Page 92 of Archer

The truck rumbled to life and reversed away as Archer reached my side. “Expecting anything?” he asked. “Maybe something from Nashville for the interview?”

“No.”

We stared at the box. Small. Brown. Innocuous.

Archer called Knox. “We’ve got a delivery. Unknown sender.”

“Don’t touch it. We’re in the area. I’ll head your way.”

Knox arrived with Sloane a few minutes later. Nash’s cruiser pulled into the drive behind them.

The men met on the porch. Sloane hurried inside and met me at the window. “Hey, how are you holding up?”

I released a long, laborious breath. “Great.”

She grinned. “Has Archer ever told you the story of how I met these guys?”

I shook my head, and she raised her brows. “Got any sweet tea?”

I poured two tall glasses of tea over ice and took a seat at the kitchen table across from Sloane, shoving thoughts of the ominous delivery aside.

The men’s muffled voices carried in from the porch, but I focused on Sloane’s gentle southern lilt. She was pretty, kind, and funny. Her clothes were boho chic and her bag was probably thrifted, but the Cartier bangles and Van Cleef necklace said she had money and style. I loved that she didn’t flaunt the former. That had always turned me off in Nashville. I liked people who were just people, authentic and real.

Sloane told the tale of a similar situation to mine that she was involved in not long ago. Not with a stalker, exactly, but a man who was just as deadly, and hunting her.

I was on the edge of my seat, my own ordeal forgotten, when the front door opened, and I nearly swallowed my tongue.

Sloane smiled as she patted my arm.

“Another music box,” Archer said. He set the carboard delivery box on the table, its top open to reveal the contents. This trinket was larger than the others and made of dark wood with gold filigree. “And photographs.”

Knox spread a set of printed images on the table with gloved hands.

My vision blurred, then narrowed to pinpoints as I took in the content.

Every photo was of Archer and me. Together.

Me on the back deck, watching the sunrise. Archer behind me, arms around my waist.

Us standing at the kitchen window, smiling at one another, mid-conversation.

The two of us tangled on the couch.

“How are these possible,” I whispered. “We have a security system. Cameras. Sensors.”

Nash set his hands on his utility belt. “He likely used a telephoto lens from the boat. We’re checking out the properties nearby. Determining if they’re being rented. Looking for signs of a nest.”

“Nest?”

Archer swung his gaze to mine. “A place he’s been holing up to watch you. Sometimes that means flattened grasses, a cooler or snack wrappers, water bottles tossed nearby.”

Nash moved closer, examining the photos. “I’ll get a deputy to canvass the neighborhood as well. See if anyone recognizes his photo.”

“Well.” I squared my shoulders and met Sloane’s eyes. “At least it can’t get any creepier. I think this is about as traumatic as it gets for me.” I waved a hand over the images of me in sweet moments with Archer. His lips on my shoulder. My cheek. My mouth. All for our entire crew to see.

At least we were fully dressed.

Knox cleared his throat and grimaced.