It had kept the panic from getting a foothold and was a way to measure time when hours blurred into nothing. He’d count breaths and align with the rhythm until his pulse stopped tripping. Until his head stayed clear instead of slipping.
This wasn’t about peace. It was about not breaking.
Sound carried differently down here. Boots in the corridor sounded hollow, and a door opening farther off echoed. The quiet hum of systems ran behind the walls of the base that was buried beneath a closed ski resort and hidden in plain sight.
His daily ritual wasn’t sharpening his mind the way it usually did. He was far too aware of the door across the hall from his, and who was behind it.
Jolie Simms.
He listened for her without thinking about it. He’d listened for her all night because he knew what it felt like to wake upsomewhere unfamiliar, cut off and surrounded by people who controlled your fate.
Captivity had stripped things down to small details—sound, movement, patterns. And now he defaulted to it without effort. His captor, the terrorist known as Cipher, taught him well how silence could press on a person and drive them to madness.
Archer wouldn’t let that happen to Jolie.
He issued a final breath and opened his eyes. In one fluid motion he pushed to his feet and crossed the room. The kitchen was empty as he put together a tray of food for her and returned to her door, knocking once.
When she opened it, she looked like she’d slept but not rested. There was a tightness around her eyes he recognized as worry. Who could blame her when she didn’t know what came next?
Even worn down, her appearance hit him harder than it should have—a soft, full mouth, steady brown eyes and a kind of quiet strength that didn’t match the situation she was in.
He understood that too.
She flicked her gaze from him to the tray he held.
He shifted it. “Breakfast.”
She arched a brow. “Silver chafing dishes? I don’t know what to think of this place.”
His lips twitched. “Nothing fancy.”
She shook her head, deep brown hair sliding over her shoulders. The color surprised him. When he saw her on that tower, her hair looked almost black but only because it was wet from snow. Now it caught the light, turning warmer, softer—and he had to stop himself from noticing more.
She stepped aside to allow him into her room.He moved past her, aware of the faint brush of air as he slid by her. Hewalked over to the simple wood desk and set down the tray with a rattle of expensive silver cutlery.
“You’re Archer?” she asked.
He turned. “Yes.”
She nodded. “I didn’t thank you for getting me off that tower, Archer.”
“Just following orders.”
She studied him. The force of her brown eyes could pry up the edges of a lot of weaker men. But not him.
She took a hesitant step forward. “Did you receive an order to bring me breakfast too?”
He picked up the silver cover and showed her the plate underneath. “No. Just figured you’d be feeling a little out of your element and could use some food. After all, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
He moved aside to allow her to inspect the scrambled eggs and toast and he’d added a cup of milk and a bowl of dry cereal to the tray. Not gourmet, but the best he could scrounge in the kitchen. He’d also brought black coffee and two flavors of creamer.
She took it all in. “Okay. I was not expecting this.” She wrapped her hands around the coffee and gave it a dubious sniff.
“It’s not drugged if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Her cheeks flamed to a deep pink color that had nothing to do with the heat of the coffee, and for some reason the sight of it smacked him low in the gut—an electric pang that he forced away as soon as he felt it.
“You’re safe here,” he told her after he took a beat to recover.
