He stood up. He was jacketless. The sleeves of his white shirt were limp from perspiration, as if he’d been working for a long time. His tie was undone at the collar. He picked up the tablet and smacked it against his palm. “I have watched and I have listened and I have bided my time.” He tossed the tablet onto the desk, then set the pencil on it.

“You’re making a record.”

He smiled and nodded. “Exactly. If anything should happen, people must know what was said and done here.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“I am not a prophet. Something may happen. Who can say?”

“Who do you work for?”

He shook his head, clapped his hands, and paced the little room. “You are a piece of work, schoolteacher. Who do I work for?” He turned on her and put his face right into hers so she could feel his heat. “The Lord Jesus Christ, our God and Savior!” he said.

“I’m not impressed.” She sat in the only chair in the room, by the desk, and stood the umbrella against it.

He kept pacing. “Now, you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”

She didn’t have an answer. Or the answer she had was not the kind that lent itself to words. He was the only man in town who took her seriously. Maybe it was just that. A few months ago, she could never have imagined herself coming to a place like this in search of a man like Ivanhoe Grant.

“You know, you could get me hanged just by being here.”

It had occurred to her. “You didn’t seem too worried about that last time.” Right out on the street, she recalled. No pretending about it—pure bullying. If she’d given in, he’d have surely taken advantage.

“There’s a lot more to worry a man these days.” He glanced out the window, as if making sure she hadn’t been followed. “Now, what are you doing here?”

“You tell me.”

He sat on the desk and leaned over her. “I think you don’t know what to make of me. I believe I baffle you.”

“Go on.” She couldn’t look away from him.

“You’ve never met a man like me before. I’m not nice. And that excites you.”

“Don’t go too far.”

He shrugged elaborately. “I don’t mean only sexually, although if you’re honest—”

“I said, don’t go too far.” She started to get up, but it was a halfhearted attempt. She’d come here looking for a solution. This man did have a certain power about him. He stuck in her imagination. Her memory kept coming back to him, fascinated. He had that smooth, bedtime voice that took her off-guard, then poked her in the eye with truth.