Within minutes, her parents’ house was a complete circus. Teams from both the state police and the Searcy County Sheriff’s Office jostled for jurisdiction, but everyone knew in the end the county would have to give way.
“I knew I should have checked your financials,” Wyatt muttered.
“Most people don’t hire their own kidnappers,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on her former assistant.
“Would have saved a lot of time and grief,” he replied.
“Next time,” she promised.
They watched as Zarah was properly secured and led to one of the trooper’s vehicles for transport to Little Rock. A short distance away, Cara’s mother stood behind the EMT checking Paul Stanton’s arm to ascertain whether X-rays might be needed, reading her onetime prom date the proverbial riot act. Her father stood off to one side, a faint smile curving his mouth, his admiring gaze locked on his wife.
“She’s something,” Wyatt said to her father. “Nearly gave me a heart attack when she pulled a gun out of her kitchen drawer.”
Jim Beckett looped an arm over Cara’s shoulders and tucked her into his embrace.
“My dad didn’t like leaving my mother in the house alone while he was out doing chores, but as he used to say, you can’t keep the inside and the outside up at the same time. So, he kept his old service pistol in the kitchen drawer in case trouble came strolling up the road. She must have brought it with her when she moved in with us.”
“She did,” Cara said quietly. “She told me Granddad would want us to have it to hand.”
Without peeling his eyes off the floor show, her father pressed a kiss to the side of her head in a gesture he hadn’t made in years, but one she remembered so well it brought a hot rush of tears to Cara’s eyes.
“And another thing, Paul Anthony Stanton,” her mother said, shaking her finger in the face of the man who held the second-most-powerful office in the state. “The minute they haul you out of here, I’m not only calling your precious mama, but I’m also callin’ Delia Raitt. By the time I’m done with you, you won’t be able to get elected prom king in prison or dogcatcher anywhere else!”
“I know I should stop her, but it’s so darn entertaining,” her father murmured to no one in particular. “Better than any show on CineFlix.”
“Agent Dawson?” A shorter, powerfully built man with a blankly sober expression stood in the doorway Wyatt had filled mere hours before. “Could we speak to you in private, please?”
Wyatt nodded. “Yes, sir.” He glanced first at Cara, then her father. “Y’all okay here?”
“We’ll be fine,” her father replied, giving her a squeeze as he answered for both of them.
Wyatt hesitated, his gaze lingering on her. Her cheeks heated, but thankfully, her father remained enthralled by the dressing down her mother hadn’t quite wrapped up. “I’m good. Go do what you do,” she said with a little jerk of her chin.
When he was gone, her father said, “I like him. Decent guy.”
“I do too,” Cara said quietly.
Satisfied with what he found, the EMT turned to one of the troopers standing nearby. “Doesn’t look to be broken, but he should have an X-ray to be sure there’s no fracture.”
“Too bad,” Jim whispered to Cara as the troopers hauled the man up from the chair and out of their house. “Swing for the fences next time, sugar.”
She giggled and gave him a playful elbow jab. “Daddy. Behave.” She assumed a prim expression. “You know I’m a pacifist.”
He pulled back enough to tuck his chin to his chest and glare at her. “What? You only eat fish caught in the Pacific?”
She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Even for a dad joke that was bad.”
Betsy Beckett turned to face them, hands planted on her hips. Thankfully, she seemed to have expended her supply of vitriol. “What’s so funny, you two?”
“Not Dad’s jokes,” Cara replied. She slid out from under her father’s arm and hugged her mother. “You were fantastic today.”
“I guess I learned more than I thought I had, watchin’ all those depressing shows your daddy likes.”
“I wasn’t worried. I know my wife.” He leaned in and pressed a smacking kiss to Betsy’s lips. “She can take care of herself and everyone else around her.” He turned and looked at Cara as he pulled on the heavy work jacket he’d shrugged out of when the first of the patrol cars arrived. “You get it from her, Care Bear. You’re like your mama.”
A lump the size of a boulder rose in Cara’s throat.
“Where do you think you’re going?” her mother demanded as he reached for the handle on the back door. “I have a house full of cops and robbers here, and the police are going to want to talk to you some more. If you think you’re going to slink off—”
“I’m goin’ to see to the feed. I’ll be right back,” he said, zipping the jacket up to his chin.
He was gone before either of them could say another word. Betsy exhaled an exasperated sigh. “I swear he breaks out in hives if he has to spend more than an hour of daylight indoors.”
