Page 22 of Archer

“You can do that?” Private security and private investigation were two very different things. Weren’t they?

“We’ll find him.”

I stared, emotion pricking my chest. It’d been so long, I realized, I’d given up hope of stopping this. I had given over to simply waiting him out. Wishing he’d get bored and go away or find someone else to fixate on.

“In the meantime, you’ll be safe with us. And Harper?”

I lifted my gaze to him.

“You’re not alone anymore.”

I turned and shuffled to the rear windows, looking for a strip of floorboards to pace.

“Hey.” Archer set his hands on his trim hips and cocked his head as I made another loop. “We’ve got this. You’re going to be okay. And I don’t mind if you cry.” He waved a hand in my direction. “This is a lot, and it sounds to me like you’ve been living a nightmare.”

I looked up at him, unshed tears blurring my vision. “I’m not going to cry.”

He shrugged.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“You’re welcome.”

Chapter 8

Harper

Archer palmed his phone again. “I should follow your social media accounts. Are they just your name or something else?”

I blinked at the sudden shift in topic and energy. “What?”

“People are going to be posting about you, commenting, speculating, maybe even looking for you.” He navigated to his browser. “I need to know what they’re saying. If someone posts a photo of you or mentions seeing you in Carolina Bay, I want to catch it early.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about that. “Right. That makes sense.”

I gave him my handles for all the major platforms. He followed each one, then spent a few minutes scrolling through recent posts.

His scowl deepened with each swipe.

“What is it?”

“These comments.” He turned the screen toward me. “They’re brutal.”

I glanced at the thread. Standard stuff. Speculation about my absence, criticism about my last single, arguments about whether I was talented or just lucky. Someone had posted a comparison photo of me from two years ago versus now, circling areas where they thought I’d gained weight or had work done.

“That’s normal,” I said.

Archer’s lips curled back in distaste. “It shouldn’t be.”

His genuine outrage warmed me. Most people in the industry were accustomed to this kind of commentary. It was part of the job, part of being in the public eye.

But Archer looked wholly offended on my behalf.

“Do you read these?” he asked.

“Not anymore. Alexis handles social media.”

“Good.” He locked his phone. “Because this is garbage.”