Page 54 of Shadowing Her Stalker

“I’m starting to think all this technology is more trouble than it’s worth.” He chuckled and her expression brightened. “We could blow off getting your hot spot thingy. You know those phone places like to keep you trapped all day, and I know a place with the best onion rings you’ve ever tasted.”

He let out a guffaw as he pulled his seat belt across his body and clicked it into place. “It’s nine thirty and we finished breakfast less than an hour ago.”

“I fail to see the conflict,” she replied, straight-faced.

“How does this sound? I grab the gateway—it won’t take long, the state has a contract with the carrier and it’s all set up at the store.” He sneaked a glance at her as he maneuvered out of the cramped parking lot.Skepticalwasn’t a strong enough word for the look she gave him. “Seriously. All I have to do is show my ID and pick it up.” She shot him a doubtful glance as he pulled back onto the highway.

“Fine,” she conceded ungraciously.

“Then we can see what we can do about finding you some different clothes. You brought the cash Zarah sent?” She nodded and gave an affirmative hmm. “Good.” He smiled as they picked up speed, hurtling toward the small city nestled in the Ozark Mountains. “Then we’ll replenish with those onion rings, but I have to warn you, I’ve had some good rings in my time.”

“In your time,” she echoed with a snort.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, smiling as he glanced over at her. “So tell me, who is this hot cop Zarah asked you about?”

THEPICKUPATthe mobile phone store didn’t go as quickly or smoothly as Wyatt had hoped. When all was said and done, it ate through a full hour of their morning and layers of his patience.

“Come on, we’ll get a ridiculously decadent cup of coffee, then I’ll let you sit and watch the world go by while I try on jeans and pick up a few sweaters.” She treated him to a wide, winning smile. “I’ve lived in Southern California for so long I’ve forgotten how great sweater weather actually is.”

As they waited at the window to pick up overpriced coffees, Cara leaned across him to ask the young woman at the register for shopping recommendations. When he ruled out a trip to the Branson outlets, she insisted he drive her to the town square. Wyatt eyed the area skeptically. Like most small towns, Harrison had dried up when the highway bypass was built and commerce flowed away from the business district.

“There it is.” Cara pointed to one of the run-down storefronts. “Sassafras,” she announced, repeating the name of the boutique the woman at the coffee shop said had “real cute stuff” but was “kinda spendy.”

The display window featured a single mannequin sporting a pair of slim black pants and an animal-print sweater with an enormous collar pulled down around its sculpted shoulders. Wyatt tried to picture Cara wearing such an outlandishly gaudy print but found he could imagine the tempting hollows of her collarbones all too easily.

“Maybe we should go up to Branson,” he said gruffly.

She let out a tinkling burst of laughter. “Maybe, but I’ll take a peek in here first.”

When she reached for the handle, he placed a hand on her forearm to stop her. “Hang on. Let me go in and check it out first.”

Raising a single brow, she asked, “You think whoever is stalking me somehow got wind of a random conversation I had with a barista through a drive-up window?”

“No,” he admitted slowly. “But I’m, uh, responsible for, you know, keeping you safe.”

The other brow shot up to match its twin. “Well, come on, Captain Responsible, we’re going shopping. You can hold my keeper pile.”

She bailed out of the SUV without another word and Wyatt cringed at the thought. He could have handled a trip to a mall. Department stores usually had chairs for people to wait in, at least. But this place looked to be about the size of a postage stamp and, from what he could see through the plate-glass door, was stuffed to the gills with glitter, fringe and frills. When Cara stopped on the sidewalk, crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot, he made a shooing motion before opening his own door.

“Go on. I’m getting claustrophobic lookin’ through the window,” he called to her.

Cara’s triumphant grin lit her face. “I won’t be long,” she called, then sailed into the store without a backward glance.

He heard the jingle of the bell above the store’s door as he climbed out of the car himself. Carrying his coffee, he strolled along the sidewalk, peering around the edges of brown-craft-papered windows into vacant spaces, and stopping to admire the neon marquee of the historic Lyric Theater. Not wanting to stray too far, he settled on a wooden park bench across from Sassafras. He’d responded to three work emails and was sipping the dregs of his coffee when she backed out of the store, shopping bags pulling on both arms.

The yoga pants, T-shirt and sweatshirt she’d been wearing were nowhere to be found. Instead, she wore wide-legged bleached denim jeans with a preppy-looking sweater. She still wore the thick-soled canvas sneakers Zarah had sent with the other supplies, but he could see the distinct shape of a shoebox in one of the bulging bags. Tossing his cup into a nearby trash bin, he hustled to the car to help her stow her haul.

“Wow. I guess this worked for you?” he asked with a laugh.

“Such cute stuff. Fun but functional. They have a whole section of jeans called ‘sassy pants,’” she informed him as he pried the handles of the shoppers from her fingers.

“I would expect nothing less,” he said soberly.

“I’m going to tell my mom about this place. She’d love it too,” she called as she headed for the passenger seat.

Wyatt had a hard time imagining practical, efficient Betsy Beckett shopping anywhere with so much sass, but he refrained from saying so. When he climbed back into the driver’s seat, he could practically feel the buzz emanating from her. Her excitement was so infectious, he had to smile.

“I guess you needed some retail therapy?”

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