Page 6 of Shadowing Her Stalker

Wyatt rolled his eyes at the man’s naivete. “Picture some internet users as a pack of rabid dogs. There are always a few who will chase after a person at the slightest provocation.”

“You think this Cara Beckett person provoked this threat against her?”

“I’m not saying anything of the sort. She could simply be guilty of nothing more than breathing oxygen on a daily basis. It doesn’t take much to get a few disgruntled users to go after a high profile target.”

“You think her profile is high enough people would, uh, dox her? Kidnap her?” The other man sounded dubious. “I’ve never even heard of her.”

“You follow tech trends pretty closely, Masterson?”

“I know who Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk are,” he countered.

“Congratulations,” Wyatt said dryly. “Listen, the lady you have sitting in an office down there might not be Bezos or Musk, but she’s far wealthier than you or I can ever dream of being.” He thought back to the article he’d read about the masterminds behind LYYF. “They’re about to take the company public. Soon Cara Beckett’s net worth will be stratospheric.”

“She doesn’t look like a millionaire right now,” Masterson grumbled.

“Billionaire,” Wyatt interjected.

“She’s wearin’ jeans and a plain white shirt. All muddy and stuff from rolling in the ditch. And the trucker gave her twenty dollars because she didn’t have any walking-around money.” Masterson added the last bit as if it was conclusive evidence against Wyatt’s claims. “She’s down here right now making some calls to see if she can round up a hotel or place to stay the night using a police report as ID.”

Wyatt swiped at his cell until his internet browser popped up. A quick query yielded the article he had read a few days before. In it, a slim smiling young woman with chic, close-cropped blond hair and wide blue eyes beamed out at him. She stood a half step in front of the men she claimed were her two best friends from college.

There were plenty of people who thought an out-of-work actress didn’t deserve the 33-percent partnership the creators of LYYF offered her in exchange for voice-over work when they were prestart-up. But they made a deal, and Cara Beckett become the voice and later, when their popular video sessions were added, the face of LYYF.

The trolls and tech bros liked to grumble about the equal partnership Chris Sharpe and Tom Wasinski had traded for her services at the beginning of their venture. But no one could deny Cara Beckett was as much a part of LYYF’s success as their clever coding and attractive graphics. No amount of superior interface could have made the app a phenomenon. Her face and voice were key. As was her willingness to step out from behind the curtain and become the public spokesperson her collaborators never wanted to be.

He scrolled through the profile he’d skimmed the week before. In the article, her cofounders weren’t shy about giving her the respect she deserved. Without Cara Beckett’s easy, open smile and welcoming demeanor, the application wouldn’t have been half the hit it was.

Glancing back at the desk phone, he noted the extension Masterson was using and rose from his chair. “Hang tight. I’ll be there in a few minutes to talk to her. If even a little bit of what you say she says happened to her is true, at best we’re dealing with the situation straddling multiple jurisdictions.”

“And worst-case scenario?”

“The media finds out,” Wyatt said grimly.

“Exactly what I’m afraid of.” Masterson heaved a sigh. “Come on down. She’s got nowhere else to go and no way to get there anyhow.”

MASTERSONWASEVERYTHINGWyatt expected from their conversation. Tall and not quite barrel-chested, he wore his dark hair in a high and tight buzz cut. As he drew closer and the two shook hands, Wyatt could see short strands of silver intensified the effect of the trooper’s white-walled haircut. Deep creases furrowed the man’s brow, and squint lines radiated from cool blue eyes. Wyatt couldn’t blame the man for his natural skepticism. No doubt, the man had seen some strange things in his years of service.

Cara Beckett sat in one of the small offices on the perimeter of the bullpen. The door was closed, but the miniblinds covering the office window were drawn up. She looked different in person. It wasn’t the grass-stained clothes or the smudge of mud dried on her jawline. Her hair looked softer. It was an inch or two longer than in the photos on the app, and the color was more a honey gold than beachy white-blond streaks.

She looked tired. Small. And though he knew from her yoga videos she was strong and almost rubber-band flexible, under the fluorescent lights of the Arkansas State Police Headquarters, she came across as almost unspeakably fragile.

“Have you gotten anything more from her?” Wyatt asked.

Masterson shook his head. “She just got off the phone.”

Wyatt nodded, then gestured to the door. “Do you mind if I have a chat?”

Sweeping an arm toward the door, Masterson said, “Have at it. I have a call in to the rental company to try to get the information on the stolen vehicle.”

With a nod, Wyatt started for the office door. He gave it a couple raps with the knuckle of his index finger, then cracked it open. Cara Beckett looked up with wide, frightened eyes.

He kept the opening to little more than a crack, but made sure to smile to show her he meant no harm. “Hello. Ms. Beckett?” She nodded, but he made no move to enter the small office. “I’m Special Agent Wyatt Dawson. I’m a member of our cybercrimes division. Trooper Masterson called me. May I speak with you for a few minutes?”

She eyed him warily. “Cybercrimes division? They have one of those here?”

He pushed the door open a few inches more, and allowed his smile to widen as well. “Anywhere the internet goes, so go the scammers.”

“And the trolls,” she said, bitterness edging her tone. “And the out-and-out criminals.”

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