Page 44 of Archer

I opened my mouth to argue, but he continued.

“No other man in that store caused you panic. There was a problem with that guy. I just wish I’d have found him.”

I let his words settle. He was right. There were dozens of men in the store, and none had raised the fine hairs along the back of my neck the way that man had.

“And if it wasn’t him,” Archer said, drawing my eyes to him once more, “we would’ve left that place immediately anyway, because you were uncomfortable, and that’s all the reason I need. Your peace matters, Harper. Everything else can wait.”

He took an unexpected turn, traveling a different route back to Carolina Bay.

Several miles later, he slowed, almost imperceptibly, at an approaching intersection, and his eyes flickered to the rearview mirror and back.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Might be nothing.”

Heat swept over my chest and torso. “Or?”

Archer glanced at the mirror once more. “There’s been a dark blue sedan behind us since we left the parking lot. I’ve made three turns. It’s made three turns.”

I released a long, slow breath. Maybe I wasn’t wrong about the guy at the store.

I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse, so I pushed the question aside.

“I’m going to test the theory.” Archer turned right onto a side road that led away from the bridge and through a neighborhood of modest ranch houses with tidy yards.

The road dead-ended at a marina parking lot. He pulled in, drove to the far end, and backed into a spot facing the direction we’d come.

My gaze jumped from Archer’s focused expression to the road and back on a loop.

Thirty seconds passed.

The blue sedan appeared at the lot entrance, slowed without turning in, then kept going.

I pressed sweaty, trembling palms against my thighs. “Shit.”

Archer tapped the navigation screen on his dashboard, scanning for alternate routes. “I’m going to take us out a different way. You doing okay?”

Not even close. “Yep.”

Until now, my stalker had been somehow removed from me. Sending gifts from afar. Watching from outside my world, not stepping fully into it. And gifts of admiration were a whole different level of scary than the look of complete disgust I’d seen when he looked into my eyes today.

Could that really have been him?

Archer drove back through the neighborhood taking multiple unnecessary turns, threading down residential streets until we reached a gas station two blocks from the bridge. He idled at the corner for a moment, watching traffic.

He scanned the mirror, the side streets, and the road ahead. “I don’t see the sedan.”

I breathed easier as he turned onto the road and headed over the water.

The bridge felt scarier this time. Stretched over the water with nowhere to turn and only one direction to run. I watched every car until the island end came into view, and Archer’s shoulders eased fractionally when we crossed onto Carolina Bay ground.

He called the sheriff from the Bluetooth before we’d gone a half mile further. “I need you to run a partial plate.” He recited what I presumed he’d seen in the mirror. The first three characters and a description of the late-model Toyota. “I wasn’t close enough for more.”

I hadn’t even thought to get the plate.

Sheriff Sullivan’s voice was clipped and professional. “Got it. You two okay?”

“We’re fine. Heading back to Shore Drive now.”