by Mallory Kane
By the time she came out, empty and shaking, Childers was waiting with a glass of water.
"Why don't you sit down?"
She shook her head. "We have to get out of here. He knows where we are. Did you call Archer?"
"No, ma'am. Detective Banes is on his way. He wants to talk to you and take a look around before he takes you anywhere. He'll be here in a few minutes."
"But the Lock Rapist. What if he's inside the hotel?"
"He's not, ma'am. Don't worry. He can't get to you in here." He didn't look at all sure he believed his own words.
"You don't know that!" She felt panic pushing up into her throat, straining to erupt into screams. She covered her mouth as if she could stop it.
"Ma'am, please just sit down. As soon as Detective Banes gets here, we'll talk to the hotel staff and find out how they let a call get through to this room."
Resa pulled her cell phone out of her purse and looked at Archer's number. She lifted a shaky thumb to press the quick-dial button, but she couldn't make herself do it. She couldn't bear to be rejected by him again. She'd wait and talk to Clint. Maybe he'd call Archer for her.
She told herself Archer would want to know. After all, he wanted to catch the guy as much as she did. More.
Within ten minutes, Clint was there. He sent Childers to help the other two cops canvass the hotel staff.
"Resa. Are you all right?"
She shook her head. "He found me. How—"
Banes patted her shoulder. "We'll find out. Don't worry. I've already listened to the message from the hotel manager's office and talked to the operator who took the call. He identified himself as me, and the operator bought the lie without checking. Turns out the call originated from a house phone."
"Inside the hotel?"
Clint nodded.
"I knew it. He was here." Resa's stomach turned upside down again. She pressed her fingers against her mouth.
"It's okay. He's not here now. We're taking the digital recorder as evidence. And we're dusting all the house phones for prints. We'll get him, Resa."
"Where's Archer? Did you call him? He'll want to know."
Clint gave her a small smile. "He'll meet us at the station."
She swallowed the tears she could feel gathering in the back of her throat. "You called him. He's coming—" Her voice quit. Relief stung her eyes. He was coming. He'd take care of her.
Banes sat down across from her on the other bed. He leaned forward and took her hands in his.
"Look at me, Resa," he said gently. "Try not to count too much on Geoff, okay?"
His tentative words didn't make any sense. She looked quizzically at him, trying to absorb what he'd said. "Don't count on him—what do you mean?"
He dropped his gaze to her hands. "I just mean— he's been through a lot, and it's affected him. He's not the same man he used to be. I'm not sure if he ever will be. You didn't know him before. He's like a ghost of himself. I'm afraid—"
She held her breath.
"I'm afraid you're going to get hurt."
She shook her head and blinked. A tear fell and tickled her cheek. "Well, thanks for the advice." A small hiccoughing laugh escaped her lips. "It's a little late, but thanks."
He squeezed her fingers as he sighed. "I had a feeling it was. When you two are in the same room, it feels like some kind of magnetic energy is swirling in the air."
She smiled sadly.
"Take care of yourself, Resa. Protect yourself."
She nodded and pulled away from his grasp. She wiped her eyes just as the door burst open and Archer blew in.
His black eyes zeroed in on her. "Resa, are you okay?" Without waiting for her answer, he confronted Clint.
"Where's the damn message? Here?" He reached toward the phone.
"Geoff!" Banes barked. "Slow down." He stepped between Archer and the phone. "We're taking care of the message and talking to the staff. You shouldn't be here. I told you we'd meet you at the station."
Resa stood. She couldn't take her eyes off Archer. Clint's words echoed in her ears. Don't count on him. But she did. She was counting on him for so much.
He sent Clint a cutting glare, then went straight to her. "Are you sure you're all right?"
She tried to nod.
"Don't lie to me, Resa. Look at you. You're pale as a ghost. What did the bastard say?"
"Geoff. I'll let you hear the recording as soon as we get Resa to safety."
