And then Grant made his second mistake.
He called me.
The hospital line rang at 6:12 a.m. I knew it was him before I answered. No caller ID, no greeting, just breathing.
Dr. Reed had been checking my chart. He reached for the phone, but I shook my head and pressed speaker.
“Clara,” Grant said.
His voice was soft.
That was the voice he used before guests arrived, when he would touch my cheek gently over a bruise and remind me how expensive the concealer was.
Detective Voss had told me not to take his calls.
But Detective Voss was not in the room.
Dr. Reed’s jaw tightened.
“Grant,” I said.
A pause.
“You sound better.”
“I am.”
“You embarrassed yourself on television.”
“No,” I said. “I embarrassed you.”
His breathing changed.
There he was.
The man beneath the suit.
“You think those police can protect you forever?”
Dr. Reed stepped closer.
