Page 89 of Cornered

THESECOND BRIGGS TURNERsaw the unmistakable look of fear flashing in Lahela’s brown eyes, his instinct went on alert. “What do you mean, go to the police? What’s going on?”

“Lahela, are you in trouble?” Nash’s attention was no longer on his birthday gifts. “How can we help you?”

Briggs appreciated the level of concern radiating from his friend, but it wasn’t a surprise. In the short time they’d known her, Lahela’s friendship felt so natural, like she’d always been a part of their lives. It was one of the reasons Briggs hesitated to ask her out. Their friendship was relatively new, and he didn’t want to risk losing it if she wasn’t in the same place he was. He may not have known Lahela long, but it only took a few hours with her to see the way her bubbly personality lit up the room. Nearly as bright as her smile. Both were missing in this moment, and it didn’t sit well with him.

His eyes searched Lahela’s face for an indication of what was going on before sending a pointed message back to Daphne.

“It’s okay, Briggs,” Lahela said, catching him in the act. She offered him a half smile that was no match for the wattage of a real one. She looked to Daphne, who gave a small nod,before continuing. “I started receiving some weird phone calls from someone who doesn’t say anything.”

“From who?” His nerves were already firing in the offensive. All he needed was a name and he’d put a stop to it.

“I don’t know.” Lahela twisted her hands together. “I thought it was someone dialing a wrong number.”

“Okay.” Briggs leaned his elbows on the table. “Start from the beginning and tell me everything.”

“No. We’re here to celebrate Nash’s birthday dinner.” Lahela shook her head and took her cell phone back from Daphne. “This is probably someone’s idea of a weird joke.” Her voice lacked the confidence of her words as she dropped her cell phone into her purse.

“No, we should talk about these calls.”

“And photos,” Daphne added.

“Photos?” Briggs practically growled, and it drew startled looks from both ladies. “They sent you photos?”

His imagination was taking him places he did not want to go, places he’d witnessed when he worked with the Dallas Police Department, things he wished he could scrub from his eyes and brain.

Lahela’s eyes rounded. “No.” Her hand reached over to wrap around his forearm, and his skin instantly reacted to her touch. “Notthosekinds of photos.”

Relief spread through him even as he watched Lahela shudder, likely her mind going to the same place his did.

“They’re photos of Lahela”—Daphne held up a hand when his gaze swung to hers—“at school and outside of her house.”

Lahela dropped her hands to her lap. “Daph.”

“What?” Daphne folded her arms. “This guy is stalking you.”

Stalker. A dull throbbing began in the back of his head. He was glad the photos weren’t the worst he’d imagined, but this wasn’t much better. He didn’t know what was driving Lahela’shesitancy, but in his experience, it was better to tread lightly. “Anywhere else?”

Lahela reached for a chip. “Those were the only ones from tonight.”

“Tonight?” Nash asked. “How long has this been happening?”

Lahela exchanged a look with Daphne before meeting his eyes. “A while ... and before you read me the riot act, I did go to the police when it started happening, but without any proof or ideas of who it was, there wasn’t much they could do.”

Briggs blew out a breath. She wasn’t wrong. Stalking cases were some of the most difficult to prosecute, which made them not just frightening for the victim but, if they escalated, often deadly.

“You have no idea who it might be?” Nash asked.

“No,” Lahela said quietly.

Briggs wanted to press her on that, but he was interrupted when Fisher Crawford showed up at the table.

“Happy birthday, big man.” Fish wrapped an arm around Nash’s neck in a playful back hug, his eyes landing on the envelope still sitting in the middle of the table. “Did you like it? If you need someone to—” His eyes moved around the table. “What’s with the serious tone? Wait, are they out of tacos? Because I just spent the last two hours helping Mom flip her office upside down looking for Celery only to find the little rodent hiding in the art closet covered in blue paint. Washable paint is only washable when the subjectwantsto be washed. So, if they’re out of barbacoa tacos I might throw an adult-sized tantrum.”

The magnitude of the interrupted conversation hung between Briggs, Daphne, Lahela, and Nash as they all stared up at the man who looked a little unhinged.

Nash frowned. “Are you saying that you have ablueprairie dog?”

“Actually”—Fish flashed his painted palms and fingers at them—“he looks a little green now, but yeah.”

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