Page 9 of Archer

I moved to the window and watched her cross the gravel parking lot to a battered pickup truck at least fifteen years old. The wheel wells were rusted, and there were heavy dents in the rear quarter panel. She circled it completely and checked beneath the chassis before climbing inside.

What kind of person would harass someone shorter than my ski poles?

I hated bullies. My hands curled into fists.

The truck started on the second try and pulled out onto the main road with an audible chug. As she turned, I caught sight of her rear license plate.

Tennessee.

I stood there for a moment, processing the strange encounter.

My phone buzzed with a text, and I returned to the counter.

Colton: Found a lead on a two-bedroom in Avon. Want me to check it out?

I typed back: Yes.

Hopefully Ms. Freckles and Sunglasses would be safe until this evening. She was so small and scared.

I’d spent eleven years as a Marine, dealing with threats I understood and could prepare for. My enemies had clear objectives that made sense, even if I disagreed with them.

Whatever was going on with Sarah Miller felt messy and complicated.

I hated both grievously.

Chapter 4

Harper

The drive back to the cottage should have calmed me.

It didn’t.

I checked the rearview mirror on repeat, searching for cars that followed too long or turned when I turned. Nothing seemed suspicious, but my pulse wouldn’t slow and my hands stayed locked on the wheel.

The grumpy Marine’s face kept appearing in my mind. His brown eyes assessing, probably seeing straight through my façade. He was unreasonably handsome, but he was trained and enormous, and likely very capable of protecting me, himself, and the town if necessary.

That was exactly what I wanted.

Unfortunately, his perpetual scowl had gotten under my skin, and I wasn’t sure how to shake it out.

I’d felt safer instead of threatened, even while he’d complained about not receiving my address until he absolutely needed it. He was funny, though he probably didn’t know or mean to be.

I appreciated his direct and honest demeanor. No fake charm or smooth talking like most of the men I’d done business with.

Nothing like my ex, Blake, who never stopped using words and charisma to get as much as he could take from anyone who’d listen.

I turned onto Shore Drive and forced myself to focus. I needed to think about the stalker, not attractive men with military bearing and a sleeve of arm tattoos I wanted to trace with my fingertips.

Anyway, I was still irritated his company didn’t have a website.

Who ran a business in this century without a website?

I’d had to drive into town, potentially exposing myself to my stalker, then walk into a public place wearing a ridiculous disguise when I could have handled everything online.

Maybe that was all for the best. A small, local operation might be the kind of place that wouldn’t leak my details to tabloids or fan sites when I inevitably had to share the whole truth.

I pulled into the cottage driveway and sat there without cutting the engine, delaying the run from truck to cottage.