurred to me that maybe disgruntled boyfriends of former clients might fall into the same category.”

She stared at him, the jacket clutched in her hand. “Are you talking about Campbell Witley?”

“Yeah.” He disappeared into the kitchen. “Got any coffee?”

She draped the jacket over the hanger, jammed it into the closet and hurried to the doorway of the kitchen.

“What are you thinking?” She watched him fill the coffeemaker with fresh water. “That Witley might be responsible for the break-in here?”

He removed the lid of the coffee canister. “It would explain the incident at your apartment.”

“Assuming there was an incident.”

He nodded. “Assuming that.”

A shiver went through her. “But that would make Witley a stalker.”

“I know.” He finished spooning ground coffee into the filter and switched on the machine. “I don’t want to scare you. Sean Valentine probably got it right when he concluded that whoever conked A.Z. on the head was a transient who had tried to break in here, first. But there is a remote possibility that the two incidents are related. Which, in turn, means that the break-in here could be connected to what happened in Portland.”

“It would explain why nothing was taken. A stalker probably wouldn’t be interested in stealing stuff.”

He crossed the kitchen and cradled her face in his hands.

“Look, this should be easy enough to check out,” he said. “All we have to do is find out where Witley was when someone here in Eclipse Bay was breaking into your mudroom. Shouldn’t be too hard to see if he’s got an alibi. If he can account for his whereabouts during that time period, we can go back to Valentine’s theory of a transient burglar.”

She swallowed. “I never considered the possibility of a stalker.”

“Neither did I until I got to thinking about Flint’s comments.”

“I can call Nella Townsend, the investigator I used to check out my clients. She might be able to verify Witley’s alibi.”

“Fine. Call her. I’ll speak to Valentine, too. Let him know what’s going on. But from what I’ve read, stalkers can be very slick. Very devious. It’s hard to prove that they’re doing anything illegal.”

She bit her lip. “I know.”

“I want to see this guy myself.”

“What?”

“I want to meet Witley face-to-face. Ask him some questions,” Gabe said.

“No.” Alarm washed through her. “You can’t do that.”

“Take it easy, honey. I’ve done a lot of deals with a lot of people who have things to hide. I’m good at knowing when I’m being lied to.”

“Are you nuts?” she yelped. “You can’t confront Witley on your own. What if he really is a stalker? He could be very dangerous.”

Gabe looked first surprised and then pleased. “Worried about me?”

“Of course I’m worried. No offense, Gabe, but this is not one of your more brilliant ideas.”

“I’m just going to drive into Portland and meet the guy. Don’t worry, if he is a stalker, I doubt that he’s a danger to me. Stalkers are obsessed with their victims, not other people.”

“Listen, I don’t want you handling this on your own. If you insist on going to Portland to see him, I’ll go with you.”

“No.” There was no give in the single word. “I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

“Witley is a big man. He’s had military training. He works in construction. Get the picture?”

“You think he might beat me to a pulp. Gee. You really don’t have much faith in my manly skills, do you?”

“Your manly skills are not the issue here,” she said. “I don’t want you to take that kind of risk on my account. I mean it. You can’t do this by yourself and that’s final.”

He hesitated. “I guess I could take along some backup.”

That stopped her for a heartbeat or two.

“Backup?” she repeated cautiously.

“A guy I know. He’s big. Had some military training. Worked construction for a while.”

“Do I know this man?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me again why we’re going to drive all the way into Portland to see this guy, Witley,” Mitchell said, buckling his seat belt.

“Long story.” Gabe put on his dark glasses and turned the key in the ignition. “It’s just barely possible that Witley is stalking Lillian. She’s going to have an investigator check out his movements in the past few days, but I want to talk to him myself. Lillian made it clear that she didn’t want me meeting him alone. I refused to take her along. You’re the compromise.”

“Well, shoot and damn,” Mitchell said cheerfully. “This sounds like fun. Any chance of a fight?”

“Probably not. But there’s always hope.”

She stared at the blank canvas, knowing that she was even less likely to get into the zone now than she had been earlier in the day when Gabe had interrupted her.

All she could think about was that he and Mitchell were on their way to Portland together to confront Witley.

The phone rang in the living room. She turned away from the canvas and went to answer it.

“Lillian? This is Nella. I got your message. What’s up?”

“Thanks for calling me back.” She sank down onto the arm of the sofa. “I’ve got a little problem here. Remember that guy Witley I asked you to check out?”

“Sure.” Nella paused. “Something happen?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Can you find out if he left town sometime during the past few days?”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult. What’s going on, Lil?”

“I’m not sure.” She gave Nella a quick rundown of events.

“I’ll get right on it,” Nella said. “Meanwhile, watch yourself, okay? These guys tend to escalate.”

“What do you mean?”

“The incidents get more serious. It’s a progressive thing. Do me a huge favor. Lock all your doors and windows and keep them locked until your friend Madison gets there or until I give you the all-clear. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something solid.”

“Thanks.”

Lillian ended the call, put down the phone and went back into the studio.

The blank canvas might as well have been sitting in another universe, a place where she could not go today.

A red compact pulled into the drive just as she was about to pour herself another cup of tea. Her fourth that afternoon. She went to the window and saw Claire Jensen, dressed in a navy blue shirt and a pair of jeans, get out from behind the wheel and walk up the front steps.

Just what she needed. Another interruption. She put down the cup and went to open the front door.

“Hi.” Claire looked and sounded as if she had not slept much in recent days. “I need to talk to someone. Mind if I come in for a few minutes?”

More sisterhood stuff. How much of this kind of thing was a woman supposed to do to retain her politically correct status?

“No, of course not.” Lillian held the door open. “I made tea. Want some?”

“That would be nice. Thanks.”

Claire walked into the front hall, took off her coat and gave it to Lillian to hang in the closet.

“Come on into the kitchen,” Lillian said.

“I assume you know that Marilyn fired me.”

“I heard.”

“It’s not exactly the end of the world.” Claire folded her hands on the table and looked out the window. “Campaign managers get canned a lot. Goes with the territory.”