Page 12 of Shadowing Her Stalker

“Oh! Yeah. Totally makes sense.”

Zarah rattled off an email address. They ended the call and Cara tapped her pen against the pad as she racked her brain for any other contacts she wanted to add to her list. Then she opened the secure browser and attempted to access the email account she never used. It took three attempts before she recalled the correct password, and even then she had to run the gauntlet of selecting security images of cacti and bicycles before the server demanded access to send a one-time code to her phone.

Gnawing her bottom lip, she weighed the risk of exposure before typing in her digits. She figured her detractors would have to be pretty darn dedicated to watch her every move all the time. Besides, she’d done all of her travel correspondence through her work email. The odds of anyone tracking down the handle she’d barely used since college had to be slim.

She fired off the list of names along with her heartfelt thanks for going above and beyond, and the reassurance there was no hurry to reply because she’d be logging out and heading straight for the shower then bed. The message whooshed its way to California. Her inbox was full of unopened newsletters, discount codes and special offers she’d relegated to limbo. With a couple taps, she sent them all to the trash bin.

She logged out of the email server, then backed out of the secure browser, sure to wait until flames rolled up the screen as an indication the connection had been torched. Satisfied she’d done all she could to cover her tracks, she stowed the last of the food items before grabbing the clothes and toiletries and heading for the bathroom. The sooner she got to sleep, the sooner morning would come.

Standing under the hot spray, she did her level best to tap into the gratitude and positivity she touted on the app, but her mind continued to whirl. Then her ankles gave out.

Sitting on the floor of a strange tub with her legs drawn close and her head pressed to her knees, she let the tears flow. They ran down her cheeks hot and salty as the cooling water pummeled her shoulders and back. Shivering, she told herself everything would be better in the morning.

It had to be.

Because if things could get worse than being abducted at gunpoint, she didn’t want to know how.

HEAVYPOUNDINGWOKEher from a fitful sleep. She wasn’t quite ready to surface, but the dream of someone sawing her in half was every bit as disturbing as the persistent thumps. Cracking an eyelid, Cara found herself staring at sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains. Another round of demanding knocks came, and the phone she’d clutched until she fell asleep buzzed insistently from under her pillow.

She sat up, her eyes gritty from too many tears and too little sleep.

Someone was calling her name through the door. She ran a hand over her hair. It was flat on one side and sticking up on the other. She’d fallen asleep while it was still damp.

“Cara? If you don’t answer in the next thirty seconds, I’m busting down this door.”

The person issuing the threat was a man. But it didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like a warning. Yanking the phone from its nesting spot, she swung her legs over the side of the bed as she read the name on the screen. Swiping with her thumb, she said, “Agent Dawson?”

“Why aren’t you answering your door?” he demanded. His tone was edgy and sharp.

“I was sleeping,” she grumbled, staggering across the living room to the door.

She started disengaging the locks, but his gravelly bark stopped her. “Peephole.”

“I know it’s you,” she argued. “I can hear you through the door and the phone.”

“Check anyway,” he growled.

She obliged him with a huff. Sure enough, Special Agent Wyatt Dawson stood in the hall holding an overnight envelope and wearing a shearling-lined denim jacket. “Nice jacket,” she said, matching him grump for grump. “You headed out to rope some steers this morning?”

“Disarm the alarm.”

She wanted to tell him where he could get off, but she was hoping the envelope contained the cash, cards and passport Zarah had shipped.

“Sir, yes, sir,” she replied, turning away from the door. She disabled the alarm system, then twisted the locks. Stepping back to allow him entry, she muttered, “You’re eager to get a jump on the day.”

He stepped over the threshold, then quickly closed the door behind him. Once he had her locked in again, he turned and thrust the envelope at her. “Do you have a Webmail address?”

“What?”

“Do you have a Webmail email account?” he demanded.

“Yes, but I don’t use—”

“Did you send an email to someone last night?”

Cara pushed her hand through her hair, her anger rising even as her stomach sank. “What if I did?” she challenged.

“If you did, you exposed your account and someone got hold of it,” he shot back.

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