Silent Guardian

He clenched his jaw and concentrated on showing her how to hold the squarish, chunky little Glock.

He pressed the grip against her right palm. “Wrap your thumb and these three fingers around the handle, and your index finger on the trigger.”

Then he showed her how to rest her right hand in the palm of her left. Her hands were cold. He could feel her trembling. Was it because she was afraid of the gun? Or of him?

“There. That’s how you should hold a gun. No one-handed gunslinging. No ridiculous sideways shots like you see in movies. Hold it gently but firmly in both hands.” He bent his head toward her ear. “And relax. You’re too stiff.”

Okay, that was close. He let go of her and leaned against the bulletproof wall. He sighed, hoping to expel the scent of her hair from his nostrils. He forced himself to concentrate on her hands. She was the first woman he’d even looked at since his wife had died. And he wasn’t happy about it.

“Now line the sights up with your right eye,” he ordered gruffly. “No, don’t close the left one. Keep them both open. Aim for his chest.”

She uttered a little moan and the barrel wavered.

“Come on, Resa. You said you wanted to protect yourself. Well, this is how you do it. If you’re going to handle a gun, you’ve got to master it. You’re in charge. You—not the gun. Now grip it like I showed you.”

Her shoulders squared and her chin rose. Her fingers tightened around the gun.

“Look at the target. That’s a dangerous man.”

“The Lock Rapist,” she whispered.

“If you had to, could you shoot him?” He saw her throat move as she swallowed.

“Resa,” he snapped. “Could you shoot him?”

“Yes.” Her voice was shaky. “I think so.”

“Because if you don’t know you could pull the trigger, we’ll stop right now. If you aren’t ready to defend yourself with deadly force, you’ll just end up putting yourself in more danger.”

She took a deep breath and a round bit of creamy flesh swelled above the low neckline of her top.

“I can do it.” This time her voice was stronger.

“Good.” He forced his attention back to the gun.

“Now, when I say so, squeeze the trigger smoothly. Don’t jerk, don’t hesitate. Just squeeze.”

She raised the gun a bit and sighted down it as she took another long breath.

Archer breathed with her, unable to take his eyes off her strong, delicately rounded arms. He watched, fascinated, as her index finger tightened on the trigger, just like he’d told her.

The gun went off.

Resa had expected the gun to kick, but it still surprised her.

“Oh!” Her heart pounded. Her fingers tingled with reaction from the gun’s report.

Archer stood behind and to the left of her, so close she could feel his breaths on her neck. So close she could smell his clean, citrus scent.

“That was good. Very smooth.”

“Smooth? Really? I thought I was going to drop it. I’m not sure I could do it again. I didn’t expect the trigger to be that hard to pull.” Her voice was as shaky as the rest of her.

“Glocks don’t have a safety. You can adjust the trigger sensitivity but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

She took off the headphones and let them rest around her neck. Leaning forward, she squinted at the target. “How do you think I did?”

“On your first shot? There’s a small chance you hit the target.”

His voice sounded amused, but when she glanced up there was no trace of a smile on his hard, classically molded face. Instead, he frowned and turned his attention to the recall button. Was he embarrassed by his joke? Or by the fact that he’d been lured into small talk? His cheeks seemed pinker than they had been.

The target swayed in the breeze it created as it floated toward them. She didn’t see a hole.

“I missed the whole thing.” Her ears burned with chagrin.

The target came to a stop in front of the counter.

“No, you didn’t. Look right there.” Archer pointed at the lower left of the silhouette. “You got him in the kidneys.”

“I was aiming for his heart,” she said harshly. The silhouette was the rapist, and right then she wanted him to die for what he’d done to her sister.

Archer’s black eyelashes floated down and back up, and he sent her a searching look. Then he nodded.

“Shoot again. This time get off three shots as fast as you can.” He sent the target back downrange.

She fired, then she put the gun down as if it had burned her. “That’s all.” She held out her hands, splaying the fingers. “I’m too shaky, and I closed my eyes on the last shot.”

