Page 107 of Archer

“While I was outside chasing a ghost.”

“You were chasing the suspect. That’s not nothing.”

I slammed the truck bed closed. “I should’ve caught him.”

“On foot? When he had a jet ski?” Knox’s expression was sympathetic but firm. “Be realistic. You did everything right. He planned this specifically to exploit the one vulnerability we can’t limit—water access after dark.”

“It’s the second time I’ve lost him out there.”

Knox gripped my shoulder. “You are doing everything you can. You can’t be everywhere at once, brother. Stop beating yourself up and focus on what comes next.”

“Which is?”

“Keeping her safe until we find this bastard.” His hand dropped. “And making sure you keep your head straight while you do it.”

There it was. The warning I’d been expecting.

“My head’s fine.”

“Is it?” Knox’s gaze was too knowing. “Because I’ve seen the way you look at her. Hell, I saw the photos online. The whole world saw them.”

Heat crept up my neck. “I was wearing pants. It’s not exactly compromising.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

I did know it. Because the photos had captured more than just our states of undress. They’d captured the moment I’d seen the boombox. The rage on my face. The protective fury.

“I can handle this,” I said.

“I’m not questioning your ability. I’m questioning whether getting emotionally involved with a client is a good idea for either of you. I was worried about Harper at first, but now you’ve both got me on edge.”

“I’m not—” I closed my mouth before finishing the lie. We both knew I was. Very much.

Knox held up a hand. “Whatever’s happening between you two is none of my business, but I suspect I might’ve been somewhere similar once. Just be careful. For your sake and hers.”

Sloane emerged from the cottage with Harper, one arm around her shoulders. Harper had changed clothes and pulled her hair into a braid, but she still looked half shell-shocked.

“Ready?” Sloane asked gently.

Harper nodded.

Knox’s house was in an older neighborhood a mile or so away, not a long jog via the beach that connected the homes, but a several-minute drive by way of local roads. His house was set up on pylons and wore weathered gray clapboard siding. Postcard-worthy, quintessential Outer Banks living. He even had a bunch of rocking chairs on the wraparound porch, and lights blazed in every window, welcoming and warm.

The visual opposite of Harper’s boarded-up cottage.

Sloane led Harper inside while I grabbed our bags. Knox and I brought up the rear.

The house smelled like flowers and sunshine. Sloane had erected bamboo shelving in front of the rear windows and filled it with fragrant potted plants.

“Guest room’s down the hall across from Archer’s if you need it,” Knox said. “There are fresh sheets and clean towels in the linen closet.”

The implication hung in the air. One room or two. Professional distance or the reality of what we’d already become.

“Second door on the left,” Knox said, pointing down the hall. “Bathroom sits between.”

I carried both bags to my room and set them inside. The space was modest but comfortable. A double bed covered with a blue quilt. A window overlooking the backyard.

Harper followed as far as the doorway. “I worried about you, you know. When you ran after that guy. I had no idea what was happening or if you were okay.”