Page 27 of Unlocked

"I agree," Archer said. "Though it could still be more than one."

"It could," she allowed. "But whoever it is, they're not sloppy.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was hard. "And they're evil."

"Evil is a strong word," Archer said quietly. "You chose it deliberately."

"Yes," she said, meeting his eyes. "Because you can justify targeting the rich. People who can afford to lose money. But going after people who can't, when you already have hundreds of millions? That's evil. That's despicable." Her voice hardened further. "I hope they rot in hell."

The passion in her voice, the absolute conviction of it, did something to him that he hadn't expected. Made him want to cross the space between them. Made him want to promise her that he would help her burn whoever did this straight to the ground. The impulse was sharp and immediate and completely unlike him.

She picked up her tea again and rubbed her face, suppressing a yawn.

"Sorry," she said.

"Don't be." Archer set his mug on the coffee table and stood, needing the distance before he did something he'd regret. "It's late. I'll leave you for the evening. Get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Tatum nodded and turned toward the bedroom, her movements slow and exhausted.

Archer reached the door, his hand on the knob, then paused and looked back. She was silhouetted against the firelight, and the sight of her, vulnerable and defiant and beautiful, made his chest tighten in a way he had no business allowing.

"Please let me know if you plan to leave the Society tomorrow."

She turned back to face him. "Why?"

"Because I want security assigned to you."

She clutched a hand to her belly. "You really think I'm in danger?"

"I think tonight's message was very clear," Archer said evenly. "And I'd rather not give them another opportunity."

"Fabulous," Tatum muttered.

A small smile pulled at his mouth despite everything. "It's not so bad. I promise I'll keep you safe."

She nodded, though she looked far from reassured. Her arms wrapped around herself again, and the vulnerability in the gesture hit him somewhere he hadn't expected.

For a split second, the urge was fierce. Cross the room. Pull her close. Bury his face in her hair and make her a promise he fully intended to keep. It wasn't professional. It wasn't measured. It wasn't anything like him.

Forcing this…whatever this was…away, Archer murmured a quiet good night and left, moving down the hall at a pace that was, if he was being honest with himself, slightly faster than usual.

His heart was pounding.

He stopped at the end of the corridor and stood still for a moment, collecting himself with the same deliberate focus he brought to everything else.

Tatum Wellington was getting under his skin.

No one had managed that in years. Not since he'd taken this job, not since he'd made the decision to become the thing the Society needed rather than the thing he might have wanted to be.

He stared at the wall in front of him.

An unwelcomed suspicion grew… He was going to have to rethink everything.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Archer glanced up from his morning coffee as Ryker strode into his office. One look at his face, tight jaw, focused eyes, told him this wasn't routine.

"Talk,” Archer directed, setting the cup down.

Ryker didn't bother sitting. "Richard North is dead."