Читать книгу Silent Guardian - Mallory Kane - Страница 8

Chapter Two

By the time Resa Wade showed up at the firing range the next night, Archer knew a lot more about her than he wanted to. He’d spent most of the previous night poring over the thick file in his desk drawer. It contained copies of the police reports for each of the Lock Rapist’s attacks.

Then, after a couple of hours’ restless sleep, he’d called his former partner, who’d taken over the case after Archer was injured.

Clint had verified what he’d already figured out. Theresa Wade was sister to the Lock Rapist’s sixth victim, Celia Ramsey. Celia had been separated from her husband and staying with Resa when the attack occurred.

He asked Clint what he thought about Resa.

“I don’t know,” Clint had answered. “She’s pretty, like her sister. Why?”

“She’s been here every night for the past two weeks.”

“Here? Where? You mean at your house?” Clint’s voice rose in disbelief.

“At the range.”

“Oh.” Clint took a deep breath. “She called me about a week ago. Said she was being followed. Said she was sure it was the Lock Rapist.”

“What?” It was Archer’s turn to be surprised—and furious. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Clint hesitated for a beat. “You’re not on the case, Geoff.”

“I’ve got a stake in it!”

“I know you do.”

“You think it’s him? How would he know about her?”

“I don’t know if he’s following her or if she’s just nervous after her sister’s attack. But she’s kind of an eyewitness.”

Archer slammed his fist down on the desk. “What the hell is kind of an eyewitness?”

“She saw the Lock Rapist running from the scene that night.”

“Damn it, Clint. You promised you’d keep me in the loop.”

“Geoff, you need to get past this. You chose to leave the force.”

He flexed his fingers, flinching when they ached. “Some choice. Sit behind a desk or retire.”

Clint was silent.

“So are you censoring what you think I can handle and what I can’t? You don’t get to do that.”

“Actually I do. I’m already skating pretty close to busting regulations by copying reports and depositions for you.”

Clint was right. He wasn’t obligated to tell Archer anything about the case. Archer was no longer a cop.

“Have you at least got a car tailing her?”

“Can’t afford it. Crime is up twenty percent in our precinct and the governor wants to keep up with surrounding states that are enacting no-tolerance policies for conviction. I told her to get his license-plate number and let me know.”

“Get his license—Clint, you know as well as I do that it’s him. If you don’t give her some protection, she’s a sitting duck.” He winced at the harsh words, knowing they were true.

“I wish I could. The budget’s worse than it was last year.”

“This might be your big chance to break the case. He follows her here. I saw a reflection from a car last night. He was waiting for her at the end of my driveway.”

“You were watching her drive away?”

“It was kind of late. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. After I saw that I thought about following her.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Archer’s shoulders lifted involuntarily in a shrug. “For all I knew it could have been her boyfriend. It could have been a car passing on the road, although that doesn’t happen very often out here. Besides, it’s none of my business.”

The words hung between them for a few seconds.

“None of your business. I see. So why’d you call me? Just to hassle me?”

Archer clamped his jaw shut. What could he say? He couldn’t tell Clint how Resa’s determination and naive bravery tugged at his sore heart. “You’re going to have another rape. You know that.”

Clint didn’t respond.

“And maybe even a murder, if the Lock Rapist thinks Resa can ID him.”

“Off the record—if I were you, I’d make sure she knows how to shoot to kill.”

Archer planned to do just that. He’d tamped down his anger and frustration and asked Clint to fax him Resa’s statement and any other pertinent information he was missing.

Now he looked down at the statement Resa had given police on the night of her sister’s rape. She’d reported seeing a slight, medium-height figure in a dark hoodie running from her apartment building as she entered that night. She’d wondered about him, but figured he could be anybody from a spooked would-be burglar to a college student out for a late jog. So she’d gone on up to her apartment, where she discovered the door unlocked and her sister collapsed on the floor.

Archer shuffled the papers Clint had faxed to him, but nothing else stood out, except that the follow-up of her statement had been perfunctory.

After making sure the files were locked in his bottom desk drawer, Archer stepped out of his office and looked down the long corridor of firing lanes set up for shooting practice.

A pair of street cops from the 10th were just wrapping up. He made small talk with them for a couple of minutes before they took off. Once they were gone he walked down to lane fourteen and stopped at the edge of the free-standing cubicle.

Resa stood behind the counter with goggles and noise-canceling ear protectors on. She held the gun in one shaky hand.

She wore a frilly blouse and a dark-green straight skirt that strained over her bottom and hugged her hips as she stood balanced with her legs apart.

