That was one piece of positive news.

Now if he could get a handle on the fraud deaths and put away the person who’d committed multiple murders—and who had Grace in their sights—all would be well.

In the meantime, he wasn’t about to let her suffer alone with the flu. If he could, he’d follow Eleanor’s advice to cut the day short. And on his way home, he’d swing by Grace’s house with a supply of her favorite iced tea and the biggest bouquet of roses he could find. Neither would cure the flu, but they might perk up her spirits.

Unfortunately, despite his best intentions, fate conspired against him. Not only did he end up working later than usual, but en route to the store to buy both items for Grace he got called by the responding deputy to a suspected arson scene.

As he switched gears and tried to shore up his flagging energy, he tapped in Grace’s number.

The phone rolled to voicemail.

She must be sleeping. After multiple bouts of upchucking and a fever that kept spiking, she had to be as wiped out as he’d been. In fact, his call earlier in the afternoon had awakened her.

It was probably smarter to leave a message today and stop by tomorrow anyway. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone showing up at his door during the first twenty-four hours.

Smothering a yawn, he waited for the beep.

“I hope the worst has passed, Grace, and that you’re resting. I’ll be working late and won’t bother you again today in case you’re trying to sleep. But if you need anything, call me.” He hesitated . . . then threw caution to the wind. “I’ll be thinking about you—day and night.”

He ended the call and stowed the phone, already second-guessing his impulsiveness. Maybe being that up-front had been too much, too soon. After all, they’d met a mere month ago.

But he’d spoken the truth. She was dominating his thoughts. Had been almost from day one. And her assurance that their twice-canceled date would happen was solid evidence he was on her mind too.

At least they didn’t have to worry about any imminent fraud-related deaths, now that Mullins had come forward. If BK contacted the man about a new victim, Mullins’s next call would be to law enforcement. All should be quiet.

Unless BK decided to ratchet up the threats on Grace in the interim—or move beyond mere warnings.

Despite the hot sun piercing the windshield, a chill raced through him as he barreled down the two-lane road toward the fire.

Truth be told, he’d rather be barreling toward Grace.

Because quiet as the case was, deep in his bones it felt like the one and only tornado he’d experienced, when a sudden, eerie stillness had fallen over the land right before the full fury of the storm had hit, leaving in its wake destruction . . . and death.