Page 11 of Shadowing Her Stalker

She reached into another bag and her hand closed around a tube. She pulled it out and saw Zarah had thought to buy her favorite brand of deodorant. Tears filled her eyes as she offered up heartfelt gratitude for her young assistant.

Cara knew she had people who loved and supported her.

People who knew her and understood her better than her own family.

Her folks thought the whole acting thing was a phase. They didn’t mind her going out to California for college because she’d sailed out on a flotilla of scholarships and financial aid programs. Cara knew they had not so secretly hoped when she got out to LA and realized how mercurial Hollywood could be, she’d settle into a more practical degree program. They hadn’t counted on her loving every bit of the hustle and grind.

They never imagined she wouldn’t come home and take over the land three generations of Becketts had toiled over. A sharp pang of guilt twanged through her as she glanced over at the phone she’d abandoned on the coffee table. Should she call them? Maybe not get into the details of what happened, but let them know she was coming to stay for a little while?

Her heart rate ramped up at the very thought, but the next thing she knew, she was palming the phone. Her thumb hovered over the keypad as she checked the time. They’d be getting ready for bed. Things had been strained between her and her parents for so long. They weren’t estranged, exactly, but her refusal to come home after graduation had cracked the foundation of their relationship.

Biting her lip, she punched out a 424 area code rather than the 870 attached to the landline her parents insisted on keeping.

Zarah picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” Cara informed her.

Her assistant let out a long breath. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” Cara nodded, even though she knew the younger woman couldn’t see her. Maybe she was trying to reassure herself.

“Did you get the stuff I ordered? Is the place okay?” the younger woman asked, breathless. “I can’t believe this happened to you. In Arkansas! I mean, I expect to hear about bad stuff out here, but I didn’t know you had anything more than, uh, farmland in Arkansas.”

“You’re not far off. Actually, rice is the biggest crop here,” Cara said, doodling the words “rice is nice” on the first page of her new notebook.

Zarah’s spongelike ability to absorb random bits of information was one of her most charming quirks. The quickest way to talk her down was to load her up with tasty tidbits of trivia she could whip out at a moment’s notice.

“Really?” The younger woman hummed as she filed the information away in her mind palace. “I had no idea.”

“Facts are fun,” Cara said, forcing a bright note into her tone. “Were you able to get into my place without any trouble?”

“Oh, yeah. No problem. I grabbed your passport for ID and found the credit card right where you said it would be. I raided petty cash for a couple hundred and put it in the envelope in case. I overnighted it all to you in care of Special Agent Dawson at the Arkansas State Police. It should arrive before 8:00 a.m.”

Cara fought the urge to roll her eyes. When Wyatt Dawson found out Zarah had sent supplies from one of the superstores to the condo, he insisted she call her assistant back and route any future shipments through him. Cara thought it was overkill, but she’d been too tired to fight him on it.

“Thank you so much for all you’ve done.”

“Oh, jeez, no problem,” Zarah said, allowing her native Minnesotan to show through for a second. “I’m so relieved you’re okay. So scary, you know?”

Smiling her first genuine smile of the night, Cara said, “I know.”

“Are you calling me from the new phone?”

“Yes, but don’t give the number to anyone yet. The police are cloning my old number. Anything sent to it will show on this one too. They’re monitoring both numbers, so they can capture any calls or texts.”

“Oh. Cool.” She gave a little laugh. “It sounds like they’re pretty cyber savvy there in Arkansas.”

Cara frowned, both mildly offended on behalf of her home state and bemused by the younger woman’s blunt assessment. “Yes, they are. But that also means the guy who has my phone might be checking it too, if he can get past my security code. I’m not putting anything past anyone these days.”

“I totally hear you,” Zarah said.

Tired, and not prepared to answer questions, Cara shifted into business mode. “Hey, so I need some contact information. If I send you a list, will you email them back to me?”

“Email? Can’t I text them?”

Zarah sounded perplexed by the notion of using such antiquated means of communication. Smirking at the notebook where she started jotting names, Cara wondered if Zarah would find Special Agent Dawson nearly as cute if she passed on his suggestion regarding the pen and paper.

“We’re trying to go low-tech on this,” Cara informed her. “I’m staying off apps, and texts are not secure. We know my work email has been hacked, but I have an old address I use as a spam catcher. I was thinking maybe if you don’t mind me sending a list to your personal email?”

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