Page 87 of Unlocked

"Members’ business is my business," Archer said. "That's rather the point of my job. To make sure no one abuses the rules. Now that would be beyond rude." He glanced at Tatum. "Ready?"

She was on her feet before she'd consciously decided to stand. "Yes."

She didn't look at her father as she walked to the door. She felt his eyes on her back the entire way.

In the corridor, Archer fell into step beside her. He didn't say anything for a moment, and she was grateful for that.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Fine," she said, and then, because it was him and she was tired of performing, "No. Not really."

He nodded once. That was all. No follow-up questions, no reassurances. Just the acknowledgment of it, and then they kept walking. And somehow that was exactly right.

They walked back toward Tatum's apartment. The corridor was still quiet. The elderly gentleman in the reading room was still asleep.

"What's on the drive?" she asked.

"Bank records," Archer said. "A source came through." He glanced at her. "There are transfers I couldn't trace before. Accounts we hadn't seen. If the pattern holds, they'll point to at least one more player we haven't identified yet."

"How many layers does this thing have?" she muttered.

"As many as whoever built it thought they needed." He paused. "Which tells you something about how frightened they are of being found."

She thought about that. "Or how confident they are that they won't be."

His targeted look was filled with approval. "Yes," he said. "That too."

They stopped outside her door. She got her key out and unlocked it, then turned back to him. He was watching her with that quiet, assessing attention of his, the kind that saw more than she was comfortable with.

"Thank you," she said. "For in there. With Stuart. My father can be…" She didn’t finish, because she wasn’t really ready to explain it all to Archer. She wasn’t even sure he would want to know. But she knew he’d understand.

Archer frowned. "He had no business threatening you."

"He's been doing it my whole life," she said. It came out more tired than she intended.

Something shifted in Archer's expression. Not much. Just enough. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair back from her face, a gesture so brief and gentle it was almost nothing, and then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She closed her eyes.

"Get some rest when you can," he said quietly.

She opened her eyes. He had already stepped back, the careful distance restored, the controlled composure back in place.

"I'll let you know what I find," she said.

He nodded. "I know you will."

He turned and walked back down the corridor, unhurried, and she watched him until he turned the corner and was gone.

She stood there for a moment in the quiet hallway.

Then she went inside, sat down at her desk, and plugged in the thumb drive. Here goes nothin’.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Archer sat behind his desk and stared at the wall across the office.

He'd been doing that for ten minutes. He was aware of it and didn't particularly care. The paperwork in front of him was untouched. The coffee at his elbow had gone cold. His phone had buzzed twice, and he hadn't looked at it.