Foreboding stirs low in my gut. “How do you know the gifts are from them?”
“They include letters and sign them from ‘your secret Santa.’ They’ve referenced the website in their notes several times, using details only the person running it would know.”
“What was in the earlier boxes?” I’m not sure when I started, but now I’m whispering too.
“Stuff Caleb left behind at restaurants or on movie sets.” Dean shrugs. “A sweater, a note he jotted down on a napkin, things like that.”
“This is terrible.” My mouth goes dry. I think of Gwen.Is this what she’ssigned up for by marrying Caleb? A complete violation of privacy for the rest of her life? Followed by unhinged stalkers?
No wonder Caleb left her before.
When Dean glances away to put his phone in his jacket pocket, I fetch a candy from my purse, this one a spicy cinnamon disc, to bring some moisture back to my mouth.
“Does Gwen know?” I ask, wondering why she didn’t tell me.Maybe she doesn’t want me to worry or maybe she doesn’t trust me to keep the details to myself?
“A little, mostly about the website and a couple of the gifts. Caleb doesn’t want to scare her. I told him she needs to be warned more, but he’s resistant.” Dean lets out a gust of air. “He can’t stand making her upset. I think it’s left over from when they were apart. Some kind of guilt he still carries.”
“He has to tell her everything,” I insist. I glance over at Caleb, but he’s not paying attention to us, too busy talking with his mom.
“I know.” Dean lifts his shoulders. “I’m worried the stalker might target the wedding. Do something crazy to stop it. I told Caleb to quit being an ostrich, burying his head in the sand, but he doesn’t want to alarm anyone, especially Gwen. He’s lived this way his entire life. I don’t think he understands how abnormal it is.”
“What about me?” I shove curls off my forehead, only to have them bounce back into the same position. “Will Caleb be mad you told me?” When I was a teenager, I had a schoolgirl crush on Caleb. I even had a poster of him in my bedroom. Now, through Gwen, I’ve gotten to know him, to become friends with him—therealCaleb, not the movie star version. The last thing I want to do is threaten that relationship.
Dean waves a dismissive hand, like he’s shooing away a gnat. “Nah. He leaves this stuff to me.”
I square my shoulders as an idea comes to me. I turn to my computer and quickly type in the Caleb’s Secret Santa website.
“Give me the info to login,” I tell Dean, my fingers poised over the keyboard.
“Why?” he asks, brows lowered.
“Because I want to join,” I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes. “I’m going to track down the location of their server.”
Dean cocks his head. “You can do that?”
“Didn’t Gwen mention I double majored in college?” I lift my chin. “Journalismandcomputer science.”
Once he gives me the login and password, my fingers fly over the keyboard. I open window after window on my laptop as I attempt to unwind the convoluted series of servers that host the Secret Santa website. After 10 minutes, I give up, slamming the computer closed with a muffled curse. “It’s no use. They’re bouncing the origin of the website off so many international servers, most of them anonymous, that I can’t narrow down where it’s located.”
Dean’s been bent forward, watching over my shoulder as I worked. Now, he leans back, taking his warmth with him. He gives a satisfied nod. “That’s exactly what the computer experts we hired said.”
“What!” I half shout. “You already did this? You could have told me.”
“Why would I do that?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “What if, by some miracle, you were the one to crack the code?”
“Well, I didn’t.” I don’t miss how he said it would be a “miracle” for me to find the server. Of course, he doesn’t believe I can do it. A glum feeling sinks into my stomach. After a beat of silence, I say, “What’re you going to do?”
Dean taps his fingers on the table as he eyes me. Begrudgingly, he says, “Maybe you could help.”
“Me?” I ask incredulously, gesturing to myself.
“Yeah. Desperate times and all that.” His voice drops. “You must know some reporters in L.A., right? Investigative journalists?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah?”
“We need to find out who’s targeting Caleb and how they’re doing it. I’m rushing to solve this before the wedding, so Caleb doesn’t have to worry on his big day. I think the person is based out of L.A., because when Caleb goes there, his location and candid photos are updated immediately. When he leaves Los Angeles, there’s a slight delay. Like whoever it is needs to catch up with him. I’ve exhausted all the law-enforcement options. I was thinking that if you put your reporter friends on the job, they could help figure out who’s behind this.” Dean tilts his head and lowers his voice. “If they crack the case, I’d even arrange an exclusive with Caleb.”
I note he doesn’t askmeto discover the stalker’s identity. Why would he? I’m just an entertainment reporter. “I might know some people,” I say, thinking about his request. Immediately, a couple of names come to mind. I’ve worked long enough at the newspaper that I know all of its reporters and most of the staff on the rival papers as well. I’ll have to ask them in a way that doesn’t get back to my editor.