“Probably,” Cara concurred. “Nothing new there.” A crime scene team bustled in, and it quickly became clear they were in the way. She caught her mother’s tired gaze. “Let’s go in the other room?”
“Sounds good,” Betsy replied.
But when they slipped into the living room, they found themselves caught in the cross fire between one of the sheriff’s men and an officious-looking state trooper. Betsy steered them toward the dining room, but there they found several men and a young woman dressed in dark suits setting up laptops and pulling legal pads from briefcases. Before they could be spotted, Cara took her mother’s hand and led her down the hall toward the bedrooms. She could hear the rumble of deep voices coming from the room Wyatt had been using, so they tiptoed down the hall into Cara’s room, closing the door silently behind them.
Betsy leaned against the closed door as if bracing against an approaching horde. “Good gracious, there’s a lot of people in my house,” Betsy said, patting her chest. “I hope they don’t look too close at my floors. I haven’t swept in days and Roscoe sheds enough for us to build a brand-new dog twice a week.”
“Poor Roscoe,” Cara said, peeking out her window at the front porch. Close to a dozen patrol cars and SUVs were parked haphazardly in the driveway and on the lawn, and the poor old dog had felt duty bound to greet every one of them. “I hope he’s—” She scanned the porch until she spotted a familiar lump parked next to the rail. “Good, he’s sleeping.” She let the blind fall back into place with a chortle. “Wouldn’t want him missing his middle-late-afternoon-pre-supper snooze.”
“Supper,” her mother groaned, stepping away from the door and dropping heavily onto the side of the single bed Cara had dutifully made before leaving the house.
Dropping down beside her mother, Cara patted her knee. “I think we’re going to open the fridge and call whatever falls out supper.”
Betsy tipped her head onto Cara’s shoulder, and the simple reversal of their usual roles made Cara feel more centered than she had in years.
“Mama?”
“Hmm?”
“I think I am going to sell,” Cara said, the words coming out as the thought took hold.
Her mother didn’t move a muscle. For a moment, Cara wondered if Betsy had fallen asleep, or simply hadn’t heard her, but then she stirred. Sitting up, she took both of Cara’s hands in hers and held them tight as she gazed deep into her eyes.
“Don’t decide anything now. Whatever you do, you do it in your time and in your way. No matter what anyone says, you created something special. You created it. You are the one who gets to decide what’s right for you, and your creation.”
“Well, me and Chris and Tom,” Cara said with a self-deprecating little laugh.
“No, Cara,” her mother said, giving her hands a squeeze. “Only you. Partners can help and support each other, but they can’t dictate how we live our lives. You can walk with them, follow your own path or figure out a way to blaze a whole new trail. Make sure, in the end, you choose which it will be.” Her mother let go long enough to sweep Cara’s hair from her brow. “I imagine it’s like a marriage. You have to be your own person, but together. Every day, choosing to be together.”
Cara gave a snort of a laugh. “If my business partnership were a marriage, it would be illegal in most states.”
Betsy rolled her eyes. “You know what I am saying. I’m only saying not to make any big moves until after this whole stock thingamajig is done. I have no idea if those fellas you’re working with were actually involved in all of this mess or not, but I say let the truth come to light. You hang on and get everything you have coming to you, because it’s yours and you earned it. After, well, then you can make your choices and your daddy and I will support you. One hundred percent.”
Cara flung herself into her mother’s arms. “Thank you, Mama.”
They rocked as they held one another, Betsy alternately humming and shushing her. Cara was so happy to be assured of her parents’ approbation to worry about the mixed messages.
With a snuffle, Cara pulled back a bit. Her gaze landed on the boy-band poster. “Mama, why didn’t you ever take that poster down?”
Betsy spared the yellowing print a half glance, then pulled Cara close again. “As long as I kept it up, we’d both know this would always be your room. Whenever you came home, you’d feel...at home.”
Cara squeezed her mother tight again and they stayed locked together until someone rapped lightly on the door.
“Who’s there?” Cara said, dashing fingertips under her damp eyes.
“It’s Wyatt,” he replied without attempting to open the door. “Are all three of you hiding in there?”
Cara and Betsy laughed. “Jim has gone out to be with his cows,” Betsy called back.
When he still didn’t open the door, Cara asked, “You want to hide out in here too?”
