Silent Guardian

by Mallory Kane

  Too soon he stopped and rested his chin on top of her head. "We can't do this," he whispered raggedly.

  "I know," she mouthed against his collarbone, believing him, agreeing with him, but unable to move away from him.

  "We're just lonely." He slid his palms up her arms to her shoulders. "We're just seeking comfort."

  She nodded. "Comfort—" She reached for his mouth.

  He kissed her again, this time more sweetly, softly, heartbreakingly. Then he pulled away, leaving his forearms resting on her shoulders. He hung his head and spoke in a muffled tone.

  "I'm empty, Resa. There's nothing left inside me. You'll end up hating me."

  "I won't." But his words were ominous. Did he really believe he had nothing to give? What if he were right? What if he was nothing more than an empty shell?

  She couldn't believe that. She'd seen his grief, his anger, his cold determination. And now she'd seen his gentleness.

  Could she convince him he was wrong?

  She put her palms on his cheeks and urged his head up.

  He squeezed his eyes closed, as if he couldn't bear to look at her.

  "I could never hate you. You are too honorable. Too noble. Admit it, Archer, you feel something. Tell me you feel at least a little of what I feel. We need each other. We can make each other stronger—"

  A banging echoed through the house.

  Resa jerked, and Archer whirled on the balls of his feet.

  "What's that?" she asked.

  "Someone's at the door. Are you expecting anyone?"

  She shook her head. "No one knows where I am."

  "Give me your gun," he commanded.

  "Why? Who do you think it is?"

  "I don't know. That's why I want your gun."

  She handed it over.

  Archer gripped it in his left hand as he stepped out of the cubicle. "Stay here," he snapped when she moved to follow him.

  "What are you going to do? Should I call 911?"

  He silenced her with a glare. "Just wait. It could be nothing."

  Archer cautiously approached the stairs. As he did he heard the lock on the front door rattle. He flipped on the lights and vaulted up the stairs to the foyer. As he got closer, the banging sounded more like a fist pounding on the door.

  He gripped the little Glock awkwardly in his left hand, and aimed it at the front door. "Who is it?"

  The pounding stopped.

  "Geoff! It's me! Frank. Open up."

  Archer unlocked the door and opened it. Frank was standing there, his face nearly as white as his hair.

  "Frank. What the hell?"

  "I got a voice message." He held out his cell phone. "I didn't want to call you in case he called back."

  "Who? Get in here."

  Archer motioned Frank inside and took a quick look around the front of the house before he closed and locked the door.

  "Listen to this." Frank's hands shook as he entered the code to play the voice message.

  "Hello, Frank. You might want to check on your boss. He and his pretty little house guest are in danger."

  Archer's scalp burned as he listened to the honey-smooth voice. It was the Lock Rapist. He knew it. But why would he call Frank?

  "Has something happened? Are you and Resa all right?" Frank asked, wiping sweat off his upper lip.

  Archer shook his head. "We're fine."

  Resa appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "Frank! I thought I heard your voice. What's wrong?"

  "I told you to stay put." Archer tossed a frown in her direction, then turned back to his friend, an awful thought forming in his brain. "Frank, where's Linda?"

  "She's at the house. Why?" Then understanding dawned on Frank's face. "Oh my God! My wife! She's there alone."

  Chapter Seven

  "I've got to call my wife, get her out of the house." Frank grabbed for his cell phone.

  "Hold on." Archer pocketed Frank's phone and retrieved his own. Frank's phone was evidence. "I don't want her leaving the house. He might be waiting for her. We need to call the police. They can be there in a couple of minutes." He dialed 911 and gave them the address. Then he called Clint.

  "Clint. There may be trouble at Frank's house. I've called 911."

  He glanced at Frank. "Stay here with Resa. I'm going over there."

  "Hell no!" Frank cried. "I'm not waiting around here."

  "All right. I'll follow you. Resa, let's go. We're taking a drive." Archer headed out the door and jumped into his car. As soon as Resa got in, he sped down the driveway behind Frank.

