Page 39 of Archer

“Thanks.” He sipped, still watching me with that curious expression. Then he stiffened and dug the phone from his pocket.

Archer looked at the screen, then over his shoulder.

“What is it?”

“Someone was on the porch.”

He set down his mug and moved to the window, while I froze in mild panic. Archer’s body went rigid. “Sonofabitch.”

“What happened?”

“You got a delivery.”

I rushed to him on wobbly noodle legs and looked at his phone screen as he reviewed the footage. A figure in a delivery uniform approached the porch, set down a package, and left.

But something was off about the footage.

“Did you see his face?” I asked.

“No.”

He’d kept his head angled away from the camera. He hadn’t wanted to be recorded.

Archer went to the door. “Stay here.”

I watched through the window as he went outside and approached the package carefully. He photographed it from multiple angles, then picked it up and brought it inside.

The box was small, wrapped in brown paper. No return address. No shipping label.

Just my name, written in careful script.

“Don’t touch it,” Archer said.

I hadn’t planned to. My hands were shaking too badly.

Archer used a pocketknife to cut the paper, peeling it back carefully. Inside was a long white box, like the kind that held roses. He met my eyes and waited for my nod.

“Open it.”

He lifted the lid, and just like always, a dozen red roses lay inside, perfect and fresh. No card. No note.

“He’s still doing it.” My voice shook as I spoke. “Even with you right here and a camera at the door. He just keeps coming.”

Archer set the box aside and pulled out his phone, texting rapidly. “Sending photos to Knox and Colton,” he explained. “We need the full camera system installed first thing tomorrow.”

The room tilted slightly, and I closed my eyes to steady myself.

Archer was at my side immediately. “Hey. You’re safe. I won’t let him get to you.”

“He was just here. On my porch. Again.” Before I’d returned to Carolina Bay, the deliveries came when I wasn’t home. And I never got two in two days.

Archer’s hands settled on my shoulders, warm and steady. “I know that feels scarier,” he said, as if reading my mind. “But I’m right here, and he’s not getting anywhere near you.”

I took one shaky step forward, and Archer released my shoulders so I could step into his embrace. I held onto him, needy and emotional, and probably ridiculous to a man who’d been through war.

Then his strong arms closed around me, and his shoulders curved. He held me tightly against him in a protective cage, and I let the tears fall.

I wanted to believe that he was right or feel half as confident as he sounded.