“Willow.”

The envelope slipped from my grasp, and my hand flew to my throat. I spun around.

Imani stood behind me, grinning. “You’re here.”

“I-I…uh, yes.” Realizing I was still holding the photograph, I tucked it inside my palm and hoped she didn’t notice. “I’m sorry, you surprised me.”

“I can tell.” She glanced at the envelope curiously. “You were engrossed.” She looked up and frowned. “Are you okay? You’re really pale.”

“Fine.” My voice was thready, and I felt about as convincing as I’d been outside when Ronan asked what was wrong. “Didn’t sleep well,” I added, figuring an explanation may lessen the suspicious gleam in her eyes.

“Ah.” She nodded. “Try lavender essential oil. Works like a dream.”

If I’d been less scared, I’d have laughed. “My roommate says the same thing. I should introduce you sometime. I think you’d like each other.”

“Do it.” She sat at her desk. Some of the tension eased from my chest, and when she searched in her purse for lip gloss, I slipped the photograph back into the envelope and put it in a drawer, out of sight. “I love meeting new people.”

I arched a brow. “Even if they read your chakras and say you have a muddy aura?”

Her eyes widened. “Especially then.”

We made small talk for a while before getting down to work. I kept busy until lunch and waited for Imani to leave. When she vanished from sight, I extracted the envelope from the drawer, stuffed it into my bag, and searched for an empty meeting room. When I found one, I sat inside and called the police department’s non-emergency line.

“You’ve reached the Chicago Police Department.” It was a women’s voice. “This is Fatima speaking. How can I help?”

I glanced at the door to make sure nobody was standing outside to overhear me. “My name is Willow Lennox, and I’m hoping you can give me some advice.”

“Of course.” I heard her type something. “What’s going on, Willow?”

I lowered my voice. “For the past few days, I’ve thought someone might be following me. For the most part, it’s just a feeling I get, but I did see a man once—maybe twice.”

More typing.

“Has anything else happened?”

“Yes.” I swallowed. “This morning I found an envelope beneath my apartment door. It was full of photos of me.” I breathed in and out slowly, trying to ease the clench of my jaw. “One of them was taken through the bedroom window of my apartment.”

She made a sympathetic sound. “That must have been very distressing.”

“It was.” Even now, I felt shaky. “Is there anything I can do about it?”

“Have you received any threats?” she asked. “Was there any kind of communication with the photos?”

“No,” I replied. “One of the photos was labeled ‘my favorite’ but that’s it.”

“Hmm.”

I didn’t like her tone. It was hesitant, as though she was trying to figure out the best way to deliver bad news.