  He didn't know what the Lock Rapist was up to, calling Frank and luring him out of his home, but no matter what his scheme was, Archer wasn't about to let him get away with it. He was an idiot if he thought Archer would run off and leave Resa behind.

  "What's he doing?" Resa asked, as Archer whipped his car around behind two black-and-whites parked in front of Frank's house with a their blue lights strobing.

  He knew who she was talking about.

  He shook his head. "Trying to scare us. Trying to prove he can manipulate us. Maybe trying to get us out of the house."

  Frank shot out of his car as if he'd been shot from a cannon. He pushed past two uniformed officers and sprinted toward his house.

  Archer started to follow him. But the front door opened and Frank's wife was standing there. She gawked in surprise at all the police cars.

  Frank grabbed her in a bear hug. She was fine.

  Clint walked up. "Looks like everything's okay."

  Archer didn't comment. He wasn't so sure. "Make sure you get Frank's cell phone. There's a recorded message on it from the Lock Rapist."

  Clint raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah? How'd he get Frank's number?"

  "It's listed as a second number for the range in the phone book."

  "So what was the point of all this?"

  "I've got no clue what he was trying to accomplish. But whatever his reasoning, it made sense to him. I tell you what Clint. I'm going to close the ranges until all this is over. I don't like the idea of involving Frank and his wife."

  "That's probably a good idea. You can keep a better eye on Resa, too, if you don't have folks wandering around your house and grounds."

  "Yeah."

  "I don't like any of this. What's happening to this guy? It seems to me he's veering way off profile. What he's doing now feels less like a serial offender and more like a vendetta."

  Archer nodded grimly. "I know. And that means we can't predict what he's going to do next."

  Resa couldn't sleep. She looked at the clock. It was after midnight. She couldn't get Frank's terrified face out of her mind. Or Archer's grim resolve.

  She'd known when he'd come in and told Frank everything was fine, that he was lying.

  Oh, Frank and Linda were safe. He'd promised Frank that, and she knew that what Archer promised, he delivered.

  After they'd left Frank's and gone home, Archer had been in no mood to talk. He'd sent her a level gaze and told her to go to bed. When she tried to protest, wanting to know everything that had happened, he stopped her.

  "We'll be up early," he'd said. "We've got to go in and see what Clint has uncovered."

  So with the promise of hearing about the evidence, she'd come upstairs and climbed into bed. But she'd tossed and turned until the bed was a mess and she was nervous as a cat. Finally, she kicked the tangled covers away from her feet and got up.

  Her dress form, with the suede skirt and the midriff top, stood like a silent ghost in the corner of the room. Often when she couldn't sleep, she'd work on her designs, but tonight she was too antsy.

  All she had left to do on Chastity's outfit were the final embellishments and trim. Then she'd be done with it. She held her trembling hands out in front of her. If she tackled the intricate beadwork tonight, she'd ruin the whole outfit.

  Instead she decided to slip downstairs to the kitchen and get a glass of milk, or herb tea if Archer had any. Maybe then she could get a few hours' sleep.


  She slipped through the door to the hall and quietly closed it. She couldn't help but glance at Archer's bedroom door. It was closed. He must be having better luck sleeping than she was.

  She crept silently down the stairs and through the living room into the kitchen. The light over the stove was on, serving as a night-light.

  A quick perusal of the kitchen cabinets uncovered an unopened basket of herb teas—obviously a gift at some time. When she took the twist-tie off the cellophane, it crackled loudly and the edges crumpled in her fingers. Archer had probably never voluntarily drunk herb tea in his life, nor would he.

  Smiling a little at the idea of his sipping chamomile tea from a porcelain cup, she filled the kettle with water and put it on to heat.

  Within a couple of minutes she was standing at the window over the sink, sipping her tea. She hadn't paid attention to Archer's backyard. But tonight, with the low light from over the stove and the bright moonlight, she could see the outdoor shooting range that he'd mentioned the other day. In the moonlight the cast-iron targets were silhouetted against the sky like weird shadow-people. Behind them, hills of dirt provided a backstop for bullets.

