Chapter Thirteen
The following morning, the two of them drove north in search of a more reliable source of internet access. It was clear that if Wyatt was going to dig into the financials of three tech titans, he was going to need more speed than the spotty satellite could provide.
They rode in companionable silence, sipping coffee as they wound their way into Boone County. Wyatt glanced over at Cara as they approached the outskirts of Harrison, the next town of any size along the highway. “I should be able to get what I need at any cellular store, but if they don’t have one in stock, we may need to head up to Branson or Springfield.”
She shrugged. “Fine with me. My calendar is open all day.”
“We can pick up anything else you might need while we’re here,” he offered.
She plucked at the front of her hoodie. Leaning against the door, she turned toward him. “My mom used to take me into Harrison to do my school clothes shopping. I didn’t realize people bought clothes anywhere but JCPenney until I was about eleven and discovered the joys of a store called Goody’s. They had all the cool stuff.”
“My mom liked to drive up to North Little Rock so she could wander around the mall.”
“Lucky you, shopping in the big city.”
He rolled his eyes.
They crested one of the rolling hills and Cara’s phone sprang to life with a series of texts from Zarah coming through in rapid succession.
Zarah: I went to pick you up and you weren’t on the plane.
Zarah: Checked and saw you rebooked for AM. Hope all is okay.
Zarah: You’re not answering my messages. Hot cop got your phone?
Her cheeks flamed as she read the last one, knowing at some point Wyatt would see it and know there’d been speculation about him. She was trying to formulate a response when a new message appeared.
Zarah: I’m picking you up at the airport. Hope you made your flight. Text when you land.
“Oh, crud,” Cara muttered.
“What’s the matter?”
“Zarah’s waiting for my flight at LAX,” she reported. She typed a response, then quickly deleted it. “You said Emma could do something to make it look like I got on the flight, right?”
Wyatt frowned. “Yeah. Why?”
“Zarah never picks me up from the airport. She lives on the other end of the earth,” she mumbled, scowling at her phone.
“Hang tight.” Eyeing a gas station ahead on the highway, Wyatt signaled his intention to pull over. Once he’d pulled into a parking spot outside a bustling mini-mart, he turned to look at Cara. “Tell me all about Zarah.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “All about Zarah?” she repeated, punctuating the request with an incredulous scoff. “Where do I begin?”
“How did you meet her?” he prompted.
“Well, I hired her long before I actually met her,” she said slowly. “It was at the start of the pandemic lockdown, and we couldn’t turn out content fast enough.”
Wyatt unhooked his seat belt and turned to look at her. “So your relationship has always been remote?”
“Yes. I mean, we’ve met since then, obviously,” she said with a helpless wave of her hand. “But we’ve never shared office space. A lot of LYYF’s staff works remotely.”
“How did she come to work for you?”
“One of the programmers,” she said with a frown. “They are cousins or something?” She brushed the fuzzy details aside. “Anyway, she was doing some travel booking for Tom, and then Chris. When we opened the offices in Mountain View, Chris and Tom took offices there and they have someone on-site. Being based in Southern California, it only made sense for Zarah to focus more on me.”
“But she doesn’t do stuff for you in person,” he clarified.
“No. She didn’t even want a desk at the production studio.” She shrugged. “Like I said, she lives out in the Valley. It doesn’t seem like a long way away when you look at a map, but when you factor in LA traffic...”
“And the airport?” Wyatt asked, making a winding gesture with his hand.
“Is even farther.”
“Can you try to find out why she’s picking you up? You know, subtly?” he asked, looking troubled. “Without giving away anything about where you are?”
She rolled her eyes. “Gee, I don’t know,” she drawled, settling into her seat. She typed out a message with her thumbs but before she hit Send, she turned the screen to him for approval.
CB: You’re sweet, but it’s too far away. Don’t worry about me.
“Perfect,” Wyatt said with a nod.
She sent the message and let out a long sigh.
The silence stretched taut between them. Finally, he broke it. “What are you thinking?”