He took her hands in his and turned them palm up. “You might want to wear gloves for a while—driving gloves so your fingers aren’t covered, until your skin toughens up.” He touched a red place on her palm. “You could get blisters.”

His warm hands bothered her. She didn’t like the way his touch made her feel—cared for, protected. She knew from long experience that she couldn’t trust that feeling. She’d never been able to depend on others to take care of her. Her mother had worked two jobs and juggled a string of boyfriends. With teaching during the day and waitressing at night, she’d never had time for Resa and her sister, so Resa had raised Celia. And of course it was Resa that Celia had come to when she left her deadbeat jerk of a husband.

She pulled her hands away from Archer’s touch.

“So what’s your plan, Resa?”

His question caught her off guard. “My plan? Oh, you mean for the gun?” She swallowed and prepared to lie. “After what happened to my sister, I just think I’ll feel better knowing I have protection.”

“You’re not fooling me, you know.”

She took off the headphones and set them on the shelf, then picked up the gun and ejected the magazine. “Fooling you? I’m not trying to fool you.”

“You saw him.”

The blunt words shocked her. She dropped the magazine to the countertop. “I saw—I saw someone. I have no idea if it was him or not. How could I know?”

“You’re the only witness they have, other than the victims. And they all swear he threw something over their faces so they couldn’t see anything. They could be lying—out of fear, maybe, but so far we haven’t been able to crack them.”

“I knew Celia couldn’t give a description. But none of the others could, either?”

He shook his head. “They were all attacked in the dark. All asleep. None of them heard anything before he covered their faces. So you’re the only person who can possibly identify him. And he saw you.”

Again, his words, uttered in that low, deep voice, ripped through her like a bullet. “He turned and looked at me. He had on a hooded jacket. His face was shadowed. I couldn’t see anything but his eyes, and I’m not completely sure that I saw them. I felt them.”

She shuddered and took a step toward him. She had to get out of the tiny cubicle. It suddenly felt too small, too hot. “Excuse me.”

Archer didn’t move. “Not yet.” He put a hand on either wall. With his height and his broad shoulders, he loomed over her. The fact that he was so much bigger and stronger than her and was blocking her way should have alarmed her, but oddly she felt safe, protected.

“Do you know the person who’s following you?”

“Following me? How—” Her throat closed up. She hadn’t told anyone except the police detective about the dark sedan. It took her a moment to get her voice back. “How do you know that?”

“I saw a car pull out behind you last night.”

“You did?” A small shred of hope dangled in front of her like a carrot. Maybe if he thought she was in danger, he would help her after all. “You were watching?” “This house is on a hill. I could see the moon glinting off a metal surface. Then after you turned, it moved. It wasn’t somebody you know?”

She shook her head. “It’s him. I can feel it. It’s like he’s toying with me. If I slow down, he slows down with me. If I try to maneuver under a streetlight so I can see the make of his car or get a glimpse of the front plate, he hangs back or turns.” She shuddered. “Last night he followed me all the way to my apartment complex.”

Archer pinned her with his glare. “You knew he was behind you and you led him to your apartment?”

“I live in a gated community.”

He cursed. “That only works if you’re behind the gate.”

“The gatehouse is well-lit. He turned away when I pulled up to the gate. What else could I have done?”

“You could have turned around and come back here. You could have called the police.” He massaged his right palm.

“Right. I called Detective Banes last week. Fat lot of good it did.”

“So now the Lock Rapist knows where you live.”

She nodded miserably.

“Okay. Get out your cell phone. I want to give you my number and get yours.”

She retrieved her cell phone from her purse and entered his number.

“Now. You should move—immediately. And hire a security service.”

“I just moved there. It was the only gated complex in Nashville that I could afford, and I can barely pay the rent now. There’s no way I can move again. And I’d never manage to pay a private security firm.” She managed a small smile. “So it looks like I’m on my own. Now can I leave?”

His brow furrowed and he studied her with those dark eyes. She stepped forward, violating his comfort zone and her own. She felt heat radiating from him through the barriers of their clothes. It had to be her imagination.

He lowered his arms and stood aside, giving her a free path out of the lane.

