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I have one suitcase haphazardly stuffed and another is half-full as I reach for his shoes. I’m not sure why I’m worried about what he has. I can’t remember the last time he was truly concerned about Chase or me—and the last two weeks don’t count.

The last two weeks have been the worst.

I jump when the doorbell chimes through my quiet house like a gong.

That can’t be Tonya. She has a key. I trust her completely, and she comes and goes with Chase to keep him busy so he doesn’t sit in the house all day.

I need to get my shit together. This is what I do—I deal with things. My case load is heavy. Focus and memory are my strong suits. They have to be. I have no trouble remembering my patients’ ailments, or their hobbies, new grandbabies, and their favorite desserts.

My nerves are shot. There’s no way I’d be able to carry on a decent conversation about the weather, let alone bunions or brownies. And when you need to make small talk with the elderly, weather is always a conversation starter.

But I can’t think about the upcoming hurricane season or the milder weather southern Florida lives for in the coming months. The doorbell rings again.

And again.

And again.

Dammit.

Who answers the door anymore unless they’re expecting someone?

Not me, that’s who.

My father would lecture me for not living in a gated community to simply not have to deal with unwanted visitors. Instead, I do what most people do who can’t afford gatekeepers but they can afford top of the line technology. I pull up my front door camera.

The man standing on my front porch ringing my doorbell incessantly is wearing a frown and a pair of aviators. The former is etched in every line of his square jaw and strong cheekbones. After he presses the button again, he drags a hand through his dark blond hair. It’s long enough to turn up at his nape when he looks to the side and shakes his head with frustration before crossing his thick, tattooed arms across his wide chest.

Who the hell is he?

The man is huge, taking up more of the screen than most mere mortals when I screen uninvited visitors. I bet he’d still be ominous while grinning from ear-to-ear eating rainbow cotton candy on a unicorn stick.

There’s no way I’m opening the door. Today, of all days, I don’t need a distraction. I rescheduled my entire afternoon to get this done with Jeff so Chase wouldn’t be here, and I was booked back-to-back with patients. Whoever that guy is, I need him to go back to whatever grumpy hole he crawled out of and never return.

My list of problems is longer than my patients’ excuses for not drinking enough water, no matter how many kidney issues they might have from dehydration. I do not need irritable strangers in my life adding to my list.

I’m about to turn back to the half-filled suitcase when the man at the door rips the sunglasses from his face and bends at the waist. His frown extends to his deep blue eyes when he looks straight into the camera and bites, “I know you’re home. I’m not leaving until you come to the door.”

I gasp and lean to the wall as if I can hide between Jeff’s suits and his crisply ironed dress shirts.

It’s like he sees me hiding in my soon-to-be ex-husband’s clothes, because he doesn’t budge and continues to threaten me with his presence. “We need to talk. Trust me, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here. If you don’t come to the door, I’ll be forced to take other measures. I don’t want that, and you sure as hell don’t want it.”

He must be one of Jeff’s friends. They don’t come to the house often, just to pick him up or drop him off on their way to the harbor, or wherever they go and do whatever they do.

I have no idea what Jeff did to piss off this guy, but it’s got to be bad.

And since I don’t trust one thing Jeff says or does anymore, the possibilities are endless.

The beast of a man leans in farther and pushes the button as if he’s hell-bent on wearing out the chimes. A chunk of unruly hair falls to his forehead when he leans in even farther as his deep voice hits me through my phone and takes my breath away when he addresses me directly. “Dr. Evita Litchfield, we need to talk. I can’t stress enough that I’m the one person on earth you need more than anyone. Open the damn door.”

Oh, he did not use my full name.

No one calls me Evita but my mother. Who does this guy think he is? All of a sudden, my anxiety melts into anger. I will not allow him to make demands through my video doorbell and blindly do as he says. He can stand in the sweltering Florida heat all day. He’s not my patient.

If he dehydrates, it’s not my problem.

As if on demand, he reaches behind him and flips open an oversized wallet. I lose sight of his rugged features and the only thing I see through the camera is a badge. “Special Agent Micah Emmett. I’m not the big, bad wolf who’s come to feast on you. I’m your knight in shining armor.”

An agent? Like a government agent?

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