Page 33 of Unlocked

Maybe.

So how did she do that? She needed one of the three men to talk.

As far as she was concerned, the weakest link had always been Richard North. Of the three, he'd been the most decent. Decent might be stretching it, but he loved his kids. She'd heard that from multiple people. He didn't see them as often as he should have, but when he did, he made the effort.

Maybe she could work with that. Get him to tell her the truth about who was really behind everything.

He'd also been in the most dire financial shape. Friends on the inside of the investigation had quietly confirmed it. His penthouse was mortgaged to the hilt. He was paying alimony and covering expenses for his ex-wife's house in the Hamptons.

Pressure points. She hated it.

She hated pressuring people into talking. It felt gross. Slimy. It was the part of being a lawyer she disliked most, but she understood the necessity. And in this case, she was willing to push. Too many good people had been hurt.

She stood and cleared her dishes. It was Saturday, so she hadn't bothered dressing up. Just jeans and a cornflower blue sweater. Her long blonde hair hung loose down her back, still drying from her shower. No makeup. She simply didn't care right now.

She grabbed her laptop, slid it into her bag, picked up the key fob, and opened the door.

And gasped.

Archer stood right there, his hand lifted as if he'd been about to knock.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

She exhaled slowly. "It's okay."

For a moment, neither of them moved.

He was close enough to smell his cologne, something clean and understated that she was, annoyingly, starting to find familiar. The hallway behind him felt suddenly too small, the quiet between them stretching in a way she didn't know what to do with. Her pulse jumped, traitorously fast, and she resented it immediately.

She shifted her grip on the strap of her bag and grounded herself. This was ridiculous. He was just Archer. Head of the Society. Controlled. Untouchable.

Her gaze flicked briefly to his mouth before she caught herself and looked away.

She stepped back, giving him room. "Did you need something?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, she pulled herself together. Last night had been intense. Charged by fear and adrenaline, and that was all it was. Stop reading things into it that weren't there.

She straightened her shoulders. Whatever she was feeling, Archer Gray was not part of her plan. Not now. Possibly not ever. But even as she told herself that, she couldn't quite ignore the way his presence settled something in her, or the quiet certainty that if something went wrong again, he would already be there.

He was dressed about as casually as she'd ever seen him. Suit trousers, a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. Neat. Trim. Effortless. And infuriatingly attractive in a way that made it very hard to concentrate. Those green eyes didn't help. They never helped.

She cleared her throat. "Is there something you needed?" she asked again.

He gestured lightly toward the apartment. "Maybe we could step back inside."

Her heart dropped, but she nodded. "Okay. What is it?"

He gestured again, and she backed up, moving toward the sofa. She set her bag down. Archer closed the door behind them and came to stand in front of her.

" Richard North was found dead this morning." His voice was flat, almost clinical. "Apparently, he was drunk and fell down the stairs in his place."

Tatum stared at him as her mind reeled. "Do you think that's true?" she asked. "Do you think it was an accident?"

"I have my doubts."

Her stomach rolled. "What do the police think?"

"They're calling it an accident," Archer said. "But the police don't have all the facts."