Page 23 of Archer

A smile formed unexpectedly. “You sound angry.”

“I am angry. People are ridiculous.”

“They’re just strangers with opinions and internet access,” I said. “They don’t bother me.”

He shook his head, still scowling.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

I poured two tall glasses of sweet tea and carried them to the kitchen table, then took a seat.

Archer joined me, looking awkwardly large at the small table I’d shared with Gram.

We’d barely finished our drinks when the sound of tires on gravel turned our faces toward the window. A black Jeep pulled into the driveway, and two men climbed out.

“That’s them,” Archer said.

I watched as the men approached the porch. Knox I recognized from the internet article. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy confidence in his stride. The other man must be Colton. Slightly shorter, leaner, with sharp eyes that scanned the property as he walked.

Archer moved to the door. “Ready?”

Not even remotely. But I nodded anyway.

He opened the door, and the two men stepped inside.

Knox extended his hand to me first. “Knox Hawthorne.”

“Harper Lawson.” I shook his hand, appreciating the firm but gentle grip. “Thank you for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Knox turned to Archer. “You said full security assessment. What are we looking at?”

Archer gestured to the music box still sitting on the kitchen table, then gave him the rundown.

Colton’s gaze held mine a moment longer than I’d expected. He recognized me. I was sure of it.

The possibility tensed my shoulders, but it was the least of my problems, so I forced a tight smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Colton moved to the table, cell phone in hand, then photographed the music box from every angle. “Mind if I open it?”

“Go ahead,” I said.

He used a pen to flip the lid. “Only You” played, and his brow puckered. “Is that a standard option on these?”

Knox, Archer, and I looked at one another.

“I have no idea,” Knox said.

Colton’s assessing gaze returned to me. “Same song every time?”

“Yes.”

“And the roses?” Knox asked, joining Colton at the table.

“Red. Usually a dozen. Sometimes more. Always delivered anonymously.”

Knox pulled a tablet from his shoulder bag and swiped the screen. “We’ll need to know everything you remember about each delivery. Dates, locations, anything at all, in whatever order comes to mind. No pressure. Do you want to sit?”

I took a slow breath, hating to relive each delivery, but willing to do anything if it meant these men could really stop my stalker.