"Safety? Are you kidding me?" Archer slipped his arm around her and pulled her close to his side. "She's not going anywhere except with me."
"Geoff—"
"Nope. That's the end of it. I'm not letting her out of my sight again."
"Resa," Banes appealed to her. "This is not a good idea. We need to get you out of town. I'd like to have one of my officers take you to your mother's until all this is over."
Archer's arm tightened. "She's staying here. I'll keep her safe."
She heard the censure in his voice and winced. Clint had done everything he could to protect her. Archer was being unfair.
She ought to be relieved that he was taking her home with him, where she knew that anyone who wanted to get to her would have to go through him. But Clint's warning echoed in her ears and combined with her own fears.
Archer was obsessed with the Lock Rapist. As much as she wanted to believe his primary concern was for her safety, she couldn't shake the feeling that he wanted her with him because she was his key to catching the killer.
Resa was nearly paralyzed with exhaustion by the time she and Archer left the station at midnight. He guided her to the passenger side of his car and helped her fasten her seat belt. Then he got into the driver's side and turned the key.
The next thing Resa knew he was standing at the open passenger door, reaching across her.
"Archer," she murmured sleepily, drawing in a deep breath of warm, rain-heavy air mixed with his unique citrusy scent.
"Just unhooking your seat belt. Come on. Are you awake?" He straightened and stepped back. "Need help getting out?"
She yawned, then squeezed her eyes shut. "No, I'm fine." She made an effort to open them, but it was too hard. "I'm just a little tired."
"Yeah." His gruff voice rumbled through her as he bent down and cupped her face in his palm. "Resa, come on. Wake up."
She tried. She really tried.
"Okay, Sleeping Beauty. You asked for it."
Before her tired brain could process what he'd said, he kissed her. Thoroughly.
The sensation of his lips on hers, his tongue playing with hers, streaked through her, banishing every last wisp of drowsiness. Suddenly she was awake and hyperaware—of his mouth, his breath, his hand caressing the nape of her neck and the tender underside of her chin.
Just as sharp, just as clear, was her response. Her drowsiness floated away. She reached up, sliding her fingertips along his stubbled jaw and around to touch his lips.
Then he was gone. She sat up. Where had he—
She blinked. There he was, leaning against the open passenger door, his arms crossed and a curious smile curving his lips. "Awake now?"
She frowned up at him. Was he smirking at her? She recognized that smile. It was the Cheshire Cat's satisfied grin.
Muttering a couple of rude words, Resa got out of the car. She suppressed a groan when her tired limbs protested.
Archer held out his hand but she ignored it and stepped around him. By the time she got up the steps to the front door, he'd locked the car and vaulted up behind her. Reaching around her, he unlocked the door and opened it, then stepped back.
As she went inside, she realized all she had was her purse. "My bags are still—"
He held up her small suitcase. "I'll get the rest out of the car tomorrow. Tonight you're going upstairs and straight to bed."
"But I want to find out about the phone message and the newest victim and—"
Archer held a finger to his lips. "Shh. You won't remember anything tonight. After
all, you were sitting right there the whole time we were discussing it at the station. How much of that do you remember?"
"I—" She remembered being there, but that was all.
"See? Now go to bed, and I promise we'll talk about the evidence tomorrow."
"Tomorrow."
A minuscule chuckle escaped Archer's lips. "Your eyes are crossing. Go on."
"Aren't you coming—" She stopped when his dark eyes snapped to hers.
She felt her face burn. "I didn't mean—"
All she'd meant was that she didn't want to be left alone. She wanted him there while she slept. He didn't have to touch her—didn't have to do anything. She just needed to know he was there.
"I'll be down in the range for a while." The gruff-ness was back in his voice. "You remember how to reach me if you need me? Hit the Intercom button on the phone or press two on your cell phone. That's the quick code for my cell."
If she needed him. She nodded and took her bag from him. She yawned again. "Sorry I fell asleep on you."