For a minute, he just watched her. In heels, she was about three inches shorter than he. Her legs were long and curvy, her bottom was shapely and her blouse outlined the delicately toned muscles in her back and shoulders. Her hair was a sort of medium brown—nothing special, except that under the harsh fluorescent lights it shimmered with dozens of unnamable colors.

As he watched, she dropped her gun hand to the counter and uttered a sigh.

Anger, swift and hot, rushed through him. The pressure had been building all day, ever since he’d talked to Clint. He was angry at her for coming here, angry at Clint for dismissing the danger to her, and angry at himself for not nailing the bastard who’d followed her.

But mostly he was furious with her. He knew what she was doing. He’d seen it in victims and their loved ones. She wanted to learn how to shoot so she could take out the man who’d attacked her sister.

Despite what Clint had said, and his initial agreement, he’d decided that arming her against the unknown predator was a stupid plan. It was more likely to get her killed than to protect her.

But he knew how she felt. For months after his wife’s death, he’d dreamed one dream. In it he tracked down the monster who had killed Natalie as surely as if he’d fired the gun himself.

And every time Archer found him, he held his police-issue SIG 220 in his right hand and pulled the trigger—once, twice, three times, until blood coated everything and he was sure the bastard was dead.

But that was just a dream. He no longer had the luxury of shooting with his right hand. The bullet Natalie had shot at him had severed three tendons and made mincemeat out of the nerves running to his trigger finger.

He couldn’t shoot worth a damn with his left hand, and Resa knew nothing at all about guns or shooting. Neither one of them would ever make good on their dream of stopping the Lock Rapist.

She left the gun on the counter and flexed her fingers. Just as he was about to tap her shoulder, she went still.

She realized he was there. She turned, removing the ear protectors and sent him a narrow glance.

“What do you think you’re doing with that gun?” he growled.

Her dark-green eyes flashed. “Learning how to shoot it, Detective.”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “You’ll never learn like that,” he growled through clenched teeth. “And I told you I’m not a detective. Call me Geoff, or Archer.”

Something dark and soft flickered in her green eyes for an instant. “Sorry. I’ll be more careful, Mr. Archer.”

Mr. Archer. Was she deliberately trying to rile him? If so, she was doing a damn good job of it.

“I thought you were going to come back during the day and see Frank.”

“That was your idea. I told you Frank can’t help me with what I want.”

“All right, I’ll bite. What do you want?”

Her gaze faltered. She looked down at her fingers. “I want you to teach me how to protect myself.”

His jaw ached from clenching. He ought to turn on his heel right now. He sure as hell shouldn’t keep talking to her. “Protect yourself from whom? And why me?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Closed her eyes briefly, then opened them. Suddenly she looked tired and small and vulnerable.

He steeled himself against the feeling that he should be nicer to her. Nice wasn’t going to keep her from doing something stupid. Nice wouldn’t keep her safe.

He’d had enough. Time to stop dancing around the truth. “I know who you are.”

Her back stiffened. “Do you?”

“Yes, I do. And I know that there’s a firing range about four miles from your brand-new apartment complex. So why did you come all the way out here to Cheatham County—three times that distance, to stand in a firing lane and stare at your empty gun?”

She shrugged, but her effort to appear nonchalant failed. “I heard about your range—”

He cut her off. “No, you didn’t. I don’t advertise. I don’t give lessons.”

“But you are open to the public.”

“Unfortunately.” His accountant had recommended that he make the range available to the public. He couldn’t afford to maintain the house just on his pension and his teaching salary. “But this range is primarily for my personal use and for the use of the Nashville P.D.”

She shrugged. “Well, your day manager, Frank, took my money quickly enough and assigned me a firing lane. You let me know if I’m taking up valuable space that your police buddies could be using.” She started to turn back to the range, but he caught her arm.

“You came here because of me, didn’t you?” He glared at her.

Resa swallowed and tried to look innocent. She hadn’t realized it herself at first. She’d convinced herself that she needed her days free for designing, sewing and client fittings.

She’d made friends with Frank, and through their conversations she’d found out that Archer spent his mornings at Tennessee State University where he taught two graduate courses in Criminal Justice. Then he drove to Vanderbilt Medical Center for two hours a day of physical therapy on his hand.

It had taken her a few days to admit to herself that she’d changed to evenings so she could see him.

All those thoughts rushed through her head in the few seconds while Archer took a deep breath.

“Don’t give me that wide-eyed look,” he said. “If you think I’m going to help you because we’ve both been affected by the Lock Rapist, you can get that out of your head right now.”

