Page 4 of Shadowing Her Stalker

Breathless, she slid down the slope on the other side of the ramp. Peeking over tall grass, she saw her passenger sliding behind the wheel.

Flattening herself in the damp grass, she held her breath as she heard the rev of engines. Another blast of impatient honking told her the driver stuck behind her abandoned rental had had enough shenanigans for one day. Seconds later, she heard the rumble and sigh of air brakes again.

Cara raised her head enough to peer over the edge of the culvert. Beyond the beams of a tractor hauling a flatbed filled with spooled steel, she saw the taillights of a silver subcompact flash as it sped up the entrance ramp on the opposite side of the country road.

He was taking off without her.

Relief pulsed through her veins.

He was gone.

Panting, Cara lowered her head to rest on the backs of her trembling hands. Cold dampness seeped into the knees of her jeans. Her palms throbbed. She had no doubt she’d find them speckled with glass and gravel from her dive for safety, but she didn’t care.

He was gone.

She was alive.

She was safe.

“Breathe in life,” she murmured. And she did. She drank in the cool, damp air until her lungs were full to bursting, and held it there.

Then, a pair of battered boots tramped down the grass right in front of her. Every oxygen molecule she’d ingested exploded out of her when a man spoke.

“Do you have some kind of death wish or something, lady?”

Chapter Two

Wyatt Dawson didn’t mind working late. Truthfully, he preferred the office after hours. Because they were a small team, most of the members of the cybercrime division took work home with them, but he liked the time in the office alone. He wasn’t antisocial, though some would say he was; it was more that he liked the idea of keeping his work at work.

And he was so close to zeroing in on a solid lead.

Sitting at his desk with his feet up, he was scanning lines of data, looking for the IP address needed to confirm his suspicions. If he could connect the dots, all the extra hours would pay off. The spot on the multiagency task force investigating the sale and movement of illegally produced distilled spirits through northwest Arkansas would be his. He was close. He could taste it. So close he was tempted to ignore the ringing desk phone.

But he couldn’t. The cybercrime division was still in its infancy. He and his tiny group of talented colleagues were on a mission to prove their worth to the Department of Public Safety. And because they were worthy, he would take the call. Even though it was after hours.

Even though it meant shifting mental gears at the precise moment he needed them locked on target.

He frowned as the desk phone continued to pester him. The short two-tone ring indicated an intraoffice phone call. The last thing he needed was for someone on the inside to insinuate they weren’t pulling their weight. Dropping his feet to the floor, he reached for the receiver of the desk phone and wedged it between his ear and shoulder.

“CCD, Dawson here,” he said as he typed a note into his spreadsheet to mark where he’d left off.

“Agent Dawson? This is Trooper Chad Masterson,” the caller said with brisk efficiency. “I have a sort of unusual circumstance unfolding here, and I’m wondering if you might be able to help me.”

Wyatt shook his mouse to keep the computer from transitioning into sleep mode then sat up straighter in his chair and took hold of the receiver. “Happy to. How can I help?”

“Have you ever heard of a woman called Cara Beckett?” the trooper asked.

Scowling, Wyatt picked up a pen and jotted the name on a pad of sticky notes he kept beside the phone. The name did ring a bell, but he found the man’s coy approach annoying. He wasn’t a big fan of fishing expeditions whether they employed a line and hook, or clumsily delivered yes or no questions.

“I’m gonna need a little more than a name,” he informed his colleague.

“Cara Beckett,” the trooper repeated. “Says she works for a company called LYYF. Spelled with twoY’s.L-Y-Y-F.” Masterson was unable to mask the disdain in his voice as he spelled out the company name. “I believe it’s some kind of phone application.”

Wyatt sighed. The number of electronic troglodytes he encountered within the ranks of law enforcement never failed to amaze him. Sure, they were all for DNA matches and advanced ballistics, but tie a computer, tablet or smartphone to a crime and they bragged about how they were still using AOL as their email provider. Or pretended they hadn’t heard of one of the tech world’s biggest sensations.

“Yes, I’m familiar with the application,” he said briskly.

Truthfully, he was more than familiar. He was a daily user. He reached for his own phone and swiped through a couple of screens, stopping when he spotted the bright orange icon with the stylizedLat its center. The home page loaded and he stared at the photo of a woman seated in the lotus position, her eyes closed and her lips curved into a serene smile.

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