She mustered a small, sad smile. “I’m thinking maybe I should give them all what they want.”
“Who? And what?” he asked cautiously.
“Everyone. No one thinks I deserve my thirty-three-and-a-third of LYYF. Maybe I should sell out and go do something new. I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t have options. I’d certainly have the money to coast for a while.”
“Wait until after next week and you’d probably have the money to coast forever,” he pointed out.
“Ah, but they don’t think I’ve earned a big payday. People aren’t assaulting innocent neighbors and burning down my house because they’re hoping I sell after the stock offering. They want me out now. And what does it matter? Either way, I’ll have more money than I need.”
“What if selling isn’t enough? From what I’ve seen and read, some people think you should be paying LYYF for the pleasure of putting together their award-winning content.” He gave a little snort. “No. Don’t sell out because they—whoever they are—want you to. If you want out, make sure you leave on your terms.”
Her phone buzzed and she looked down. Another message from Zarah had arrived.
Zarah: It’s no problem. See you soon.
“I have a feeling she knows I’m not on the plane,” Cara said, her tone morose.
“Okay, so tell her.” He gestured to the phone. “Let her know you talked to the LAFD and they said there was no reason to hurry back so you changed your mind.”
“Tell her I stayed in Arkansas?” she asked, her forehead knit with concern. “What if someone’s reading our texts?”
“You can make it sound like you decided to head to New York early. Might be the better idea,” he added. “Let them try to find the needle in the haystack there.”
Cara set her jaw. At last, she nodded and began to type.
CB: So sorry. Spoke to LAFD and they said no need to hurry back. Canceled flight. I’ll deal with the house after the IPO. Probably head to NYC early. Go home. I appreciate the thought!
Then she turned the phone off and tossed it into the console. She caught his quizzical look and pulled a face.
“I’m starting to think all this technology is more trouble than it’s worth.” He chuckled and her expression brightened. “We could blow off getting your hot spot thingy. You know those phone places like to keep you trapped all day, and I know a place with the best onion rings you’ve ever tasted.”
He let out a guffaw as he pulled his seat belt across his body and clicked it into place. “It’s nine thirty and we finished breakfast less than an hour ago.”
“I fail to see the conflict,” she replied, straight-faced.
“How does this sound? I grab the gateway—it won’t take long, the state has a contract with the carrier and it’s all set up at the store.” He sneaked a glance at her as he maneuvered out of the cramped parking lot. Skeptical wasn’t a strong enough word for the look she gave him. “Seriously. All I have to do is show my ID and pick it up.” She shot him a doubtful glance as he pulled back onto the highway.
“Fine,” she conceded ungraciously.
“Then we can see what we can do about finding you some different clothes. You brought the cash Zarah sent?” She nodded and gave an affirmative hmm. “Good.” He smiled as they picked up speed, hurtling toward the small city nestled in the Ozark Mountains. “Then we’ll replenish with those onion rings, but I have to warn you, I’ve had some good rings in my time.”
“In your time,” she echoed with a snort.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, smiling as he glanced over at her. “So tell me, who is this hot cop Zarah asked you about?”
T HE PICKUP AT the mobile phone store didn’t go as quickly or smoothly as Wyatt had hoped. When all was said and done, it ate through a full hour of their morning and layers of his patience.
“Come on, we’ll get a ridiculously decadent cup of coffee, then I’ll let you sit and watch the world go by while I try on jeans and pick up a few sweaters.” She treated him to a wide, winning smile. “I’ve lived in Southern California for so long I’ve forgotten how great sweater weather actually is.”
As they waited at the window to pick up overpriced coffees, Cara leaned across him to ask the young woman at the register for shopping recommendations. When he ruled out a trip to the Branson outlets, she insisted he drive her to the town square. Wyatt eyed the area skeptically. Like most small towns, Harrison had dried up when the highway bypass was built and commerce flowed away from the business district.
