Page 39 of Shadowing Her Stalker

“But I bet you have a friend who’s one,” Cara said, petulance lacing her tone.

“I do, as a matter of fact.” He turned to look at her, but she stared straight at the screen. He’d hit a tender spot in questioning the quality of her friendships with her partners, but he couldn’t say he regretted doing so. If she spent even a few minutes thinking deep thoughts about her relationship with the men she’s helped make rich, maybe she’d reach the same conclusion he had.

Internet bullies were thick on the ground, for certain. But no one had better motive for wanting her out of the picture than Chris Sharpe and Tom Wasinski. Everything she’d told him about her life and the lives of the two men would suggest their friendship had become distant. A relationship bearing a label bestowed by nostalgia, but in truth boiled down to a business arrangement forged by people who were little more than kids.

But it wasn’t a real friendship.

“Hurry up. I have to be up in seven and a half hours,” Jim called to his wife.

“Hold your heifers,” she retorted as she bustled back into the room. She distributed bowls of microwaved popcorn to each of them.

“Isn’t it supposed to be ‘Hold your horses’?” Wyatt asked Cara, hoping to break the ice, but she remained silent.

“Not on a cattle ranch,” her parents replied in unison.

Jim pointed the remote at the screen as Betsy claimed her seat beside him. The opening theme music played and he darted another glance at Cara. She sat stone-faced, her jaw tight as she glared at the television screen. In the dim light, he thought he caught the faint shimmer of tears in her eyes and looked away.

They were less than five minutes into the show before he and Jim pointed to a slick-looking charmer on the screen and declared, “That one,” in unison.

“Oh, honestly,” Betsy muttered as she rolled her eyes. “My grandma could have seen him coming.” With a huff, she grabbed the remote away from her husband and clicked through the menu. “Go to bed, spoilsport.”

Chuckling, Jim kicked the footrest of his recliner back into place and rose with a groan. “Maybe I should become a homicide detective. What time do y’all have to be at work most days?”

“Long after you are,” Wyatt replied with a sympathetic smile.

“Night, all,” Jim called as he dumped the remainder of his popcorn into Betsy’s bowl. “Wire to stretch in the morning.”

“I’ll be along in a bit,” his wife promised as she scrolled through the options. She paused on one featuring characters in elaborate costumes. “Oooh. Wyatt, do you likePride and Prejudice? Cara and I love this one, don’t we, hon?”

Wyatt smiled and nodded, stuffing his cheeks with popcorn to avoid having to say more. If watching people who carried parasols and walking sticks was what it took to get back on Cara Beckett’s good side, he could take it. At least, he hoped he could.

Chapter Ten

Cara jerked out of a dream where she was hurling herself from a car being attacked by birds. Why she thought she’d be safer outside when they were pecking viciously at the glass, her conscious mind could not fathom, but there—

The tapping came again. Pushing up to her elbows, she glanced at the window first. No. Someone was pecking at her door. She blinked into the darkness, then figuring it was one of her parents coming to tell her they were off on their predawn errands, she croaked, “Come in.”

The bedroom door swung inward, but Wyatt stayed firmly on the other side of the threshold, his phone pressed to his ear. She sat up in her single bed, the covers drawn up to her chin, waving him in. The last thing she wanted to do was wake her parents.

“Emma Parker,” he mouthed to her, indicating the other agent was on the opposite end of the call as he stepped into her room. He glanced at the door and raised a brow. She nodded and he closed it behind him, sealing them both into the small bedroom. She hit the switch, and the glare of the ceiling light set them both blinking.

“You said someone called Cara’s phone? Which one?”

Cara threw back the covers and sprang from the bed. The display on her ancient clock radio showed it to be approaching 2:00 a.m.

“And what did they say, exactly?” he persisted. Cara scowled and tugged on his arm, but he held firm, his lips thinning as he listened. “I see. Any confirmation of damage?”

She tugged again, and he pulled away, then motioned for her to remain patient.

“What is happening?” Cara hissed between clenched teeth. She grabbed hold of his free wrist and squeezed. “Damage to what? Where? The condo?”

“Ah, okay. I see.” He nodded, then gently removed her hand. “I’ll let her know and call you back when we’ve had a chance to figure out next steps.”

He ended the call, then lowered the phone, his brow furrowed with worry. “What? What is it?”

“A little after midnight Emma had a call come through to your original mobile number from the new one and thought it was odd, so she picked up.”

Cara frowned. “After midnight? Is she working twenty-four-hour shifts?”

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