"You're exhausted. Get a good night's sleep."
"You'll be here?"
"All night. I promise you I won't go anywhere without you. And you sure as hell aren't going anywhere without me. Not again."
She felt as though she were floating on air. If only he meant those words the way she wanted him to.
"Archer—thanks."
Resa turned over, searching for a cool spot on the pillow. A low rumble filled the air—the unmistakable sound of rain. She opened one eye a little bit. Still dark.
She sighed and tried to go back to sleep, but her brain was wide awake. Sighing, she peered at the bedside clock. Ten o'clock? That couldn't be right. It had been after midnight when she got into bed—hadn't it?
Oh no! It wasn't ten at night. It was ten in the morning. The room was dark because of the rain. Why hadn't Archer woken her?
She got up and showered quickly, then dressed in a sundress and sandals. She shouldn't have slept so late. She was anxious to hear what Clint had found out about the voice message the Lock Rapist had left. She shivered, thinking about that creepy voice.
In the hall, she glanced into Archer's room. The bed looked too neat. A sliver of panic lodged in her breast.
He hadn't come upstairs. He hadn't slept in his bed.
He's here, she reassured herself, pressing a hand to her throat. He'd promised.
She flew down the stairs and through to the kitchen. The coffeepot was on. That made her feel better. She poured a cup, grimacing at the slightly burned flavor. He must have made it hours ago.
Cup in hand, she hurried to the front of the house and down to the basement.
He had a hip propped on the edge of his desk, and was massaging his right palm. He looked as if he hadn't slept a wink. His hair was tousled, his jaw stubbled and his eyes red.
He looked up at her and her heart flipped over. How could he look so awful and so beautiful at the same time?
"You didn't come up to bed last night." As soon as the words were out, she realized how they sounded. "I mean—you spent all night down here shooting, didn't you? Not even you can get along with no sleep."
It was a good thing Resa's question was rhetorical, because Archer didn't think he could speak. She'd appeared in the doorway of his office looking like an angel. The pale-green dress swirled around her slender shapely legs and left her arms bare. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything as sexy as the gentle curve of her shoulders or as beautiful as her freshly washed face.
He was fighting not to acknowledge where his brain had taken him at her careless words.
Come to bed. It was going to be hard as hell being around her, now that they'd made love. It was torturous knowing how her skin smelled and tasted, remembering the almost painful ecstasy of her tightening around him as he pushed her relentlessly toward climax.
Argh. He clenched his jaw and cleared his throat. "Have you eaten?"
She shook her head. "You should have woken me. Have you heard from Clint this morning?"
"I was going to call him later." He glanced at his wall clock. "Hell, it's almost ten-thirty."
He rubbed his burning eyes and stood. "Come on, I'll fix some breakfast, then I'll call and see what he's got."
Resa shook her head. Her soft hair moved and shimmered like iridescent silk. "I'll fix breakfast. You call Clint."
Upstairs, Archer left Resa in the kitchen and walked out onto the back porch as he dialed Clint's number. She sent him an irritated glare, but she didn't comment.
Clint's voice was almost drowned out by the sound of the rain. "Clint, what have you got for us?" He breathed deeply. The smell of freshly turned earth floated on the raindrops. He stepped back from the edge of the porch, looking for a place where the sound of rain on the tin roof was muted.
"I figured I'd hear from you hours ago," his friend said dryly. "You sleep late?"
"The phone works both ways."
"Yeah, well. I've been busy."
"Good. What have you found out?"
As Clint quickly went over the physical evidence from the latest crime scene, Archer caught a whiff of fresh coffee and something that smelled delicious. His stomach growled. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd eaten.
He started to go back inside when Clint's words stopped him in his tracks.
"He took a gun from the victim's bedside table."
Archer cursed. "Why are we just finding this out?"
