Page 61 of Shadowing Her Stalker

“Some cop you got yourself there,” Zarah scoffed. “He’s got a kind of hot-nerd vibe going on. Too bad he couldn’t come in busting down the doors to save you.”

Cara raised her eyebrows. “He’s a cybercrime guy. I’m not sure kicking in doors is their thing. He tells me they barely leave the office.”

She shot Wyatt an apologetic glance and he made a point of scowling at her. But the glint in his eyes was keen and bright. He wasn’t insulted, nor did he seem to be worried. Which made exactly one of them. Had he somehow called for backup? How long would it take someone to get there? Their eyes held for a moment and a veil of calm settled around her shoulders. He wasn’t freaking out over a woman who was clearly suffering some sort of break waving a very real gun around like a toy. She wouldn’t either.

“So what’s the situation?” Wyatt asked, his tone casual, almost disinterested.

“We’re talking business,” Zarah snapped.

“Talking business with a gun pointed at a person?” Wyatt asked smoothly. “Isn’t asking someone to sign legal documents at gunpoint coercion?”

Cara shot him a quelling look. “Don’t you worry about it. Wasn’t I telling you I was thinking about doing something different with my career? Well, Zarah is here and we’re talking about making a deal.”

“A deal in which she fronts zero dollars, and you sign everything over?” her father asked with an incredulous laugh.

“I’m going to pay her once the stock offering is complete. Tom and I can combine our shares, pay Cara for her time and efforts to this point and still have controlling interest in the company.”

“Sounds like you have it all figured out.” Cara nudged her mother with her knee, but Betsy didn’t budge. “Mama, you still keep extra pens in your junk drawer?”

When she looked down, her mother was staring at her with naked disbelief. When she spoke, all traces of syrupy sweetness were long gone from Betsy Beckett’s voice. “You can’t seriously be considering signing those papers.”

Cara shifted so Zarah couldn’t see the silent stare-down between her and her mother. “Mama, I know what I’m doing.” She thought of the old handgun her granddad kept in the kitchen drawer of the old house. Cara knew it made the move to this one along with Grandma June’s cast-iron skillet. She’d seen it in the back of the junk drawer. “I know you and Daddy have never approved of what I do. Here’s my chance to start over. I can have all my time back to pursue acting...real acting. All I need to do is sign on the dotted line and this will be all over.”

“How do we know?” Betsy demanded. “How do we know she won’t shoot us all?”

Zarah looked aghast at the suggestion. “You think I like doing this? I hate it. I’m not one of you hillbilly gun nuts,” she snarled. “All I want is my share of LYYF and I’ll be out of here.”

Cara grabbed the folder again and waved it like a flag of surrender. “Fine. You know what? I’m tired of this. I want my life back. My actual life-life. The one I plan on living.” She flipped over the folder and dumped the papers out onto the table.

She took the seat across from her father and Zarah and pulled the papers closer. “Mama, please grab me a pen, would you? If I know you, you’ve got at least six or seven of them you swiped from Buck’s stashed in there,” she said, naming a local gunsmith’s shop.

It was both a request and a prod. The moment she met her mother’s fiery gaze she knew the message had been received. With a small nod, Betsy rose and walked stiffly to the drawer on the far side of the stove.

It was time to show her know-it-all assistant from California how hillbillies from run-down little towns in the Ozarks settled their disputes.

She pretended to reread the first page of the documents, her shoulders tensing as she heard her mother rustling through the drawer behind her. “So, how will you work the transfer of funds?” she asked, pitching her voice low so Zarah would be forced to focus on her.

“Crypto?” the other woman replied with a cheeky smile.

Cara snorted. “Nope. Cash.”

“I’ll wire transfer it to you.” Zarah flashed a dimpling smile. “It’ll be easy. I already know all your account numbers.”

“Yeah, I may need to rework some of those things,” Cara murmured, keeping her head down as the rummaging continued behind her. “Mama? You find me a pen?”

“Hold your horses. I’m looking for one that works.” To emphasize her point, Betsy tossed a cheap plastic ballpoint to the floor in disgust. “I have got to clean this mess out one day.”

“Sounds like you need an assistant, Mrs. Beckett,” Zarah chirped.

“Maybe so,” her mother murmured. The sifting of clutter finally ceased, and Cara glanced over her shoulder to see her mother reach up and carefully tuck her hair behind her ear, clearing her peripheral vision. “I’m not finding a decent ink pen, but I did find this.”

With one fluid move, Betsy Beckett swung around to face the young woman, her father-in-law’s old service pistol in her hand and a grim expression hardening her pretty features. “Drop the gun.”

Zarah’s eyes widened. “No,” she snapped, jabbing her gun into Jim Beckett’s ribs so hard he let out a soft grunt. “This is my plan. We’re going to do things my way,” she insisted, her voice climbing with agitation.

“Oh, God,” Paul Stanton blurted. Both of his arms raised, he turned toward the front door. Seeing Wyatt in the doorway, he stopped short. “This is too much. It’s all too far out of hand.”

“You think?” Wyatt asked, unperturbed.

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