“I’ll follow you home tonight.”

She turned to look at him. “What? No. I can’t let you do that. I’m fine—besides…”

He watched her expectantly.

She swallowed. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

A tight smile lit his face. “I doubt it. Hell, most days I feel like I’m going nuts myself.”

“I think he only follows me on Tuesday. But then I’ve only noticed him twice, so that’s hardly a representative sample.”

“No, but it could be significant. The attacks have occurred in a regular pattern too. June and December, with one exception.” Bitterness edged his voice.

She considered his words. “My sister’s attack was this past December. When exactly were the others?”

“December two years ago, then the next June, then December again—” he paused for an instant “—then February, June, and your sister this past December.”

February. The one anomaly in the rapist’s pattern. Archer’s wife’s attack. “And you were on the case for—?”

“I took over as lead detective after the second rape.” He wiped his face. The pale web of scars on the back of his hand glimmered in the harsh range lights. “The first thing I did was cut off all media attention. He wasn’t happy about that.”

“Media attention? Why would he want attention?” Resa asked.

“Serial offenders typically crave the notoriety. Plus, they need to gloat over how far behind the investigators are. They’ll go to almost any lengths to keep the media’s attention focused on them.”

Resa’s stomach churned with a sudden relization. “Oh, Archer. That’s why he attacked your wife,” she whispered.

He nodded shortly, and Resa saw his jaw muscles tense. “This guy is obviously very organized. Maybe not by choice. His job could force him into a pattern. Or it could be his home situation. He may have a family—”

Resa gasped. “A family? That can’t be possible. How could a man with a wife and children do the things he does?”

Archer turned off a bank of lights, throwing the firing range into darkness. His office and the entrance to the stairs were the only lighted areas. “Many serial offenders have families. If you were to look in on them at home, they’d seem like ordinary working stiffs. He might even coach Little League.”

“Oh my God.” She’d thought of the Lock Rapist as a shadowy entity who emerged to attack his victims, then faded back into some dark abyss until his next attack.

She’d never considered the possibility that he had a life.

“How can someone who has a family—a wife—” her voice choked.

Archer shook his head. “There are certain common predictors of deviant behavior or violence. But nothing’s ever that easy. No one knows why one man crosses the line and another doesn’t.” He stepped into his office and grabbed a set of keys from his desktop. “Are you ready?”

“You don’t have to follow me home. Like I told you, I’ve only noticed him on Tuesdays.” The idea that the man who’d attacked her sister had placed following her on his regular schedule spooked her.

Tuesday: pick up milk, call the plumber, follow Theresa Wade.

An icy chill slid down her spine and she shuddered.

Archer turned out the lights in his office, then placed a guiding hand on the small of her back. “Let’s go.”

Resa opened her mouth to protest again, but Archer’s warm protective touch at the small of her back made her feel safer than she’d felt in months, maybe ever.

On the other hand, his certainty that she needed protection increased the cold fear that had haunted her ever since her sister’s attack.

The Lock Rapist thought she could recognize him. He considered her a threat. And when he caught her, he’d kill her.

Chapter Three

The following Tuesday Earl Slattery got out of the shower and grabbed two towels. Mary Nell didn’t like for him to use two—wasteful, she said.

But tonight was special. He scrubbed his wet hair with one and wrapped the other around his waist. Then he grinned at himself in the mirror.

He’d suggested to his boss that having one night a week set aside for evening installations and repair of security equipment would increase business. His boss had gone for it, so Earl had volunteered for late shift on Tuesdays.

It was perfect. Especially now that he’d picked up the scent of the woman he’d seen that night. If he busted his butt to finish by nine o’clock on Tuesday nights, he had plenty of time to follow Theresa home.

After her initial suspicion, Mary Nell had gotten used to his late hours on Tuesdays. That sure made it easier on him. As long as he was careful and got his installations done in plenty of time, he could do anything he wanted.

It bothered him that Theresa Wade was going to Detective Archer’s gun range. He’d considered going in there himself, to see if she was shooting or if she and Archer had a thing going.

But that was high risk, and Earl avoided as many high-risk behaviors as he could.

