No. It couldn’t be. Tension, fatigue and her imagination must have turned the whir of a car engine or an exhaust fan into someone whispering her name. Maybe the instant messages were from someone whose screen name she just didn’t remember. A friend or colleague working on a paper or struggling with an ethical question, idly instant messaging her. Maybe they weren’t meant to be anonymous or creepy.

But when she reached the restaurant, Antonia paid extra to have her car valet parked and avoided another parking garage. She stood in the warm evening air and took several deep breaths to calm herself. There. It’ll be all right. I can do this.

She had on a simple black dress, black stockings, black heels. Gold earrings. Her dark auburn hair, chin-length and straight, was tucked neatly behind her ears. No lipstick—she didn’t have time for it now.

As promised, Hank was waiting for her at their table. He was, she thought as she smiled at him and waved, the most drop-dead-handsome man she’d ever met. Forty-one and tall, with graying dark hair, a square jaw and eyes so blue they took her breath away. She’d met him last November in Cold Ridge, her small hometown in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Almost a year ago, she realized. He’d just thrown his hat into the senate campaign in bordering Massachusetts. His weekend in New Hampshire was to have been a break. Hiking with his air force pals, Tyler North and Manny Carrera. Instead they’d come upon Antonia’s younger sister, Carine, a nature photographer, being shot at in the woods. Later that same weekend, Hank, Ty and Manny had rescued a wealthy Boston couple stranded on the ridge for which her hometown was named.

Complications, Antonia thought. So many complications.

Hank smiled, getting to his feet. Other diners watched. He was a man in the spotlight. There didn’t seem to be any reporters around, but she couldn’t know for certain, another reminder that it wasn’t just her reputation as a respected physician that would suffer if she rushed to judgment or cried wolf about a possible stalker. His would, too, as a man who was asking Massachusetts voters to trust him. With just weeks left in the campaign, she had to be sure before she said anything, although she had to admit, her own nature made her reluctant to speak up. She was thirty-five and accustomed to handling her own problems.