“There it is.” Cara pointed to one of the run-down storefronts. “Sassafras,” she announced, repeating the name of the boutique the woman at the coffee shop said had “real cute stuff” but was “kinda spendy.”
The display window featured a single mannequin sporting a pair of slim black pants and an animal-print sweater with an enormous collar pulled down around its sculpted shoulders. Wyatt tried to picture Cara wearing such an outlandishly gaudy print but found he could imagine the tempting hollows of her collarbones all too easily.
“Maybe we should go up to Branson,” he said gruffly.
She let out a tinkling burst of laughter. “Maybe, but I’ll take a peek in here first.”
When she reached for the handle, he placed a hand on her forearm to stop her. “Hang on. Let me go in and check it out first.”
Raising a single brow, she asked, “You think whoever is stalking me somehow got wind of a random conversation I had with a barista through a drive-up window?”
“No,” he admitted slowly. “But I’m, uh, responsible for, you know, keeping you safe.”
The other brow shot up to match its twin. “Well, come on, Captain Responsible, we’re going shopping. You can hold my keeper pile.”
She bailed out of the SUV without another word and Wyatt cringed at the thought. He could have handled a trip to a mall. Department stores usually had chairs for people to wait in, at least. But this place looked to be about the size of a postage stamp and, from what he could see through the plate-glass door, was stuffed to the gills with glitter, fringe and frills. When Cara stopped on the sidewalk, crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot, he made a shooing motion before opening his own door.
“Go on. I’m getting claustrophobic lookin’ through the window,” he called to her.
Cara’s triumphant grin lit her face. “I won’t be long,” she called, then sailed into the store without a backward glance.
He heard the jingle of the bell above the store’s door as he climbed out of the car himself. Carrying his coffee, he strolled along the sidewalk, peering around the edges of brown-craft-papered windows into vacant spaces, and stopping to admire the neon marquee of the historic Lyric Theater. Not wanting to stray too far, he settled on a wooden park bench across from Sassafras. He’d responded to three work emails and was sipping the dregs of his coffee when she backed out of the store, shopping bags pulling on both arms.
The yoga pants, T-shirt and sweatshirt she’d been wearing were nowhere to be found. Instead, she wore wide-legged bleached denim jeans with a preppy-looking sweater. She still wore the thick-soled canvas sneakers Zarah had sent with the other supplies, but he could see the distinct shape of a shoebox in one of the bulging bags. Tossing his cup into a nearby trash bin, he hustled to the car to help her stow her haul.
“Wow. I guess this worked for you?” he asked with a laugh.
“Such cute stuff. Fun but functional. They have a whole section of jeans called ‘sassy pants,’” she informed him as he pried the handles of the shoppers from her fingers.
“I would expect nothing less,” he said soberly.
“I’m going to tell my mom about this place. She’d love it too,” she called as she headed for the passenger seat.
Wyatt had a hard time imagining practical, efficient Betsy Beckett shopping anywhere with so much sass, but he refrained from saying so. When he climbed back into the driver’s seat, he could practically feel the buzz emanating from her. Her excitement was so infectious, he had to smile.
“I guess you needed some retail therapy?”
“I needed to make some of my own choices,” she countered without missing a beat. She looked over at him. “I’ve been wearing clothes someone else picked out, sleeping in a bed I haven’t felt comfortable in since I was seventeen, riding around in a car I don’t own, with a guy I barely know, and eating random vegetables scrounged from the depths of my parents’ deep freeze.” She flashed a shaky smile. “I’m pretty sure there are jars of pickles in the cellar older than I am.”
Wyatt blew out a breath, his shoulders drooping as he took in her words. “Man, Cara, I’m sorry—”
“No.” She held up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m grateful. For all of it. Grateful I got away from Gerald Griffin, grateful to have friends and financial wherewithal to do this. Not everyone has a soft place to land...a place to call home no matter how long they’ve been away. I’m so lucky and I know it,” she said earnestly. “But today, I needed a few minutes to just be me, you know?”
“I get it.”