  The house and grounds were fraught with layers and contradictions, a lot like Archer himself. Looking at the house from the front, it appeared to be an immaculate, manicured Victorian mansion. No one would guess it hid a dangerous, potentially deadly cavern underneath it, or a massive outdoor shooting range behind it.

  In the same way, looking at Archer when he was cleaned up, with creased trousers, starched shirt, clean-shaven cheeks and neatly combed hair, it was hard to believe he was the same person as the haunted, shadowed creature in worn jeans and faded T-shirt who prowled in the darkness and dared anyone to approach him.

  Both sides of him fascinated her, but which was the real Geoffrey Archer? She had no idea.

  Earl Slattery's innards quivered in excitement as he watched Theresa through Archer's kitchen window. As she leaned slightly forward to fill the copper kettle with water, the little pajama thing she wore gaped, giving him an excellent look at her boobs.

  Just the sight of her got his nature up. There was no accounting for it. She wasn't anything like the little blondes he was drawn to. But she was definitely hot, and she looked like a fighter.

  He squirmed, imagining her struggling uselessly against him while he tormented her. He wasn't big and tall like Archer, but he was strong. Strong enough to make any woman do whatever he wanted her to.

  He had to take care of Theresa Wade—fast. She'd looked right at him that night. He should have gone after her then, but it was too risky. And Earl didn't take risks—not if he could help it.

  But now she was consorting with Archer. She'd even moved into his house. Maybe they thought people would believe it was so he could protect her. But Earl knew. She was a whore, just like his mother.

  "Oh, no! Sorry, Mom," he whispered. "I didn't mean to think that. I know you had to make money somehow. I love you." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Guess what, Mommy? I'll be ready soon, and you'll be so proud. I'll be on TV again. They'll all be talking about me."

  The idea of being in the paper and on the TV news again magnified the burning. It swelled up inside him until he thought he would burst with it. He shut his eyes and gave himself up to it for a few exhilarating seconds.

  He knew the inferno was leading him in the right direction, to Theresa Wade. It was the perfect way to get rid of her and destroy Archer all over again. Once he took care of her, let Archer try to keep him out of the news.

  The reporters would be all over it—the Lock Rapist doing Archer's woman not once but twice.

  Earl squirmed. His plans had him so worked up, but he couldn't do anything about it right now. He had to get away from here and cover his tracks.

  The cops who had cruised around Archer's place earlier might come back. His phone call to Archer's range manager had worked better than he'd hoped.

  Archer had dropped everything and headed out to check on Berry's wife. He'd called his police buddies to check out Berry's house and his own.

  Once the police vehicle had made a cursory check of Archer's place and left, Earl was able to drive around without fear of being noticed. He'd already used the Internet to map out the farm roads around Archer's acreage. One ran fairly close to Archer's house. It took Earl only a few minutes to sneak across the fields and wooded areas until he had a great view of Archer's back porch and his kitchen window.

  Catching Theresa at the window, dressed for bed, had been a bonus.

  But now the moon was up and pale light illuminated the field. He'd probably seen all there was to see tonight. As Theresa turned away from the window, Earl slowly backed away from his vantage point.

  Then a shadow moved behind her. Archer.

  Earl's pulse sped up and sweat stung his armpits and his back. He couldn't leave now. It looked like the show was just starting.

  "Everything okay?"

  Resa was so immersed in her thoughts of him that for a few seconds she didn't realize his raspy voice was real and not a part of her fantasy.

  She half turned and angled her head. His bare feet were in her line of vision. They were long, strong feet, with sexy toes and a high, defined arch. Blue-striped pajama pants hid his ankles.

  She turned around and allowed her gaze to slide up his pants' legs to the drawstring waist that rode low on his hips. He didn't have on a shirt. His belly and hips looked as lean and hard as they'd felt under her fingers. His chest was as broad, his shoulders as wide and defined. He was thinner than he looked in clothes, but at the same time, he was also more cut.

