Page 57 of Archer

Colton grinned.

“These are the confirmed sightings.” He pulled up a spreadsheet with locations arranged in chronological order and a screen grab of the pixelated face pulled from each venue.

Harper leaned closer. “Are we sure it’s the same guy every time? Some of the footage is really grainy.”

“We’re working to confirm,” Colton said. “But, yeah, I’m nearly positive, and we always have a good shot of his ear, so we can use that if needed. No two ears are the same.”

She touched her right ear and frowned.

Colton switched windows. “I added the deliveries here, based on the dates you gave and items that arrived. The pattern follows almost exactly every time.”

“Except now,” Harper said. “I’m not performing, and he’s still sending things.”

“She’s got a point,” I said. “What do we think that means? He’s just letting her know he’s here?”

“Or he’s still listening to me play,” she said. Her eyes were wide as she looked from me to the team and back. “If he’s been to the cottage, he probably hears me at night.”

Knox’s lips turned down. “Private concerts.”

My phone buzzed. Doorbell camera alert.

I pulled up the app and watched as a figure in a delivery uniform jogged onto the porch, set down a package, and walked away. Hat pulled low, chin down.

“What is it?” Harper moved closer, peering at the screen.

“Another delivery,” I said.

Knox scoffed. “Seriously?”

Colton was already halfway to the door. “Let’s go check it out.”

Chapter 17

Archer

The package sat exactly where the camera had shown it. A small box with brown paper wrapping. No label. Placed on the welcome mat at Harper’s door.

I photographed it from every angle before picking it up. Too light and small for roses.

Harper let us inside, and we gathered at the kitchen table.

I cut the paper carefully and extracted another music box. This one was painted with tiny blue flowers instead of roses. Tucked beneath it was a single, folded piece of paper.

“A note,” Harper whispered.

“That’s new,” Knox said. “I don’t suppose it’s his name and address.”

I used a pen to unfold the note, preserving potential fingerprints.

Come back to me

Harper gripped my arm. Her soft huff of laughter held no measure of humor. “God, what does that even mean? Come back to Nashville?”

She turned to face me fully, realization sinking in.

“My best guess is that he’s created a fantasy in his mind, where you are his,” I said. “And now that we know he’s been outside, watching us, we know he sees you aren’t alone.” I glanced at my team. “My presence here might’ve accidentally become more of a problem than a solution.” Not that I’d change it. This had to end, and my team was more than qualified to make that happen.

No one argued with the assessment.