Again, it opened before he could knock.

“May I come in?”

“Of course.” She backed up, pulling the door wide.

He crossed the threshold, giving her an assessing scan as he passed.

Grace was fair to begin with, but her pallor tonight was alarming. Not a speck of color remained in her cheeks. And the tremble in her fingers as she fumbled her attempt to lock the door ratcheted up his own tension.

“Here.” He urged her aside. “Let me.”

She capitulated without protest, stepping back as he secured both of the industrial-strength locks that were far beyond what would be expected for this sort of house in a rural area.

Which raised more questions. Especially in view of the fact she also kept a Beretta close at hand.

But before he asked any of them, he had to calm her down.

“Let’s sit for a few minutes. Where’s a comfortable spot?”

She glanced toward the back of the house. “The window seat in the kitchen is my favorite place to chill, but I don’t think that would be the best choice tonight. I can see the porch from there. Let’s stay in the living room.”

“That works.” He motioned toward the half-empty mug of tea on the coffee table. “Why don’t I nuke that for you?”

“I can do it.”

He forced up the corners of his mouth as he bent to pick it up. “This is a full-service sheriff’s department. Have a seat. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Thanks. Help yourself to a soda or a mango iced tea from the fridge.”

He paused. “Mango iced tea?”

A tiny flex relaxed the taut line of her lips a hair. “What can I say? My sisters, who prefer Diet Sprite and water, like to tease me about my fancy tastes.”

“Maybe you have a more discerning palate.”

“I like your take.”

“I usually stick to plain old iced tea, but I may have to give your favorite a try. Sit tight.”

While he nuked her tea—comforting peppermint, based on the aroma—he pulled a bottle of the mango version from the fridge. An unopened pizza box sat on the counter, emitting appetizing aromas. Must be the dinner she’d never eaten.

When he returned, Grace was sitting on the couch, feet curled under her, an afghan draped over her lap despite the sizzling temperature outside.

She was seriously spooked.

He handed her the tea, twisted open the cap on his bottle, and took a swig as he mulled over her reaction to tonight’s incident.

Bottom line, it didn’t fit the image he’d formed of her as the strong, no-one’s-going-to-intimidate-me type. Yes, anyone would be upset after receiving a doll like the one she’d found on her back porch. And no, he didn’t like it any more than she did.

But there’d been no physical attack. If the three incidents were related—and at this point, that wasn’t a far-fetched conclusion—the intent hadn’t been to cause bodily harm but to induce psychological stress. While that could escalate, at the moment they appeared to be dealing with either a very sick jokester or someone who’d taken a strong dislike to Grace.