“Affected?” She stared at him. “Mr. Archer, people are affected by a sad movie or an unexpected compliment.”

Archer felt pinned by her dark-green eyes. “What do you want me to say? That he ripped our lives to shreds?” The words rasped in his throat. “Okay. I’ll give you that.”

She glanced down at his right hand, which was aching with the effort to hold on to her arm. When she looked back up, he saw that same soft, dark flicker in her eyes that he’d seen before. He jerked his hand away.

“You haven’t told me why you came here. Why me?”

“If you know who I am, then you know why I’m here.” She wrapped her arms around herself and looked at a point beyond his shoulder. “My sister left her husband in June of last year. She’d had enough of his drinking and violence. She came to stay with me to—as she put it—absorb some of my strength.” She laughed shortly. “If she only knew.”

He waited.

“Anyhow, she was doing really well. By December, she’d decided to file for divorce. But—”

“But she was attacked.”

She nodded, looking down. Her fingertips whitened as she tightened her grip on her arms. “It destroyed her. She was never strong—” Resa raised her gaze to his. “She depended on me to keep her safe. And I didn’t.”

Pain sliced through Archer’s chest. She depended on me. How many times had he thought the same thing? Resa’s sister sounded a lot like his wife. Fragile. Fearful. She’d depended on him to protect her. And he’d failed.

He and Resa were more alike than he’d realized. And he hated it. He didn’t want to be like her. He sure as hell didn’t want to know how she felt, or recognize how badly she hurt.

Resolutely, he pushed his own pain and regret back where it belonged, in the lockbox where he kept his heart. “So what now? You’re going to become a one-woman vigilante force and go after the guy the Nashville P.D. hasn’t been able to catch in three years?”

Her face turned bright pink, but she lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I want to learn how to protect myself.”

Archer felt something break inside him. He tried to ignore it, but it was too late. The box around his heart had developed a crack, and compassion was leaking out and taunting him with his failure.

He hadn’t been able to save his wife. Hadn’t been able to stop the attacks. Could he leave Resa alone to face the monster who’d destroyed both their lives? He knew he couldn’t.

“Put your ear protectors on,” he said. He dug in his jeans’ pocket for a pair of earplugs and stuck them in his ears. “Can you hear me?”

She nodded. “Barely.”

“Good. Pick up the gun.”

Her head turned toward him. “You’re going to teach me? I thought you said—”

He shrugged. “I’d have a mess to clean up if you blew off your toe, or someone else’s.”

He heard a quiet huff. It almost made him smile.

She picked up the Glock 19 9mm. It was a compact gun, ideal for carrying as a concealed weapon.

“First thing—every time you pick up your weapon, check to see if it’s loaded.” His voice cracked. Self-loathing blanketed him. He knew better than to leave his gun loaded. Knew better than to leave it in plain view on his dresser. But it was too late now.

“It’s loaded,” Resa said. “I loaded it a little while ago. For the first time.”

“Check it. Check it every single time. Do you know how to eject the magazine?”

She pressed the release and the magazine dropped into her left hand.

“Now inspect it. Make sure the rounds are straight and ready to feed.”

“What if I’m being attacked or carjacked? I can’t tell the guy ‘Hang on while I check my weapon.’”

“This is basic maintenance. You check it twice a day. And once a week, you clean it, whether you’ve fired it or not.”

She glanced at the top of the magazine and ran her thumb across the bullets. She had sixteen rounds. Archer would bet money she wouldn’t get a single shot off if she were in a desperate situation. “Good. Slap the magazine back into place.”

She followed his instructions, her hands shaking a little.

“It’s okay. You’re doing great,” he murmured. “Now, rest your right hand in your left palm.”

She complied clumsily. “I don’t know about this. It feels awkward. Can you show me how?”

He grimaced. He could, but it would be hard, in more ways than one. Even after spending months in physical therapy, and doing strengthening reps on his own, he still had trouble grasping anything heavier than a wine bottle. His buddies on the force, with the exception of Clint, didn’t know how bad the damage to his hand was.

But there was a second problem. It had been months since he’d talked to anyone other than Frank or Clint or his students. He’d had his basement enlarged into an indoor range so he could practice shooting. But after Natalie’s funeral and his surgeries, the cavernous below-ground range appealed to his need to hide out and lick his wounds. He’d forgotten how to talk to people.

So, whether he tried to shoot the gun himself or got close enough to her to show her how, he’d be revealing his weakness to her. He weighed his two options and decided he’d rather touch her than the gun. He was too proud and stubborn to risk dropping it in front of her.

