Silent Guardian

by Mallory Kane

He ducked his head, like a kid trying to work up courage to ask for a date. She leaned close enough to rub her nose against his.

  He looked up and she let her lips barely graze his, waiting to see what he would do.

  His inner struggle was palpable. She understood his warring emotions. In the five months since her sister's rape, she'd withdrawn, afraid to trust. All her time and concentration had been consumed with the need to mete out justice to the man who'd destroyed her sister's life.

  How much stronger must Archer's need be? Because of the Lock Rapist, he'd lost his wife twice— first when she'd been raped, then the ultimate loss when she'd killed herself.

  "Resa," he whispered raggedly against her mouth. "You don't want to do this."

  She hesitated. Was he right? His body hot against hers and his desperate effort to hold himself in control fed her yearning.

  She nodded. "Yes, I do."

  Their bodies were pressed so tightly together that she knew when he gave in. She felt his arms relax, felt the spring-loaded tension in his shoulders and back loosen a bit.

  His hands slid along her forearms, past her elbows and up. Then he bent and kissed her shoulder, right on its bony curve. The kiss sent currents of erotic fire straight to her sexual center.

  She slid her hands up and encircled his neck, kissing him with passion, with abandon.

  He spanned her waist with his hands and pulled her even closer as he returned her kiss. He trailed his mouth and tongue down the side of her neck and on to her collarbone. His hands slid upward, pushing her top out of the way. He gasped when his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts.

  At his touch, her body arched toward him. She caressed the swell of his buttocks. She touched the drawstring waist of his pajama pants.

  He took a sharp breath. "Wait," he said hoarsely. Then he lifted her with no effort and sat her on the edge of the sink.

  She gasped as the cold porcelain pressed into her backside.

  He spread her legs and ran his hands over her inner thighs. She strained toward his questing fingers, already too close to losing control. She melted under his touch. Her insides turned to liquid heat.

  Everything grew dark. For an instant Resa thought her eyes had hazed over with desire. Then she realized a cloud had obscured the pale light of the moon.

  The absurdity of their position slammed into her hazy brain. She was practically naked, perched in front of a window, exposed.

  "Archer, wait. Please."

  He froze, but didn't remove his hands. After a few seconds, he slid his fingers farther up her thighs, skimming the edge of her panties.

  "No, please."

  He straightened. "Sorry," he muttered on a sigh.

  She caught his forearm as he turned away. "Take me upstairs. I can't do this here." She gestured.

  "You want to—"

  She nodded, moistening her lips and pushing her fingers through her hair. "But I want to do it right— you know—romantically." She felt her cheeks burn. "Not like this."

  He brushed the backs of his fingers gently across her hot cheek. "You know what? Me, too."

  Outside, watching through the window, Earl licked his lips and adjusted his pants, squirming in acute discomfort. The play that had unfolded in front of him suddenly came to a halt.

  Archer lifted Theresa down from her wanton perch on the sink and led her away from the window. Earl could imagine what they were doing. He figured they were going upstairs to one of the bedrooms.

  Sure enough, within seconds their silhouettes appeared through the windows on the second story. As they came into view, Archer turned toward her and kissed her without touching her. Then he took her hand. They disappeared again, only to reappear in front of the double windows at the west corner of the house.

  There they came together in a repeat of the urgent kisses they'd shared in the kitchen.

  Earl watched them hungrily, relishing his discomfort, glorying in the inferno that boiled within him. Soon, though, his emotions were in turmoil. He hated Archer. He wanted Theresa. It was torture, watching them together.

  As their silhouettes moved away from the window—toward the bed, Earl was sure—he moaned deeply, a guttural wail.

  He couldn't stand it anymore. He had to have relief. The burning was about to engulf his whole being. If he didn't do something soon, he would burst into flames.

  Chapter Eight

  Archer's room was dark, with only the light from the bathroom providing any illumination. His bed was unmade. The pillow still held the imprint of his head. The sheet and comforter were bunched at the foot of the bed.