  "Resa?"

  She blinked. "Oh." Her face burned. How long had she been staring at his body? "I'm sorry—"

  "What's wrong?" He frowned.

  She shook her head. "Nothing. I couldn't sleep." Her fingers tightened around the cup. "Do you want some tea?"

  "Tea?"

  She forced herself to focus on his eyes. He was looking at her hands. She blinked. No, he wasn't. He was looking at her. At the lace edge of her little satin camisole. Feeling his hot gaze on her barely covered breasts made them tighten in response.

  The cup was warm in her hands, reminding her of the warmth of his lips against hers.

  Oh, she had to stop this.

  "Tea," she repeated. "It's chamomile." She swallowed nervously. "Good for calming—things."

  His eyes lit with amusement. "Calming things? Then yes. I could use some things calmed."

  It was all she could do to keep from looking down at the front of his pajamas. She felt her face turning pink, so she turned away toward the stove. Setting down her cup she picked up a mug and poured him some hot tea. She slid the mug across the counter in his direction.

  "Sugar?"

  He wrapped his fingers around the mug, ignoring the handle. Shaking his head, he took a sip. "Chamomile, eh?"

  "You're laughing at me."

  "Not really. More at the situation." He blew on the steaming liquid. "I'll talk to Clint first thing in the morning. Surely by now he can free up somebody to guard you."

  So that was it. He didn't know how to act, now that they'd kissed. She knew he wasn't happy with himself or her. And she couldn't blame him.

  On the other hand, she couldn't be sorry for what they'd done either. He might be still in love with his dead wife, but she had no ties, no tragic love in her past. She could count on one hand—hell on one finger—the times she'd ever been swept off her feet by a single kiss. This was it.

  For him, it might have been a mistake, a regret he wanted to erase, but for her, those few moments of closeness were something she'd treasure forever. Geoffrey Archer was the most compelling man she'd ever met. How could she say he didn't matter?

  She was seriously afraid that to her, he mattered much more than one person ever should to another.

  She looked up from her hands to find him watching her, a bewildered expression on his face.

  She nodded a
nd forced a smile. "Good," she said. "That's probably good. Someone to guard me. Of course. I'm sure you're ready for me to be out of here." She took a step backward.

  He set his mug down and stepped toward her. "You're right." His eyes grew dark. "In a lot of ways I do wish you weren't here."

  Resa felt compelled to move backward again. She took another step back and found herself pressed against the big porcelain sink, her back to the window. His penetrating gaze held her in thrall as her brain replayed what he'd just said.

  A lot of ways? What did that mean?

  He took her cup out of her numb hands and set it away from them on the counter.

  "I can be gone tomorrow."

  He shook his head.

  "Yes. I'll talk to Clint when we go in to see him tomorrow. My car should be ready, too."

  "No."

  His stern look and terse answers confused her. Hadn't he just said he wished she were gone? He moved closer, sending her heart rate sky-high. What was he doing? His body language was sending a totally different message from his words.

  "Well, I'd better get to bed." She pushed away from the sink, expecting Archer to get out of her way.

  He didn't.

  She ran into that rock-hard body and his arms shot out to steady her.

  There was very little of anything between them. Just the thin cotton of her camisole. Her breasts were already tight and aching. She moaned quietly as their sensitized tips scraped against the hairs on his chest. The unmistakable ridge of his hardness pressed against her belly, sending thrills of longing throbbing through her.

  She splayed her fingers across his chest, lightly brushing his nipples. She felt them harden beneath her touch. At the same time, his erection pulsed. The fact that he was turned on by her touch made her knees weak with desire.

  When she looked up, his dark gaze was soft with passion, but also wary. His chest rose and fell with strong, quick breaths.

  He let go of her arms and put his hands over hers. She took a deep breath, expecting him to push her away, but he didn't. Instead he guided her hands down and around his waist. His skin was like hot silk, stretched taut over the hard planes of his muscles.