Page 19 of Unlocked

"No." The word came out with more certainty than he'd intended. "To me. Personally."

It was outside the rules. Rules Archer had lived by longer than most people had been in this business. But there was something so wholly calculated about what had been done here, something so deliberately cruel, that it had gotten under his skin in a way he hadn't anticipated. He was going to find out who was responsible. That was simply a fact. And when he did, he was going to enjoy it.

Ryker studied him for a half-second, then nodded. "Understood."

Archer followed Tatum out, leaving the wreckage behind.

CHAPTER NINE

Tatum gritted her teeth. All she really wanted was to be alone, but instead, she was flanked by the top tier of Lock and Key Society security. Ryker Sterling walked at her right, and Rushton Fletcher was on her left. Archer had vanished somewhere between the car and the underground garage. One moment he'd been there, the next he was gone.

She assumed he'd taken another route. Another door. At this point, she didn't care. Being marched through the upper floors of the Lock and Key Society on the Upper East Side, surrounded by security, made her feel odd. Protected didn't quite fit. It was too soft a word for this. Intrusive, maybe. This had to be what celebrities felt like, never alone, personal space constantly invaded.

She would hate that. And yet she didn't feel the need to look over her shoulder quite so much. She did actually feel safer walking through these doors after tonight's ordeal. So maybe it was a toss-up.

They skirted the restaurant, then the sitting areas with their low-lit fireplaces, before stopping before a door she'd never walked through before. Ryker keyed in a code, pressed his palm to the screen, and the door slid open. He stepped through first. Rush gestured for her to follow and then followed behind her.

The hallway beyond was plush and silent. The thick carpet muted their footsteps. The walls were painted a soft cream, lined with what she assumed were prints of impressionist masters, though knowing the Lock and Key Society, they could very well be originals.

They reached the end of the corridor and turned to a door on the left. Ryker used a key fob. The screen beside the door lit up.

"Put your hand on that," he said.

She considered arguing. Asking why. But decided against anything that would expend extra effort. She pressed her right hand to the scanner and felt the faint hum as it read her palm print. Archer had obviously arranged more than she realized.

Ryker handed her the key fob. "Use this and your palm. That'll open this door and the one we just came through."

"And what is this exactly?" she asked.

Ryker opened the door. "This is your apartment. For as long as you need it."

Tatum pushed the door wider and stopped.

Any additional questions evaporated at the opulent sight that greeted her.

White marble floors gleamed under soft lighting. The walls were painted a muted gray, the furniture a mix of cream and pale wood, warmed by textured rugs and carefully chosen artwork. Throw blankets were draped over the sofa, and a gas fireplace glowed gently, already lit.

The far wall was nothing but glass. Floor to ceiling. A sweeping, uninterrupted view of the East River stretched out before her, lights shimmering on the dark water, the city reflected back in sharp lines and motion.

Bulletproof, she thought immediately. Of course it was. The realization settled over her with a strange mix of comfort and unease. Beautiful. Secure. Untouchable. For the first time since leaving her apartment, the tight knot in her chest loosened just a fraction.

Stylish, yes. But also livable. Intentional.

Ryker ushered her inside.

As she moved forward, she noticed the kitchen to her right, open to the main living space, fully equipped. An island dominated the center, its surface looking suspiciously like Carrara marble, though she suspected it was some kind of high-end quartz. Sleek stools lined one side. Top-tier appliances gleamed beneath under-cabinet lighting, softened by pops of color, a kettle, a coffee maker, a mixer, all in a soft, pastel green. The refrigerator stood flush with the cabinetry.

"The fridge is fully stocked," Ryker said, crossing to the fireplace. He picked up a remote. "This controls the gas fireplace. On and off."

He handed her a second remote, smaller and heavier. One button.

"If you run into any problems or need anything"—he pointed to the discreet gray button—"hit that. One of us will be here immediately."

Tatum let out a short laugh. "So, if I need a cup of tea?"

Ryker smiled faintly. "If you need a cup of tea, pick up the phone." He nodded toward the counter. "You'll see it there."

Rush disappeared briefly, then returned to the room. "All secure. Not that I thought it wouldn't be, but I wanted to make sure you feel comfortable." His gaze lingered on Tatum, steady and assessing.