“Damn close. Maybe I’ve been in denial, I don’t know. I had this time on the island planned—I hoped it’d all go away by the time I got back to Boston. It still might, you know.”

“Or it might not.” His outward calm deteriorated, and she could see his jaw tighten. “Damn it, Antonia, what if someone attacked you because you didn’t go to the police to save me the embarrassment in case you’d imagined the whole thing? Tell me that.”

She drank more of her tea, which was still very hot, and looked at him over the rim of her mug. “You’re not responsible for the choices I make.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it.”

“Frankly, I think I’ve behaved very sensibly.” But her bravado didn’t last, and she set her mug down. “I’ve been so immersed in my education and career for years—I never thought—” She broke off, at a loss for the right words. “Carine wears her heart on her sleeve, but I don’t.”

“I’m not Gus. I’m not your brother. I’m not Carine. God knows I’m not Tyler North. I don’t fit into your life that way. I’m not family, I’m not a friend you’ve known all your life—”

“Tyler’s not a friend anymore.”

“He is. You all can’t help it. First sign of trouble with one of you, and who did I think to call?”

“Big help he was. Toe tag.”

“He gave me the name of the island.” Hank drank more of his tea, then leaned back in his chair, eyeing her with a seriousness she found unnerving. “All right. You know what I’m saying. I won’t belabor the point. You have any ideas who this stalker might be?”

“If he’s real—”

“He’s real.”

She fought a shiver of fear, uneasiness. “I brought a disk with recent patient records on it. I get my fair share of difficult cases. Crime victims, crime perpetrators, psychiatric patients—I thought something might jog my memory, make sense to me.”

“No luck?”

“Not yet. I don’t think whoever it is wants to hurt me. If he did, he’s had plenty of opportunities.”

Hank shook his head. “Just because he hasn’t hurt you yet doesn’t mean he won’t. He could be toying with you—”

“The cat with the mouse.”

Hank didn’t answer, and she got to her feet, feeling the darkness all around her, just the one naked 80-watt bulb penetrating the pitch black. Antonia debated lighting the kerosene lamps. She didn’t even know what time it was. Past dinnertime, for sure. She was faintly hungry but knew she couldn’t eat.