The door opened slowly, and Wyatt poked his head in, a sheepish smile crinkling his eyes. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Cara returned, a single eyebrow raised. “You in or you out?”
His smile dissolved into a wince, and he raised a hand to the back of his neck in a gesture so familiar to her now, it made her chest ache. His gaze dropped to the floor and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Listen, Emma is here with some guys from the FBI and the Department of Justice. It looks like we’re talking state and federal charges for, uh, well, both of them and they want to talk to you.”
“Okay.” Cara rose, smoothing her hands down the front of the jeans she’d been so happy to acquire earlier in this endless day. “Let’s do it.”
Wyatt took a small step back, then glanced down the hall before turning back to her with an apologetic smile. “Actually, I have to go.”
“Go?” she and her mother asked in unison.
Then Cara noticed the packed duffel at his feet. “Oh.”
“The guy I was talking to is my section chief, Simon Taylor. He’s heading back to Little Rock now and wants me to give him my full report on the way.”
“Oh,” Cara repeated, the bottom dropping out of her stomach. “Should I...? I’d like to meet him. Thank him.”
Wyatt shook his head. “No need. Plus, he’s not exactly a people person, you know?” He wrinkled his nose. “Trust me, you aren’t missing anything.”
The silence stretched several seconds too long. Thankfully, her mother stepped into the breach. “Jim and I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done,” she said as she rose to say her goodbyes. “Let me call him in from the barn—”
“Oh, no. Thank you, ma’am,” Wyatt said with a quick, hard shake of his head. “I didn’t do much more than try to tug on a few loose threads.”
Her mother wrapped an arm around Cara’s waist and gave her an encouraging squeeze. “You brought our daughter home safely to us.”
Wyatt met Cara’s eyes at last, then gave her a lopsided smile. “No. I didn’t even do that. Jim was right. Cara took care of herself and everyone else around her. I was nothing more than the guy who got to drive her home.”
“Dawson?” a man called from down the hall.
“I have to go.” Wyatt raised a hand in farewell. “Take care, okay?” He gave her a winsome smile. “Make sure the guys let you be the one who rings the big bell next week. You deserve it.”
He turned away, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder in one fluid move. Cara and her mother followed him down the hall, but stopped short of the living room. Wyatt didn’t seem to want to linger. The stern-looking man holding a leather computer bag nodded to her and her mother, then followed his agent—her agent—out the front door.
Cara wanted to call after him, but she couldn’t make any sound come out. Besides, what could she say? He was with his boss. She was with her mother. Surely they’d have a chance to catch up later. She sucked in a breath when he stopped to give Roscoe a pat as the other man made a beeline for a marked state police SUV.
“Ms. Beckett?” the young redhead she’d seen setting up equipment said as she strode toward them, her hand extended. “Special Agent Emma Parker. It’s good to meet you in person.”
“Oh. Yes. Emma.” Cara mustered her best smile, but knew it probably came across several watts weaker than usual. “Thank you for all you’ve been doing for the case.” She gestured to her mother. “This is my mom, Elizabeth Beckett.”
“Betsy,” her mother supplied as the two women shook hands.
“If you don’t mind, we’d like to ask you a few more questions,” Emma said, gesturing to the dining room. “Wyatt said it would be okay for us to set up in your dining room, Mrs. Beckett, but I promise we’ll be out of your hair ASAP.”
Cara stiffened as a flash of headlights strafed the front of the house. She blinked a couple times, then saw the taillights on the SUV flash bright as the driver tapped the brakes. Her heart lurched. For a second, she thought maybe Wyatt had forgotten something and was coming back. Maybe the thing he’d forgotten was her.
Then she saw the vehicle dip as the driver maneuvered onto the rutted gravel lane and picked up speed.
“You go on with Agent Parker,” her mother said in a gentle tone. “Do what you need to do. I’ll fix up a mess of sandwiches for whoever wants something.” Cara hesitated and her mother leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Go on now. Maybe later I’ll tell you about the guy who drove me home from the prom.”
Cara took a half step away before her mother’s teaser fully registered. “Drove you home from the prom? You said you went to prom with Paul Stanton,” she said with a puzzled frown.
“I did,” Betsy said, a serene smile curving her lips. “I went with Paul. Danced with him a couple times too, but he was more interested in sneaking drinks with his football buddies.” Her smile turned enigmatic as she started toward the kitchen. “Your daddy was the one who drove me home. It’s been him ever since.”