  He stopped beside the bed and tugged on her hand until she faced him. "Resa, this is not a good idea."

  She gave him a tentative smile. "Isn't it?"

  He shook his head. "I told you before. I have nothing to give you. You deserve better."

  "Have I asked for anything?"

  He frowned at her, holding her gaze. "I think so. I think you're asking for a hero, and that's not me."

  "Stop it. You set too high a standard for yourself. Now shut up and kiss me."

  He did. It started out tentative and ended up thorough and heart-stopping.

  Then he tossed her onto the bed and followed her. With gentle, erotic movements he slid her camisole up and over her head. He coaxed her breasts into tight full arousal with his fingers, then bent his head and tongued and nipped at her nipples until the exquisite ache in her breasts traveled down to the center of her frantic desire.

  Without a word, he slid his fingers past the elastic of her panties.

  She gasped, so overwhelmed with sensation she couldn't catch her breath. She grabbed his wrist.

  "Archer, please—" she begged breathlessly. "I can't hold out—"

  "Then don't." His fingers inched downward until his fingertips brushed her bare skin. He stroked, lightly, gently, relentlessly. Any second now he'd discover just how close she was to losing it completely. She could feel the slick wetness he was about to encounter.

  A part of her was embarrassed to be so easily aroused. But her womanly side overrode her rational side. She relaxed, opened up, welcomed his arousing touch. In another few seconds she was going to lose all control.

  Archer felt her heat surrounding him as he stroked and dipped. Her summery melon scent engulfed him, stronger, sexier than he'd imagined. He kissed her again, plunging deeply and rhythmically with his tongue in an imitation of lovemaking. His fingers matched his tongue's rhythm as he urged her toward total release.

  Then he felt them start—the tiny contractions that told him she was over the edge.

  She moaned deep in her throat.

  He never stopped his relentless stroking, coaxing her to greater and greater abandon. He watched her face, feeling a tender triumph when her eyes closed and her mouth opened.

  Her entire body spasmed and he nearly came himself just watching her.

  When she finally relaxed, boneless, against him, he tortured himself by pressing his pulsing hardness against her hip. The feeling was excruciatingly pleasurable. He leaned forward and kissed her mouth.

  Her hands reached for the drawstring on his pajama pants. He nearly cried out when she brushed against his arousal as she pushed them down.

  He kicked the pants off and raised himself above her, his weight on his forearms.

  Her eyes opened. They were soft and dark, a deep mossy green. Languidly she slid her fingers over his biceps, up and around his shoulders, and down over his pecs. Her soft touches were like hot kisses on his skin, trailing erotic fire in their wake.

  Then, just when he couldn't wait one more second for her to touch him, she reached between them and wrapped her hand around him. He shuddered and his erection pulsed against her palm.

  She guided him. Her back arched and she moaned with pleasure as he entered her. The hot, slick sensation of sliding into her nearly pushed him over the edge. He panted, working to suppress the urge to sink to the hilt and allow himself to explode.

&nb
sp; "Archer—now!" she cried, grasping his buttocks and arching upward, taking him deeper.

  "I don't want to hurt—"

  "Now!"

  He gave himself up to the exquisite pleasure of her body. She matched his rhythm and his urgency. He couldn't wait, couldn't take it slow, but it didn't matter. She was right there with him, clenching around him, gasping with him, collapsing under him as he eased his weight onto her and buried his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder for a few seconds, before pulling away to lie beside her with her head resting on his shoulder.

  Just as he drifted off to sleep, he thought about how much he was going to regret this when he woke up in the morning.

  "We've got another one."

  It took Archer a second to understand what Clint was saying. He'd grabbed his cell phone before he was one hundred percent awake.

  He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "What the hell?" he whispered. "Where?"

  Clint gave him the details. "She's a single mother with one son, nine years old."

  Archer cursed as he reached for his jeans. He stood, propping his cell phone awkwardly between his jaw and his shoulder as he pulled the jeans up over his backside. The phone slipped and he caught it just before it fell.