Last Tuesday night, he’d discovered a way to slip inside the fence that surrounded Theresa’s gated community, so earlier tonight he’d sneaked in, bypassed the security system in a matter of seconds, and entered her apartment. He’d slipped a note under the edge of her windowsill, as if it had been slid under from outside. Then he’d driven out to Detective Archer’s house, waited until he and Theresa left, and stuck the second note in Archer’s mailbox.

That had been exciting. Much more exciting than following Theresa’s car. More danger. More adrenaline. But not really more risk.

He liked that. All this sneaking around gave him a nearly fail-safe way to experience the excitement without risking so much.

Slinging the towel around his neck, Earl closed his eyes. Tonight’s excitement had almost dulled the burning for a little while.

And tomorrow… He couldn’t wait for tomorrow to get here. The kids had been out of school for a week, but Mary Nell had delayed her trip because the car needed a tune-up. Tomorrow morning she and the kids were heading up to Knoxville, to her mother’s.

It was time. Earl shuddered in anticipation. Soon he could feed the hungry monster that lurked inside him and the burning would ease—for a while. He smacked his lips, then picked up his comb.

“Earl!”

Grimacing, he quickly ran the comb through his thinning hair.

“Earl! Are you listening to me? What are you doing in there? If you want any of this, you’d better come on. I’m about ready to go to sleep.”

“Go ahead, you old bag,” Earl muttered under his breath. “You dole it out like it was gold anyhow. And I can testify that it ain’t gold.” He chuckled quietly.

Then for a few seconds, he closed his eyes and gave in to the need that never really left him. It was almost to fever pitch, but that was okay.

Tomorrow he could begin his quest to quench it.

ARCHER SAW the scrap of paper as soon as he turned into his driveway after following Resa to her apartment gates. It was fluttering precariously at the edge of his mailbox.

He slowed to a stop, eyeing the road and the surrounding area. Nothing.

He’d followed Resa home every night for a week. Tonight, Tuesday night, he’d anticipated seeing the dark sedan she’d noticed the two previous Tuesdays, but it hadn’t showed.

If Resa was right, and he only followed her on Tuesdays, he must have seen Archer and aborted.

“So you left a note instead,” Archer muttered. “Coward.”

He pulled a small, high-powered flashlight out of his glove compartment and shone it on the scrap of paper. It was caught at the edge of the mailbox door, and he could see writing on it.

He wrinkled his brow. He didn’t have an exam glove—not even a handkerchief. He’d have to grab the paper with his bare fingers and take a chance of contaminating it.

He glanced around the interior of his car for anything that would preserve the fingerprints and possible trace evidence on the note. On the floor on the passenger side, he spotted an empty envelope. He’d tossed it there the other day while glancing through his mail before he got out of his car.

Carefully, he used the tips of his thumb and index finger to grasp the edge of the note while he loosened the closure of the mailbox enough to slide it out. The breeze picked up just as the note came free and he almost lost it, but his damaged fingers managed to hold on.

With the note and his arms back inside his car window, he dropped the note into the envelope, and stuck the envelope in his inside coat pocket. He could barely resist pulling it out and reading it, but his detective’s caution told him to wait until he was safely inside his house, with good lighting and a place to set the note so he wouldn’t have to handle it.

It burned a hole in his jacket as he drove the fifty yards up the driveway to his Victorian house. He parked in the circular drive.

Just as he was getting out of his car, his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and his heart slammed into his chest wall. It was Resa.

“Resa? What is it?”

“Archer?” Her voice was small and trembly. “You told me to call you first.”

“What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. There’s—a note.”

“Where? In your apartment?” Archer’s heart rate tripled.

“Get out of there, Resa. Now!”

“It’s not in my apartment—not exactly—” Her voice caught. He heard her take a shaky breath. “It’s inside my windowsill. I think it was slipped underneath from the outside.”

“Resa, listen to me. Have you checked your apartment?”

“Yes. Nothing’s out of place. I don’t think anybody’s been inside.”

