I gazed longingly at the tube of ice cream while I waited for Doris’s Delightful Arrangements to answer their phone. On the third ring, I shut the freezer door and spun around.

  Twenty-four orange roses with big fluffy blooms that could charm a zombie. In the center of the arrangement sat one sunflower the size of a dessert plate with petals that started yellow at the tips and brightened to a bold orange-red at the center of the flower. If the flowers had come from anyone but my stalker, they would’ve brought me such joy. Instead, all I could see was my stalker’s attempt to build a relationship.

  I turned the card over as the phone rang for a fourth time.

  I’m sorry. I know you could never love another as you love me.

  P.S. I’ll know you forgive me if I see the flowers sitting in your window.

  So far he hadn’t been bold enough to show his face, just to watch me close enough to know I’d been to a bar with a coworker. He’d sent me an angry note after that.

  The phone rang for a fifth time.

  If Doris ever answered her phone, I might just get the break I needed to identify him. After years of this, it would be a relief to figure out who he was. Then the police could do something.

  “Delightful Arrangements. This is Doris, how can I help you?” Her voice was as cheerful as one would expect from a flower shop.

  “Hi, Doris, I received a lovely arrangement from a secret admirer today, and I was hoping you could help me find my admirer so I can think him.” I tried to put the right amount of warmth and curiosity in my voice even though I didn’t feel it.

  “Oh, well, we get so many requests. I wouldn’t know which was yours.”

  “It was rather unique, two dozen orange roses and a sunflower. Perhaps you remember it?”

  “That one! Lovely.” She gushed. “No, I can’t say I do. The note was left in our box along with a request and the money.”

  “Box?”

  “Why, yes! My grandmother installed the order box when she ran the shop. It’s still popular today. Men love being able to slip in an order without admitting they were shopping for flowers!” The sound of shuffling papers came over the line. “Your admirer paid in cash and didn’t leave a name or number.”

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  “Would you happen to have video of the front of the store and the drop box? I’d really like to thank my admirer.” The words tasted sour.

  “I’d love to help you connect, we’ve united quite a few couples over the years, but I’m afraid I don’t have video or any way of identifying your man.” A bell rang in the background. “If that’s all, dear, I have another customer.”

  “One more question. Was the order handwritten?” I could help but hope that this time he’d left evidence. Not that he had before, but he had to slip up at some point.

  “No, dear. He got our form off the internet and typed it up. I do love it when they do that. Makes them so much easier to read. Good penmanship is such a lost art.”

  I forced the last bit of cheer I could muster into my voice. “Thank you, Doris. I appreciate your time.”

  “Of course, dear. Enjoy the flowers!”

  As soon as the call ended, I dropped the phone on the table next to the flowers. On my way to the freezer, I snagged a spoon. The pint of cinnamon-bun-flavored goodness didn’t make the short trip to my couch unscathed.

  I flipped on the tv but ignored the show while I stewed. As tired as I was of being stalked, he was careful. Even after all this time, I didn’t have the evidence to identify him. Any solution to this problem required knowing his identity. The one piece of information I didn’t have.

  Then there was the potential for escalating behavior. He’d been jealous lately, and as much as I hated having a stalker, I’d hate it even more if my stalker turned into a killer… For my sake and the sake of everyone else in my life.

  I dug out another spoonful of ice cream and let it melt on my tongue. Humoring him could prevent an escalation, but it could also foster more of a bond. That tidbit of information had sounded better in my college classes and academy lectures than it did applied to my life.

  If life was kinder, my stalker would have an accident and cease to be my problem.

  I snorted. That wasn’t how my life worked. Nope. I was the witch who got punched by her boss on her first day as a Special Agent with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, had to chase blood magic all over the city, as well as a werewolf driven crazy by spells that shouldn’t have mingled, accidentally raised a dead corpse—yes, raised as in raised from the dead—raised a dead witness on purpose, and had the aforementioned boss try to kill her.

  As if that wasn’t enough, I took a few days off to recover—even witches needed time to regenerate magic and heal wounds—and came back to messages from my partner, Special Agent Wayne Harris, and my new (and much improved) boss Assistant Special Agent in Charge Tim Smith. Neither had said why we needed to talk, but from their tons, all had not been well while I was away. I’d intended to call them tonight, but that was before stalker flowers.

  Work problems could wait until work in the morning.

  Which still left me with stalker problems. Narzel blast him.

  Eying the flowers, I got a bolt of inspiration. Abandoning my ice cream, I yanked one rose out of the arrangement, hacked off enough stem for it to fit in a cup, and set it on a windowsill. The curtains fell back into place, effectively blocking it from my view. The rest of the flowers went in the trash. I’d get no joy from them.

  Satisfied that I’d found the least terrible solution, I sat down and returned to my ice cream. It would do fine for dinner.