  "Where are you? At the crime scene?"

  "Just finishing up. The victim is on her way to the hospital. Why are you whispering?"

  "I'm not whispering," he snapped. "Was there a lock of hair?"

  "Yeah." Clint sounded as frustrated as Archer felt.

  "What about the victim? Did she see anything? Can she identify him?" He already knew the answer to that question.

  "Nope."

  "I want to see the scene."

  "No, Geoff. There's nothing to see. The crime scene people are almost done."

  "What did they find? How did he get in?"

  "Just like the others. No sign of forced entry. This vic had a security system, but it didn't go off."

  "Damn it, there's got to be something. Something your guys missed." He looked over his shoulder. Resa was stirring. Her dark hair waved around her face. Her softly rounded shoulders and the swell of breasts barely hidden by the sheet sent a sharp thrill through him.

  He grimaced. What an ass he was. He'd never intended to touch her. He'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't act on his irrational and totally inappropriate attraction.

  Archer forced his attention back to Clint, who was talking.

  "—think you can find something we missed? You processed three crime scenes yourself. Did you miss something in those?"

  Resa sat up, pulling the sheet with her. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her. And he sure as hell couldn't think. He turned and stepped out into the hall, pulling the door closed behind him.

  "I'm saying we've all missed something. It's the same old questions we've had since the beginning. Have you ever known a serial offender who was totally random?" He propped the phone between his shoulder and ear again, and managed to get the first couple of buttons on his jeans fastened, despite the cramping pain in his right hand.

  "I'm just like you, Geoff. I've been in Nashville my whole career. This is the first serial case I've ever worked."

  "That's my point. I think there's a connection between the victims that we've missed. Our guy has got to meet his victims somewhere. He's got to choose them somehow. He doesn't just walk down the street and spot a target. His attacks are all during the night. They're carefully planned. Meticulously organized."

  "I know you checked all that. And I have, too. Every time. But I'll have my guys redo the background info and we'll take another look at the map. We never established his comfort zone, either, did we?"

  "I'm coming down to the station. I haven't seen the map with all the victims pinpointed. I want to take look at it."

  "Geoff—"

  "Don't shut me out, Clint." He paced back and forth, pushing his fingers through his hair then rubbing the back of his neck. "I need to do this. I know there's a connection there—a clue. I've got to find it. The Lock Rapist is targeting Resa."

  Archer turned off his phone and stared at his bedroom door. He'd screwed up big-time. He'd let Resa's sexy body and her trusting eyes get past his guard. He'd allowed himself to care, and he knew where that led—it led to mistakes, errors in judgment. It led to heartache. His job was to keep Resa safe, and he couldn't do that if his heart was involved.

  Earl woke up. His head hurt and his body felt as if he'd been on the wrong end of somebody's fist. He groaned and opened one matted eye to a narrow slit and took a careful breath. Dusty blue drapes. The smell of old grease. He was at home.

  Relief relaxed his muscles and gave him the shakes. He turned over, groaning when the old couch's lumpy springs dug into his aching back and butt.

  He threw an arm over his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. But his muscles were still twitching, and something else was wrong.

  He coughed and stretched. In mid-yawn it hit him.

  The burning! It was gone!

  Oh man oh man oh man oh man— His brain raced and every last muscle in his body convulsed in cramping spasms. He cried out as his chest contracted, cutting off his breath. He waited for his body to relax, waited to see if this would be the time his muscles betrayed him by squeezing the life out of him.

  Finally he collapsed, his lungs greedily sucking in breath, his limbs like jelly after the vicious cramps.

  He'd done it again—and gotten away with it.

  He didn't know how long he lay there before he was able to drag himself up to a sitting position. He slumped forward, his head between his hands while dizziness engulfed him. As soon as he could focus, he looked down at himself. Sure enough, he had on the dark-blue coverall and black hooded jacket—his uniform for soothing the burning.

