Page 10 of Shadowing Her Stalker

The words came out in such a rush it took Cara a moment to process them. “Wha—Oh. Oh... You do?”

“Yes.” He wet his lips, then gave a vigorous nod. “Actually, I know a few people who do. They made a free trial part of our healthcare package a couple years ago, and well, I’m a fan.” He tossed the last off with a dismissive little laugh. “Ponied up for my own subscription.”

But Cara wasn’t inclined to dismiss anyone who appreciated her work. “Wow. I’m flattered. And so gratified you find it helpful.”

“Very helpful.”

She wanted to ask what he liked best. Wanted to know if he was in it for the finance or life coaching, like most men claimed, or if he stuck around because he found some benefit in the wellness practices. Or had he—as the fouler emails and messages she’d received implied—found a more prurient solace while watching her videos or listening to her voice?

She didn’t want to know.

Not only was he a competent, attractive man who looked good in his buttoned-up clothes, but also because, like the truck driver who’d coaxed her out of the ditch and made sure she was delivered into safe hands, Wyatt Dawson seemed inherently decent. He didn’t seem to be infected with the sort of Southern-fried misogyny Trooper Masterson and so many of the young men she’d known growing up were steeped in. He hadn’t once condescended to her, or made her feel like a nuisance. Quite the opposite. He was warm, easygoing and seemingly determined to put her mind at ease.

Fixing her most serene smile in place, she rose and offered him her hand to shake. “Thank you... Wyatt. I appreciate both your diligence and your kind words.”

He bobbed his head, then backed away. “I’ll get out of your hair. If I hear anything, I’ll call.”

“Thank you again,” she said.

He stepped into the hall, but made no move toward the building’s entrance.

“Is there something else?” she asked.

He didn’t bother to hide his sheepish smile. “I guess I don’t need to remind you to lock up.”

“No, but you can stand there and listen as I do.” She flashed a quick, shaky smile. “Good night, Special Agent Dawson.”

He inclined his head and mimicked touching the brim of a hat. “Good night, Ms. Beckett.”

She closed the heavy door between them, then made a racket of engaging the locks before moving to the electronic alarm panel. It was set up differently from the one at her home, so she took a moment to scan the printed instructions the unit’s owner had framed beside it.

“Don’t forget there’s an alarm,” he called from the other side of the door.

“I’m doing it now,” she called back. “Jeez. Give a person a minute.”

“Sorry.”

The buttons beeped and she pressed them in the preset sequence. Three short bleats signaled her success. She glanced down to where a slit of light from the hall crept into the unit. She could see his shadow.

Cara was about to call out to him. She wanted to chastise him for hovering, but his presence was disturbingly comforting. A childish part of her wanted to chase him off for that reason alone. She could accuse him of acting like a creeper. Say he was—

“Good night.” His voice seeped through the door, quiet, calm and deep. “Try to rest tonight. Tomorrow is as good a day as any to start fresh.”

She listened to his footsteps as he walked down the hall. The outer door latched with a loudka-thunk. Stepping back into the unit, Cara placed her hands on her hips and let her head fall forward. She drew two breaths before releasing her hands and shaking her arms until they went noodle limp.

Once she’d released some of the tension in her neck and shoulders, she made her way into the small galley-style kitchen to sort through the bags Zarah had had delivered. As she unpacked each item, she made herself pause for a moment of gratitude.

She was alive.

She was well.

She had everything she needed.

Cara truly believed her life was better than a fairy tale. She got to build a company from the ground up with her two best friends at her side. Every day, she got to do work she loved. She brought people comfort in times of anxiety and solace in moments of sadness, and helped them find peace in the beats between each breath.

On the day Chris and Tom asked her to do the voice-over work on the new application they’d created as part of their final project before graduation, she’d planned to audition for a shampoo commercial. But they were desperate, and she didn’t want to let them down. She’d been so naive when they met in their freshman dormitory at the University of California, Los Angeles. Like thousands of other transplants, she planned to be a star. Chris and Tom wanted to be the next Jobs and Wozniak.

They’d been the first friends she’d made in California, and for a lonesome girl from a small town in Arkansas, their friendship meant more than the possibility of commercial residuals.

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