“It feels like all I’ve been doing for the past few weeks is reacting.” She looked him directly in the eye. “Honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I can’t live my life according to rules other people make up for me.”
“I understand.”
And he did. Wyatt knew he’d be champing at the bit if he were in her shoes. Shock and sheer terror had carried her for days. She’d bounced from one blow to the next like a boxer pinned against the ropes.
But now she was coming around.
This punch-drunk powerhouse outfitted in her brand-new sassy pants would soon be ready to come out swinging, and he was going to be the guy to hold whoever was responsible for terrorizing her up for her to pummel.
She reached for her abandoned cup of coffee and took a healthy slug. She wrinkled her nose as she dropped it back into the cup holder. “Not so tempting when it’s tepid.”
“We can get a fresh one for the ride home,” he offered, reversing out of the parking space.
“Nah, I promised you lunch, remember?”
“I rarely forget about onion rings,” he intoned gravely.
She jiggled her knee, clearly still hyped up on her taste of freedom. “Excellent. Head out to Highway 7 South. There’s a dairy bar down the road a piece.”
“I love a good dairy bar.” He hit his turn signal and headed in the direction she indicated.
A few miles outside town, Cara contented herself with an order of hand-battered onion rings while he wolfed down a ridiculously sloppy barbecue bacon burger the woman at the order window claimed was the best thing on the chalkboard menu.
Cara crunched into a ring the circumference of a softball and hummed her appreciation as she chewed, her gaze fixed on a point in the middle distance.
“Everything okay?” It was a ridiculous question, given their circumstances, but he was dying to know where her mind was.
“Do you mind if we stop by a grocery store on our way back through town?”
The request jarred a laugh from him. “Worried about your next meal already?”
“Always,” she replied without missing a beat. “I was thinking I could pick up some fruit besides apples and oranges, and I’d sell an internal organ for a bean burrito.”
“Wow. Quite a refined palate you have there. I’m not sure your internal organs would fetch a good price on the open market if all you’re eating are bean burritos.”
“Oh, I eat other things. Given something other than plastic-wrapped American cheese slices, I can put together a grilled cheese sandwich deserving a Michelin star,” she boasted.
“I believe all grilled cheese sandwiches deserve a Michelin star, but you can be snobby if it makes you feel better.”
“Some feta, nuts and quinoa would make me feel much better about eating the bagged salads my mom bought me.” She took a noisy slurp of the chocolate milkshake she’d ordered, then let her head fall back against the seat. “And I could get some Brussels sprouts to grill.”
He shuddered then reached over to swipe an onion ring from the paper bag. “I can’t believe you’re even thinking about Brussels sprouts while eating these.”
“What can I say? I’m multidimensional,” she said, gesturing for him to finish the last ring off. “And I can’t go on eating potatoes, onions and okra. I’m going to turn into gumbo.”
“Well, we can’t have that.” He crumpled his own wrapper, gathered their trash and reached for the door handle. “I’ll go toss this and we’ll be on our way. We need to get back. I have work to do.”
While Cara shopped, Wyatt called her parents to let them know they were in town longer than expected, but the call went to voicemail. Forty minutes later, they were sailing down Highway 65 hauling a decent sampling from Cara’s favorite food groups—cheese, frozen burritos, snack crackers and breakfast pastries.
“Why don’t you try calling your parents? Let them know we’re heading back,” he suggested, nodding to the phone she’d tossed into the console on their way into town.
“Dad said he needed to replace some wire on the western fence,” she said as she powered the phone on. “Mom’s probably helping him.”
Wyatt frowned. “I could have helped him.”
Cara glanced over at him, a faintly amused smile tugging at her lips. “You think my mom doesn’t know how to stretch fence?”
“I think your mom can do anything,” he replied without missing a beat. “I’m only saying I would have been happy to help.”
“And I’m sure they’d appreciate the offer, but they know you’re here on other business.”
She jolted and they both looked down as the phone in her hand emitted several short bursts of vibration. “Someone was looking for you,” he said grimly. “Was it your folks?”
