Page 68 of Unlocked

He stared at the paperwork on his desk without seeing it. Instead, he was seeing Tatum. The way she'd looked last night after they got back from the club. Shaken. Angry. Beautiful in a way that made it hard to think clearly. The way she'd felt in his arms when he kissed her.

I can't lose you.

He'd said it out loud. Let it slip. And the moment the words left his mouth, he'd known two things simultaneously. That it was a mistake. And that it was true.

He couldn't lose her. The thought of something happening to Tatum, of her being hurt, being taken, settled in his chest like a stone that had no interest in moving. His hands clenched on the desk.

This was the problem. He was getting too close. Too invested. His judgment was compromised, and compromised judgment in this job got people killed. He needed distance. Needed to focus on the Society, on the very real threats closing in from multiple directions. Not on the way Tatum's mouth had tasted or the sound she'd made when he touched her.

He pushed back from his desk and crossed to the window. The city stretched out below him, vast and indifferent. He needed to get his head straight.

His phone buzzed. Marcus. One of his ghost team. He answered immediately. "What do you have?"

"Possible connection between Davis and human trafficking," Marcus said without preamble. "Nothing concrete yet, but there are whispers. Money moving through shell corporations linked back to him. Payments to people known for moving girls across borders."

Archer's pulse kicked. "How solid is this?"

"Solid enough to keep digging. But it's buried deep. Whoever set this up knew what they were doing."

"The Curator," Archer said.

"I've heard that name whispered. I believe the Curator is behind what I'm finding, and there is a connection to Davis."

"Part of the Ponzi scheme that North, Lebowitz, and Kelly were involved in?"

"That is my thinking. I'm gathering everything I can on that now."

Archer swore silently. Marcus was well on his way to confirming his worst fears. "I need you to find out everything you can about the Curator. Who it is. How they operate. Who they work with. I don't care what it takes or how long it takes. I need answers."

"Understood."

"And, Marcus." Archer paused. "Be careful. Whoever the Curator is, they're dangerous. They've already killed two people that we know of."

"Copy that."

The line went dead.

Archer stared out the window, his mind working through it. Davis and human trafficking. The Curator. The Ponzi scheme. All of it connected, woven together in a web so complex it was hard to see where one thread ended and another began. But he'd find it. He always did.

His phone rang again. Flynn.

"I lost her." Flynn's voice was tight. "She went into the office this morning, and you said not to follow her inside, so I waited. She didn't come out again, and I got antsy. I called her assistant. Turns out she left a while ago."

Archer's stomach dropped. "Where is she now?"

"I checked her apartment. She's not there. But according to the doorman, she was there earlier. Came in, stayed about three hours, then left again."

"And you have no idea where she went."

"No, sir. I'm sorry. I⁠—"

"Hold on," Archer said as he pulled up the tracking app on his phone. He'd had a discreet tracker installed on Tatum's phone after the break-in at her apartment. She didn't know about it, and he felt a genuine twinge of guilt about that. But right now, he didn't give a shit.

The app loaded. A blue dot appeared on the map.

“Found her. Get back her now,” he instructed Flynn, then disconnected before the man could respond.

She was here at the Society.