Page 21 of Shadowing Her Stalker

He tossed the phone back into the console. Cara wanted to snatch it back and toss it out the window. But she knew she couldn’t. They would need every scrap of evidence they could gather.

He swiveled in his seat to look her straight in the eye. “All the sender could possibly know is someone opened it. They’re fishing, Cara,” he said, reaching over and wrapping his fingers around her forearm. “I wouldn’t take you anywhere near there if I didn’t believe we could keep you all safe.”

The gesture surprised her. From the moment they’d met, he’d kept a respectable distance between them. But this touch didn’t feel like a boundary crossed. The size of his hand was reassuring. The warmth of it, a balm. He held her gaze, sure and steady. And she believed him. He would do as he said. He’d keep her safe.

“Fishing,” she repeated.

“Or phishing, with ap-h, if you would,” he said with a self-deprecating smirk. “Don’t freak out, Cara. We’re on top of this, you have my word.”

“I don’t know you. Your word may not be good for much,” she muttered sourly.

One side of his mouth kicked up. “Let me put it this way. I value my career too much to take a celebrity who has been the victim of a crime, and has friends in high places, into a situation I believe to be dangerous to her or the people around her.”

She choked on a laugh. “Celebrity? Hardly. And my mother is the one with the friends in high places. I haven’t lived here since I was eighteen. I doubt I could pick the actual governor out of a lineup, much less the guy my mom went to the Marshall High prom with in 1978.”

“I guess we should consider you an unreliable witness, then,” he teased, reversing out of the parking spot. “For all we know, good old Uncle Paul Stanton might have been the one tryin’ to hitch a ride with you at the airport.”

“Ha ha.”

He glanced over at her before accelerating onto the highway again. “I wouldn’t put you or your parents in danger. I don’t want to be in danger,” he added with a laugh. “I know the title special agent sounds cool and all, but I’m a desk jockey. A computer nerd, remember?”

She huffed a laugh. “I’ve spent most of my adult life surrounded by computer nerds. Trust me, you carry the special agent thing off much better.”

His lips curved into a sly smile. “I think there may have been a compliment wrapped up in there somewhere.”

“Only an observation,” she disputed, willing herself not to blush. Focusing on the curving road winding its way down into the valley carved by the Buffalo National River, she steered the conversation back to the investigation. “Tell me what’s happening behind the scenes. Maybe I’ll feel better about everything if I know what’s going on behind the curtain.”

Wyatt nodded. “I get you.” He paused. His mouth puckered as he considered his words. “Okay, so we start with what we know. Someone has hacked into your accounts. They likely found their way in through one of your personal accounts rather than something attached to LYYF. Corporate security, particularly in tech firms, tends to be tight. Corporate espionage and so forth.”

“I think everyone at LYYF knows I’m not the one who will be swiping critical codes,” she said dryly.

“Perhaps not, but I’d wager most people inside and outside the company would assume you have access to critical information.”

He lifted his foot off the gas and signaled for the left turn onto AR-74. Leaving the highway behind, they crossed Bear Creek and headed deep into the rolling hills and lush valleys of Searcy County.

“I’m guessing it was through a social media platform. They tend to be the most vulnerable, and some barely even try to make it hard to cage user information. From there, they likely gained access to other platforms, and possibly your company accounts.” He paused for a moment, mulling something over. “Did you receive emails at your LYYF address as well as your personal accounts?”

“Yes, but they started with PicturSpam messages. I think you’re right, they messaged on various other accounts, including LYYF, before the emails started.”

“And I assume you were getting direct messages and emails long before they leaked your information and the texts started.”

“I wouldn’t say long before,” she hedged.

“In internet terms, long can mean hours or days,” he clarified. “Think wildfire speed.”

The Californian in her shuddered at the comparison, but she nodded. “Right. It was probably no more than a day or so. It seemed like everything happened at once.”

“I can take a good guess at what most of the messages said, but tell me someone said something to make you hop on a plane less than two weeks before your company goes public and you become a multimillionaire.”

Cara stared out at the scenery, wishing she could jump out and hide behind one of the huge round bales of hay dotting an autumn-browned pasture. Heck, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d leaped from a vehicle this week. But Wyatt was sailing down the county highway at a steady clip, and she knew there was no way she could outrun the madness infiltrating her life. The only way out would be through, she reminded herself sternly.

“It wasn’t what they said, it was what they did,” she said, unable to look directly at him.

“Okay,” he replied, the very soul of patience. “What did they do?”

“Well, let’s see...” Pausing to gulp down the fear clawing at her throat, she focused on her hands clasped in her lap. “There was the petty vandalism. Nasty words spray-painted on my garage door, crude graffiti on my driveway. I’ve gone through three mailboxes in two weeks. All this in addition to the barrage of written and verbal harassment.”

“Death threats?”

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