Page 25 of Shadowing Her Stalker

Wyatt did his best to mask the surprise and pleasure he took from her endorsement. Still, it was good to hear.

“And I promise you, we have been taking the case quite seriously.” Wyatt glanced over at Betsy and flashed his most winning smile. “Even without the nudge from the lieutenant governor’s office.”

“Lieuten—” James started then stopped on a grunt, shooting his wife a sidelong glare. “Naturally, you called your old pal Paul for help.”

“I told you I called him,” Betsy said, rising from the table. She picked up her own barely touched bowl, then snatched James’s nearly empty one from his place.

“You think I couldn’t have called someone?” James demanded. “Dewey Roarke is a senator, for crying out loud, and we’ve been buddies since we were seven. We could have called him.”

“Dewey is a state senator, and he’syourbuddy,” Betsy countered, dropping the bowls into the sink with a clatter. “You were out at the barn when I saw the email, and I called who I knew to call.”

“Good old Paul Stanton, always ready to ride in on his white Cadillac.”

“I called you first,” she shot back. “It took you forty-five minutes to get back to the house.”

“I was in the middle of feeding—”

“Hey,” Cara shouted, cutting through their bickering like a hot knife through butter. “It doesn’t matter who called who. I didn’t need anybody to ride in to rescue me. I’d already rescued myself.”

Mr. and Mrs. Beckett both fell silent. Betsy turned toward the sink, gripping its edges for support. James slumped, his broad shoulders sagging and his hands falling limp to his lap.

“You must think we’re awful,” Betsy whispered, shaking her head side to side.

An awkward beat passed, then Cara asked, “Me or Wyatt?”

A watery laugh escaped Betsy Beckett. “Both.”

“Oh, Mama.” Cara slid out of her chair and went to wrap her arm around her mother. Betsy’s shoulders shook until Cara pressed her cheek against her mother’s back. “I love you even when you’re awful. It must be nice to know Daddy’s still a bit worked up over the guy who took you to a dance back when you all still had a feathered hairdo.”

Betsy choked out a laugh, and James moved to them as if they were magnetized. Soon, both women were engulfed in the larger man’s arms again. “I hate he drives a nicer car than me,” he grumbled into his daughter’s hair.

“I’d buy you whatever car you want,” Cara said, her voice muffled. Gradually, their family knot loosened, and Cara swiped at her cheek. “I’d even shell out for one of those enormous pickup trucks killing the planet.”

“You know I have no use for a truck too pretty to haul hay,” her father answered gruffly. “Let’s sit down. I need to hear more about what started all this.”

Before they could resume their places, Wyatt’s phone rang. He checked the caller ID and saw it was Emma Parker. She was calling instead of sending a message. He could only guess something big was happening. “Excuse me for a moment, please,” he said, scooting his chair back. “I need to take this.”

Wyatt didn’t wait to see if the Becketts were put off by his abrupt departure from their table. Nor did he look back. “Dawson,” he said in a low voice, hurrying back through the living room toward the front door. The screen door didn’t squeak when he pushed it open, and old Roscoe didn’t stir from the patch of sun on the porch. “What’s happening?” he asked as he ran down the shallow steps.

“We know who the guy is,” Emma informed him without preamble.

“What? How?” Wyatt pushed a hand through his hair, all too aware he was firing questions faster than she could field them, but unable to stop. “Are you sure it’s him?”

“We got latent prints off the steering wheel and gearshift, but those could have been anyone’s since it was a rental car. But we had two different prints match with some we lifted from her phone.”

“Is he in the system?”

“He is. Permitted for concealed carry,” she informed him.

“Seems like everyone is these days,” he grumbled. “This joker have a name?”

“Yes. Gerald Griffin. Thirty-eight. Residence Garland County, outside Hot Springs.”

“Okay.” Wyatt gave the back of his neck a squeeze, then let his hand fall as he turned back to take in the scope of the Becketts’ ranch. “I guess we need to start looking for good old Gerry.”

“Found him,” Parker informed him, her tone grim.

Wyatt froze, his gaze locked on the overfed dog napping on the porch. “You answered fast enough to make a guy sayuh-oh.”

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