“Leila. It’s me.”

Charles?

The voice broke through her subconscious. Her screams died down and her eyes snapped open. It was Charles. In flesh and blood and a battered hand.

Anger and a flood of other emotions coursed through her veins. She shoved him. “You were following me, weren’t you?” she screamed in his face and pushed him again. “Charles, I told you to stop following me.”

“Where I come from, the word is: Thank you.” He stretched the phone to ...