Page 23 of Shadowing Her Stalker

“Hey, there,” Cara’s father said gruffly, pulling his daughter from her mother’s arms and into his own. Like his wife and daughter, he was tall, but James Beckett was anything but willowy. Barrel-chested and burly, the man was more akin to a sprawling live oak tree.

“Hi, Daddy,” she murmured as he crushed her to him.

“Hi, Sugar,” her father grumbled into the top of her head. Without releasing his hold on Cara, he extended a hand toward Wyatt. “You’re with the state police?”

“Yes, sir. Wyatt Dawson.” He supplied his name as he shook the man’s hand.

“I’m Betsy and this is Jim, and in case you haven’t figured it out, we’re Cara’s mama and daddy.”

“I put the pieces together,” he said as he shook hands with Elizabeth. “Pleased to meet you both. Wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Oh, my stars, I know.” Elizabeth Beckett threaded her hand through his arm and propelled him in the direction of the porch. “I can’t even believe this is happening.” She whirled and pinned Cara with an incredulous glare. “Why is this happening?”

“Because the world is a crazy place, Mama,” Cara said with exasperated patience.

By the time they reached the porch the dog had roused itself enough to stand at attention. “Hello, Roscoe,” Cara cooed. “Who’s a very good boy?”

Betsy snorted. “Good for nothing but warming the floorboards,” she said, herding them all up the steps. “Come in. Come in. I have some stew on the stove and a pan of corn bread if you’re ready for lunch. I know Jim’s probably ready to eat his hat.”

Cara’s father pulled the battered Razorbacks hat from his head the moment he crossed the threshold. “I am hungry.”

Wyatt stole a glance at his watch. It was early afternoon, but the Becketts had been hard at work long before the call from his commanding officer woke him. The scent of richly spiced beef stew filled the entry. He tipped his head back appreciatively and Cara’s father chuckled.

“Come on in and have a bowl while you get us all caught up,” he said, gesturing for Wyatt to follow his nose.

Betsy turned to Cara, her forehead crumpled with worry. “Now, I know you don’t eat meat, but I forget whether cheese is okay or not.”

“I, uh, yeah, it’s fine, Mama,” Cara said, her cheeks turning pink. “Don’t worry about me. I can sort out whatever I need.”

“Born to raise beef cattle, but the minute she stepped foot in California she turned vegan on us,” Jim Beckett blustered.

“It didn’t happen the minute I moved to California,” Cara shot back. “Like every other red-blooded college kid out there, I lived on pepperoni pizza and pad Thai for the better part of four years.”

She turned toward Wyatt and rolled her eyes dramatically. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was there to protect her or act as referee.

“But I’m not vegan anymore. I love dairy too much.”

“I should ship you off to the Bakers. They can keep you in milk and cheese if my beef isn’t good enough for you,” her father grumbled as he pulled out a kitchen chair. “Have a seat, Officer Dawson. Tell me what you plan to do to catch the jerk who sent that email,” he ordered.

Wyatt fought back a smirk. Jim Beckett was clearly a very focused man. He wondered what Cara and her father would say if he attributed her ability to maintain balance and stay centered to him. Before he could get himself settled, Cara jumped in, acting as his self-appointed public relations representative.

“Actually, it’s Special Agent Dawson, Daddy. Wyatt is a member of the Cybercrimes Division.”

“Cybercrimes?” Betsy repeated as she ladled up bowls of stew. “Sounds fascinating.”

“Betsy loves watching those crime shows. The ones with all the DNA testing,” Jim said with a nod. “It is amazing what they can figure out with nothin’ more than a few hairs or a drop of blood.”

“You like them too,” his wife shot back.

“Yes, uh, technology has helped in some incredible ways.” He cast a glance at Cara and found her reaching into a high cabinet to pull down a jar of peanut butter. Her sweatshirt rose as she stretched, exposing a couple centimeters of skin, and Wyatt felt compelled to shift his gaze back to her father. “I deal more with the ways it hasn’t helped,” he admitted with a wry smile and apologetic shrug.

“Like the email,” Betsy said, juice flying from her ladle as she pointed it at him.

“Exactly.” Wyatt surreptitiously wiped the droplet of scalding stew from his cheek as he debated what information to divulge. He didn’t want to panic the Becketts, but he also needed them to be on their guard. “And you did exactly the right thing by not replying to or forwarding the email, Mrs. Beckett.”

“Pssht. Call me Betsy,” Cara’s mother said as she plunked a bowl down in front of him. With a quick intake of breath she drew back as if she’d burned her hand, a worried frown bisecting her brows. “I didn’t ask. Do you eat meat, Special Agent Dawson?”

“It’s Wyatt, and yes, ma’am. I love stew.”

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