Cara’s lips thinned into a tight line. “No.”
She snapped the word off so sharply, he checked her again. “Do I need to pull over?”
“It’s nothing. More text messages from my biggest fans,” she said, her voice tight with bitterness.
He reached over and took the phone from her hand. A quick glance showed a string of text messages from a variety of area codes. A surge of anger pulsed through him. He wanted to pull over to read them, but the stretch of road they were on had little to offer in terms of a shoulder. So he opted for the second-best thing. He pressed and held the power button as he maneuvered a curve one-handed.
“What did they say?” he demanded in a growl.
“I only saw the notification windows, but they looked to be more of the same. I don’t deserve my share of LYYF. I should leave the company to the real geniuses. Blah blah blah,” she muttered, turning to look out on a broad swatch of pastureland. “I’m so tired of it all,” she whispered.
Without thinking, he dropped the phone back into the console and reached across to place a steadying hand on her leg. The moment his palm landed she tensed and he froze for a beat. Then he jerked his arm back, gripping the steering wheel like a fifteen-year-old angling for a learner’s permit.
“Sorry,” he breathed. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” she said, trampling his apology. “And I know. I appreciate you being here. I appreciate everything you’re doing, Wyatt.” She angled to look directly at him. “I hope you know I do.”
“I do.”
A horn blared and he glanced up into the rearview mirror. “Holy cow, this guy needs to slow down,” he muttered, inching the SUV to the right as a sleek silver sports car swerved into oncoming traffic to pass. “Double yellow, dude,” Wyatt complained, gesturing to the markings on the road.
“Missouri plates,” Cara observed as the car dropped back into the lane in front of them.
The driver immediately ran up on the bumper of the next car ahead of them. The coupe was so low-slung the driver was barely visible over the headrest. Cara gripped the door handle. Wyatt tightened his hands on the wheel, half-expecting to witness a terrible accident as the erratic driver overtook car after car, heedless of the rules of the road.
“Wanna throw your cop light up onto the roof and go after them like on TV?”
He shot her a wry smile but kept their speed steady as the other car disappeared over a hill. “Sadly, this ride didn’t come equipped with a cop light.”
“So sad.”
Wyatt shook his head in wonder as the line of traffic shaken by the aggressive driving of the speeder settled into a more sedate pace.
They rode in silence for a couple miles. Then turning her attention back to the road, she pointed to a blur of a highway sign. “If you turn off on 14, we can come in the back side. It’s hilly and curvy, but it’s a pretty drive and we could check to see if Mama and Daddy are in the west pasture on our way to the house.”
“Sounds good.”
They drove into the small town of St. Joe in tight silence. The click-click of the turn signal sounded almost laughably loud to his own ears. Ryan Hastings’s warnings about getting too attached to a primary while on protection duty reverberated in his brain. Then again, Ryan knew the dangers firsthand. He’d fallen for Kayla Powers while trying to protect her from a murderer, given up his career with the state police and moved to Bentonville to help her raise the baby she hadn’t known was on the way at the time of her late husband’s death.
“Cara, I shouldn’t have—”
“Please don’t, Wyatt,” she cut him off, the words quiet but firm. She reached over and placed her hand on his arm. “I don’t want things to be awkward between us. I feel... Can’t we...?” She stumbled to a stop as he slowed to make the turn onto the narrow secondary road. “I didn’t mind. Okay? It’s... Wow, things are complicated right now, and I don’t—”
“You don’t have to say anything more,” he interrupted.
“Well, it seems like one of us does,” she countered. “Sheesh, I mean...how ’bout them Hogs?”
He laughed, amused by her use of a native’s shorthand for, Let’s change the subject, please .
“How about those Hogs?” He smiled and let off the gas as they wound through a series of curves. “I don’t know if they’ll make it to a bowl game this year or not.”
“You realize I have absolutely no idea how the Razorbacks are doing this year, don’t you?”
“I do, but I’m willing to roll with it if you are.”