  With trembling hands he unzipped the coverall and reached into the pocket of the pants he wore underneath. He sighed with relief as his fingers closed around his wallet. He dug it out and looked under the flap.

  There it was. His precious envelope. He gingerly pulled out the ragged piece of paper. Inside was a brand-new lock of hair, as well as the remaining strands of the oldest lock he had. He touched them both reverently.

  "I'm nearly done, Mommy." He held the envelope up to his nose. "I'm not going to last much longer. Watch for me. I'll be on the news. Mommy—I miss you. I'm so sorry. So sorry...so sorry."

  Tucking the envelope back in its hiding place, he sniffed and rubbed his eyes.

  He pulled himself up the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister because his legs were still too shaky to hold him up. He had to hide his clothes and shower.

  Just as he reached the top of the stairs, a memory hit him like a punch to the gut. Theresa, standing at Archer's window in her little pajama top. Archer coming up behind her. The two of them kissing, then disappearing only to reappear as silhouettes upstairs in Archer's bedroom.

  Lust streaked through him. He walked into the bedroom and looked at the clock. Six-thirty in the morning. By now Archer's detective buddy had probably called him about the latest attack of the Lock Rapist.

  He grabbed the remote from the bedside table and turned on the TV. "Come on," he muttered. "Say something."

  He flipped the channels until he came to a local station that had the words Breaking News on its crawl. He turned up the volume.

  "—a break-in and assault early this morning in a subdivision near Vanderbilt University. Authorities are not releasing any information at this time but there is speculation that this could be the latest in the series of vicious attacks and rapes committed by the man known only as the Lock Rapist, named for the lock of hair he leaves at each crime scene. We have with us a professor of psychology at Vanderbilt—"

  Earl clicked off the TV, his pulse racing. He was back in the news. It wasn't much but it was better than nothing. "There, Mommy. Now you can see me, wherever you are."

  He tossed the coveralls and the jacket into the box in the back of the closet and ran back d
ownstairs. His keys were on the coffee table.

  Grabbing them, he rushed out the door and into his car. He had a small window of time to finish scoping out Archer's house and grounds. He never took risks, but he definitely made use of opportunities. And this one was too good to miss, no matter how badly he wanted a shower and some food.

  Until he knew where the weak spots were in Archer's security, he couldn't make his plans to get revenge on Archer and at the same time eliminate the only person who had ever seen him as the Lock Rapist.

  He drove toward Archer's house, letting his mind drift back over the past twelve hours and the exquisite satisfaction he felt for a job well done.

  Resa sat in the car beside Archer, her emotions in turmoil. She knew there had been another rape, because she'd overheard the beginning of Archer and Detective Banes's telephone conversation.

  The only words Archer had spoken to her were rude, boorish commands.

  Get up. Get dressed. You 're coming with me.

  By the time she'd rushed through her shower and pulled her damp hair into a ponytail, he was dressed and pacing the foyer. He'd hurried her out the door and into his car, not even bothering to tell her where they were going.

  She knew that, too, though, because she'd heard him tell Clint he was coming down to the station.

  She glanced sideways at his profile. She ought to be thinking about the latest victim. Or anything other than Archer.

  But when she looked at him, all other thoughts flitted right out of her head.

  What was it about him? He wasn't traditionally handsome. His features were too rugged, his jaw too strong, his brow ridge too prominent. But his barely contained energy, the intensity of his dark gaze, and his ability to totally focus on whatever was foremost in his mind at the time were all incredibly sexy. Incredibly irritating, but undeniably sexy.

  Last night his focus had been centered on her. Right now he was zeroed in on the newest rape. He was obsessed with figuring out what he and everyone else had missed about the rapist and his victims.

  Their brief interlude was over. Done. In the past. She knew she shouldn't be disappointed. He'd warned her going in not to have expectations. Not that she needed his warning. She knew if she made too much of it, all she'd end up with was heartache and disappointment.