Page 40 of Shadowing Her Stalker

He shrugged. “We’re a small department and most of our work can be done off-site. We often take our work home.”

“You said something about damages. What happened?”

“The caller claimed there was a fire at your residence, then hung up. Emma checked the voice mailboxes for both numbers and found one where the caller said something along the lines of ‘accidents happen when you play with fire.’”

“Play with fire?”

“Emma put in calls to the LAPD and fire departments, and was able to confirm an emergency services call to your address, but they wouldn’t give any additional information and the detective assigned to your case has not returned her calls as of yet.”

She let out a breathy snort. “Yeah, I can believe it. I know they have their plates full, but...yeah.” She pushed a hand through her hair, and the corn-silk strands fell right back over her eye. “So what do we do?”

“Do you have anyone you can call who lives nearby? Zarah?”

Shivering, she tugged at the hem of her top, wishing she had long sleeves and pajama bottoms rather than the cotton T-shirt and sleep shorts Zarah had procured. Shifting to place one cold foot atop the other, she shook her head. “Zarah lives out in the Valley. We do most of our work virtually.”

“A neighbor? Your cat people?”

Color flooded her cheeks. “We, uh... I don’t have their phone numbers. Any of them,” she added, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap in bewilderment. “It’s not Arkansas. I’ve only lived there a few years and...”

He tried to pretend he understood, but the idea of not knowing at least some of his neighbors must have been almost incomprehensible to him. Little Rock was a good-sized city, but in many ways it was still as interconnected as a small town. The truth was, there were few degrees of separation between most Arkansans, and even the city folk tended to look out for their neighbors.

He cleared his throat, and plowed ahead. “Em has been on the forums.” He gave her a sympathetic wince. “The scuttlebutt online is it wasn’t an accident and the damage is pretty bad.”

“You think someone set fire to my house?” She blinked up at him, not quite certain they were speaking the same language.

He reached past her, plucked a hoodie from the bedpost where she’d hung it and handed it to her. “I’m telling you there was possibly a fire at your residence in Los Angeles, and we have heard rumors it may have been the result of arson, and the damage is extensive. Nothing is confirmed, and no one has tried to reach out to you. Not the local officials, not Zarah or any neighbors. For all we know, this is a hoax.”

Cara shrugged into the sweatshirt. “Someone is saying they set fire to my house,” she repeated flatly.

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“They said they’d burn it all down,” she murmured as she huddled into the fleece-lined warmth.

“Who did?” he prompted, his brow furrowed. “Who said ‘burn it all down’?”

Cara shook her head, her bewilderment turning to helpless fury. “They did.” She practically spit the words. “The people sending me nasty messages and scaring my poor mother half to death. Whoever paid Gerald Griffin to pull a gun on me in an airport parking garage.” She threw her arms out wide, as if gesturing to the wide array of invisible threats closing in on her. “They are doing this. Whoevertheyare.”

“Until we can get confirmation from a trusted source, we need to assume these are simply rumors.” He held her phone out to her. “Emma sent the number for the person she spoke to with LAFD. You need to be the one to call.” She reached for the cell phone with a sticky note affixed to the glass, but he held firm for a beat too long. “It’s possible they won’t give you any information over the phone.”

“They’ll give me the information. If being a semipublic figure is good for anything, it’s being recognized.” She yanked the phone from his grasp.

She stared down at the name scrawled below a number with the familiar area code. Investigator Shanna Gleason. The moment the call connected, she introduced herself and, reading from the sticky note he’d handed her, asked to speak to Investigator Gleason.

A moment later a woman picked up. “ACTS, Gleason here.”

“Um, hello. Yes,” Cara stammered, her gaze darting to Wyatt. “Am I calling the Los Angeles Fire Department?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A huff of self-conscious laughter escaped her. “Sorry. I guess I expected you to say LAFD when you answered, but you said something else and I wasn’t sure,” she rambled.

“Who’s calling?” the other woman asked.

“Oh, right. This is Cara Beckett. I’m calling about reports of a fire at my house on Sunset Drive in Los Feliz,” she said, focusing on the facts. “I believe you were contacted by Special Agent Emma Parker with the Arkansas State Police trying to confirm there was a fire?” Again, her gaze found Wyatt’s, and he nodded encouragingly.

“Yes, ma’am, I spoke with Agent Parker,” the investigator on the other end confirmed.

When she said nothing more, Cara gestured her frustration at Wyatt. “Ask to put her on speaker,” he whispered.

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