Clint sighed. "Our victim just remembered. And before you say it—yeah. The drawer where she kept it was unlocked. Her kid could have gotten his hands on it at any time."
"Now he's got a gun," Archer said. "What the hell is he going to do next?"
"That's what we've got to figure out."
Archer wiped a hand over his face and then sent it around to rub the back of this neck. He stepped into the kitchen just as Resa put two plates of French toast on the table.
"What did we find out from the hotel?" he asked.
"I'm waiting for a report on the prints from the house phone. I've got an officer interviewing all the staff. Someone had to have seen him. Meanwhile, I'm reinterviewing the previous victims, starting in about ten minutes. I'll get with you later."
"Ask them whether they've ever talked to a security company or ever gotten an estimate."
"Believe it or not I'd already thought of that one. Keep Resa inside. I'll talk to you later."
Archer pocketed his cell phone and poured himself a cup of coffee. By the time he sat, Resa was already seated across from him and waiting expectantly.
"Archer—"
He nodded as he dug into the French toast. "This is good," he said, gesturing with his fork.
She made an exasperated sound. "I'm glad you like it. Would you please tell me what Clint said?" Her fingers were white-knuckled around her cup.
"He's reinterviewing all the victims, trying to establish a connection through a home security company. We won't hear anything from the hotel for a few hours yet." He paused. "There's something else."
"Something else?"
"The Lock Rapist took a gun from the home of the latest victim."
She dropped her fork. It clattered against the china plate.
"A—gun?"
He looked at her steadily, wishing he could change the truth, feeling helpless.
Resa compressed her lips and nodded. "So he's still out there. Nobody can figure out who he is or where he is. And now he's got a gun. So what now?"
"Resa, there's no way he can get to you. I swear I'm not going to let you out of my sight again."
She gave him an odd look and pushed her chair away from the table. She rose, walked over to the kitchen window and stood with her back to him. "He's been out there for three years and you're no closer to catching him than you were the first day." Her voice quivered as if she were holding back tears. "What am I supposed to do, stay here forever?"
Her words sucker-punched him. The idea of her always being here, of his seeing
her every day in his kitchen, going to her every night in his bed, sent his emotions into a dizzying tailspin and pushed all thoughts of the Lock Rapist out of his head.
He thought he'd accepted that the rest of his life would be lonely. He'd even reveled in his isolation— for a while.
But then she'd come along and thoroughly disrupted his solitary existence. And now, when he looked at a future without her, it filled him with dread and a hollow emptiness that felt like an abyss.
He went to her, standing so close it was torture not to reach out and pull her against him. Just the thought of holding her stirred his body into arousal.
"I can't promise you much," he whispered, clenching his fists to keep from wrapping his arms around her.
She turned and looked up at him. The trust in her eyes terrified him. But there was something else there that frightened him even more. Something he knew he could name if he had the courage. But he didn't.
"I don't need much," she murmured.
He took a step backward. His gaze traveled over her face looking for what—he wasn't sure. Maybe proof that he'd been mistaken about what he'd thought he'd seen in the green depths of her eyes.
"What I can promise you is that I will protect you with my life. No one will hurt you as long as I'm alive. Do you believe me?"
She nodded and gave him a little smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. She averted her gaze slightly, looking somewhere over his shoulder. "Of course I do," she said. "Thank you."
"I'm going to take a shower. You stay inside. Don't do anything. Don't answer the phone. Don't even look out the window. I'll be done inside often minutes. Haven't you got some sewing or something you could be doing?"
"I'll clean up the kitchen, then come upstairs. I have a couple of hours of beadwork I need to do on an evening dress."
"Good." He stood there for another few seconds, wanting to reach out, to hold her. To be held by her. But he was so damn scared.
Scared he'd love her and she'd die. Scared he'd fail her the way he'd failed his wife. Scared that she was just fascinated with him because he knew what she'd been through.
She raised her chin and took a deep breath, but before she could say anything, he turned on his heel and walked away.