“Good. Leave the note where it is. Call 911, and stay there with all the doors locked. Don’t open the door to anyone until the police get there. I’m on my way.”

“Archer? Hurry.”

“Stay put, Resa.”

He pocketed his phone, patted his jacket pocket to assure himself that the envelope was still there, and climbed back into his car.

On the way he called Clint and told him what Resa had told him. Clint said he’d meet the 911 team there.

Twenty-one long minutes later, Archer pulled up to the entrance to Resa’s apartment complex. A uniformed officer he didn’t know was stationed at the gate. Archer flashed his ID and explained that he was working on the Lock Rapist case as an independent investigator with Detective Banes.

The officer nodded. Clint had cleared him. He waved him through.

Ahead of him, Archer saw several parked police vehicles. He pulled up behind one and scanned the breezeways of the nearest apartment building. On the second floor, the front apartment’s lights blazed, spotlighting an officer standing at the door.

He sprinted up the stairs. When he entered the apartment, he saw Resa sitting in a dining-room chair, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes wide, her face pale. She saw him and her shoulders relaxed visibly.

Across the room, Clint glanced up from examining the inside of the windowsill. He gave Archer a slight nod, glanced at Resa, then went back to his job.

A kid who looked like a college student except for the badge pinned to his belt was balanced precariously on a tiny, non-functional fake balcony under the window and dusting the outside sill.

Archer reined in the urge to yell at the kid to watch where he parked his butt. This wasn’t his case, he reminded himself. It was his ex-partner’s.

Instead, he went over and knelt down beside Resa’s chair. She reached out to him, her green eyes searching his face. After an instant’s hesitation, he took her hand.

“I’m not sure they can decide if he was inside or not. Detective Banes said he could have slipped the note under the windowsill from the inside.” Her voice quavered. “He thinks the Lock Rapist has been inside.”

She squeezed his fingers and it took a lot of willpower not to wince.

“You did the right thing—almost. You got the phone calls backward.” He gave her a little smile. “You should have called 911 first, then called me.”

She nodded miserably. “You were the first person I thought of.”

That surprised him. He frowned. The idea that she’d thought of him first scared him. Being someone’s first choice in a crisis was the last thing he wanted. All he wanted was to be left alone.

The envelope in his jacket pocket burned his skin through the layers of fabric—a painful reminder that being left alone was no longer a choice. He was involved.

“Hey, you did good.”

She pulled her hand free of his. Her fingers intertwined in her lap. Their knuckles turned white. He had an unwanted urge to touch her again. To untangle her fingers and rub them until warmth spread through them and up to put color back into her face.

He glanced at Clint, who was still involved in the evidence gathering.

“Resa,” he said quietly. “Did you touch the note?”

“No,” she said. “You told me not to.”

“Could you read it?”

She nodded, pressing her lips together tightly.

“Tell me what it said.”

She shut her eyes. Tears squeezed out between her closed lids. “It said, ‘You can’t shut me out. I’ll get you.’”

He stood and patted her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

He stepped through the front door onto the concrete balustrade that connected the apartments.

“Hey, bud,” he said to the young officer at the door. “Got a glove on you?”

“Sure, Detective.” The officer dug in his pocket and pulled out a latex-free exam glove.

Archer took it and stretched it over his hand, then he retrieved the envelope from his pocket and slid the scrap of paper out of it.

Detective Archer. You’re not as smart as you think you are. I’m looking forward to Theresa Wade. Think she’ll be as good as her sister was? Or your wife? I’m pleased to be working with you again. If you release these two notes to the media, I might give you a break.

“Son of a—”

“Geoff.” Clint appeared at his side. “What’s that?”

He put the note inside the envelope and handed it to his ex-partner. “Resa’s not the only one who got a note tonight.”

Clint pulled the envelope open and peeked inside. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “It is the Lock Rapist.”

“That’s right. Now do you think you can put a guard on her?”

Clint sent Archer a frustrated look. “Don’t you think I wish I could? I don’t want any more attacks. But we’re past stretched to the max. The president is on his way down here tomorrow to present some award to the Tennessee Valley Authority, so almost all my men are working double duty.”