Page 93 of Archer

Sloane spun on her seat, searching for his face. “What?”

Archer’s frown deepened. “There was a note inside the music box.”

Nash pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and set it beside the photos. A small rectangle of cream-colored cardstock contained the same sharp handwriting as before.

Sloane read the words aloud: “You’ve made your point. Come home to me before someone gets hurt.”

I looked from the note to the box, then to Nash. “Does it play ‘Only You?’”

He shook his head, then raised the box’s lid with one gloved fingertip.

A song from my first album began to play. A love song about finding your soul mate.

Nash closed the lid. “It’s playing from a device rigged up to the underside of the box.”

“I think we all agree he’s losing control,” Knox said. “When we first met you, his behaviors were predictable and repetitive. Now, he’s all over the place. Even the music boxes are changing, evolving. I think he senses his time is coming to an end. His fantasy is being taken from him, and he’s trying to hold onto it. Trying to take a stand, maybe? If he realizes we’ve seen the storage unit, then he knows he has no secrets left. I think he’s grasping at straws to regain his feelings of control.”

Sloane wrinkled her nose. “I’d call this spiraling.”

“Which makes him more dangerous,” Nash added. “People like this, when their fantasy starts to crack, they become unpredictable. Often violent.”

I looked at the photos again. Archer and me, captured in intimate moments we’d thought were private. Webb had been right there, framing the shots.

“What can I do to speed this up?” I asked. “Because sitting around waiting for him to make his next move is making me miserable. At this point, I’ve been afraid for so long it’s losing its meaning. I just want this to end.”

“Harper—” Archer started.

“No. Listen.” I raised a palm. “Can we please stop waiting for him to act so we can throw a net over him like some kind of Scooby Doo climax and intentionally draw him out instead?”

Knox snorted at my cartoon reference and received a death glare from Archer.

“We’ve been trying to draw him out,” Archer said gently. “The Instagram post led to our knowledge that he’s using a boat and high-powered telescope for photos. It was solid bait.”

“No more bait. I want to set a trap.” I met Archer’s eyes. “A real one. With me as the center. He wants to save me from you? Fine. Let’s give him his chance.”

I looked from face to face, waiting for a reply, but the silence was deafening.

Nash stepped back, probably unable to comply with the idea of putting anyone in intentional danger. Knox’s eyes fell to Sloane, who offered a small, sad smile. I supposed their recent trauma made this a difficult moment for them, too.

So, I rose to stand before Archer and took his hand in mine. “Let’s at least talk through the possibilities. I have a strong team to protect me, and there are enough IQ points at this table to outsmart one stalker. Surely.” I tugged his arm until he looked down at me. “I can’t live this way indefinitely. It’s no way to live at all, and this could go on for weeks, months, years. Long enough to steal my life, crush my hope, and make it impossible to restart my career. Fans are fickle, and I’m still trying to find a foothold doing what I love.”

Archer lowered onto the seat I’d vacated, giving me the floor. “What exactly are you proposing?”

I smiled, then turned to Nash and Knox. “Join us.”

Sloane stood and hurried to the kitchen. “I’ll pour more tea.”

Archer’s arm snaked around my back as I took control of the conversation from my position, standing beside his chair.

“I have a short online interview scheduled for tomorrow. I can talk about the situation carefully, say my reason for leaving Nashville was the breakup with my ex, and I can say that I was involved with someone for a while, but I’m back to focusing on music now and waiting for real love to find me.” I took a breath. “We can assume he’ll make his move. And when he does, you catch him.”

Knox leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “For that to work, he’d have to be convinced Archer is gone. He might even have to see him leave.”

“I’m not leaving,” Archer said.

“Well, we need to figure that out,” I countered. “Because he won’t stop until I’m in that freezer. We all know that now.”

Sloane’s eyes widened, and she looked a little pale as she delivered the glasses of sweet tea.