“Okay then. Give me the midseason highlights,” she invited. “It is midseason, right? I think I remember football going until Thanksgiving.”
“You aren’t far off,” he said encouragingly. “Okay, here’s where we are.”
He spent a good fifteen minutes giving her the rundown on how the University of Arkansas football team was performing, who their star players were, and a fairly in-depth analysis on the current coaching staff. For her part, Cara pretended to listen, interjecting the occasional hums and snorts where his commentary warranted response. He was about to launch into his views on the ongoing college athletic conference realignments when she held up a hand.
“Okay, uncle,” she cried.
He glanced over and found her smiling at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners. He grinned back at her. “Bet you never pull the old ‘How ’bout them Hogs?’ on a guy again,” he teased.
“Are you kidding me? I’ve been using that line to distract my father since I was trying to get around his no-dating-before-sixteen rule,” she said with a smug smile. “Turn left up here, then we’ll take a quick right on the farm road.”
He did as instructed. A quarter mile down the dirt road, they came to the section of missing fence Jim had pointed out to him on their tour of the property. The ATV Jim used was parked near the opening. He could see the coils of new wire to be stretched in the bed of the utility vehicle, but Jim and Betsy Beckett were nowhere in sight.
A set of deep ruts was cut into the ground from the edge of the road, the far side of the ditch and through the gap in the fence. Either one of the Becketts had driven the farm truck out to the pasture, or someone had come to call.
Slowing to a stop, he reached for his cell phone, but Cara had beaten him to it.
Her mother answered on the second ring. “Cara, honey, is that you?” Betsy asked, her voice tremulous.
“Mama? Where are you? Where’s Daddy?” Cara asked, panic rising in her voice.
“Why, we’re up at the house, sweetheart,” Betsy cooed, her tone a shade too bright. “Are you almost to Little Rock? You don’t want to miss your flight again, sugar. I know you think you have more money than God, but those tickets are expensive,” she added with a tittering laugh.
“Mama? What’s happening?” Cara demanded.
“Nothin’ happening here. Paul Stanton stopped by for a visit. You remember Mr. Stanton? I guess I should say Lieutenant Governor Stanton.” Her mother gave a high-pitched giggle and the hairs at Wyatt’s nape rippled. “He’s so sad he missed seeing you. But listen, I’m bein’ rude,” she said, her drawl thickening in her rush. “You get on now, and be sure to call us and tell us when you’ve landed safely. Love you, honey. Your daddy and I love you so very much.”
The call ended.
Cara turned to look at him wide-eyed. “She’s acting like we’re on our way to Little Rock to catch a flight.”
He shook his head. “She knows we’re not, but whoever is there with her doesn’t.” He scowled. “Paul Stanton is there? The lieutenant governor?”
She bobbed her head. “Mama went to prom with him back in the day, but Daddy hates the guy. Wyatt, something weird is going on.”
“I gathered as much,” he said gruffly. “But I have to get you away from here.”
“I can’t go off and leave them,” she argued, shrugging out of her seat belt.
“You can’t go in there. Not with whatever is happening,” he shot back.
“Those are my parents,” she said, agitation pitching her voice high and tight.
“I’m aware, but—”
The next thing he knew, the passenger door was hanging wide open and Cara was leaping across the ditch. He shouted after her, but she didn’t look back. He was still fumbling with the clip on his seat belt when he heard the engine on the ATV turn over.
She took off like a shot, careening over the bumpy hill at the edge of the property, headed straight for the house. Cursing under his breath, he lunged across the seat and grappled for the handle on the open door. The moment it was closed, he threw the car into gear and cranked the wheel. The SUV hit the bottom of the ditch so hard his head smacked the roof. He aimed for the opening in the fence, squeezing his eyes shut as he plowed through, a piece of the broken fencing scraping the length of the passenger door.
He couldn’t think about damage to the state-owned vehicle now.
He had to catch up with a woman who preached the gospel of staying in the moment, but was proving to be an expert at making a quick getaway.