He took a step forward and reached around her, which placed her back and bottom firmly against him. She stiffened slightly. To his surprise his body stirred to life.

He hadn’t felt anything in so long. Not lust, or curiosity, or even much pain. After Natalie had shot him and killed herself, he’d cut off the last of his emotions.

The idea that he could react to a woman’s body dismayed him. It felt like a betrayal of his wife. He swallowed.

Even though his arms were longer than Resa’s, the tiny cubicle made it difficult to move away from the warm firmness of her body. Not to mention that his nose was practically buried in her hair. It was soft and smooth, and smelled like summer, like melons and sunshine.

He clenched his jaw and concentrated on showing her how to hold the squarish, chunky little Glock.

He pressed the grip against her right palm. “Wrap your thumb and these three fingers around the handle, and your index finger on the trigger.”

Then he showed her how to rest her right hand in the palm of her left. Her hands were cold. He could feel her trembling. Was it because she was afraid of the gun? Or of him?

“There. That’s how you should hold a gun. No one-handed gunslinging. No ridiculous sideways shots like you see in movies. Hold it gently but firmly in both hands.” He bent his head toward her ear. “And relax. You’re too stiff.”

Okay, that was close. He let go of her and leaned against the bulletproof wall. He sighed, hoping to expel the scent of her hair from his nostrils. He forced himself to concentrate on her hands. She was the first woman he’d even looked at since his wife had died. And he wasn’t happy about it.

“Now line the sights up with your right eye,” he ordered gruffly. “No, don’t close the left one. Keep them both open. Aim for his chest.”

She uttered a little moan and the barrel wavered.

“Come on, Resa. You said you wanted to protect yourself. Well, this is how you do it. If you’re going to handle a gun, you’ve got to master it. You’re in charge. You—not the gun. Now grip it like I showed you.”

Her shoulders squared and her chin rose. Her fingers tightened around the gun.

“Look at the target. That’s a dangerous man.”

“The Lock Rapist,” she whispered.

“If you had to, could you shoot him?” He saw her throat move as she swallowed.

“Resa,” he snapped. “Could you shoot him?”

“Yes.” Her voice was shaky. “I think so.”

“Because if you don’t know you could pull the trigger, we’ll stop right now. If you aren’t ready to defend yourself with deadly force, you’ll just end up putting yourself in more danger.”

She took a deep breath and a round bit of creamy flesh swelled above the low neckline of her top.

“I can do it.” This time her voice was stronger.

“Good.” He forced his attention back to the gun.

“Now, when I say so, squeeze the trigger smoothly. Don’t jerk, don’t hesitate. Just squeeze.”

She raised the gun a bit and sighted down it as she took another long breath.

Archer breathed with her, unable to take his eyes off her strong, delicately rounded arms. He watched, fascinated, as her index finger tightened on the trigger, just like he’d told her.

The gun went off.

Resa had expected the gun to kick, but it still surprised her.

“Oh!” Her heart pounded. Her fingers tingled with reaction from the gun’s report.

Archer stood behind and to the left of her, so close she could feel his breaths on her neck. So close she could smell his clean, citrus scent.

“That was good. Very smooth.”

“Smooth? Really? I thought I was going to drop it. I’m not sure I could do it again. I didn’t expect the trigger to be that hard to pull.” Her voice was as shaky as the rest of her.

“Glocks don’t have a safety. You can adjust the trigger sensitivity but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

She took off the headphones and let them rest around her neck. Leaning forward, she squinted at the target. “How do you think I did?”

“On your first shot? There’s a small chance you hit the target.”

His voice sounded amused, but when she glanced up there was no trace of a smile on his hard, classically molded face. Instead, he frowned and turned his attention to the recall button. Was he embarrassed by his joke? Or by the fact that he’d been lured into small talk? His cheeks seemed pinker than they had been.

The target swayed in the breeze it created as it floated toward them. She didn’t see a hole.

“I missed the whole thing.” Her ears burned with chagrin.

The target came to a stop in front of the counter.

“No, you didn’t. Look right there.” Archer pointed at the lower left of the silhouette. “You got him in the kidneys.”

“I was aiming for his heart,” she said harshly. The silhouette was the rapist, and right then she wanted him to die for what he’d done to her sister.

Archer’s black eyelashes floated down and back up, and he sent her a searching look. Then he nodded.

“Shoot again. This time get off three shots as fast as you can.” He sent the target back downrange.

She fired, then she put the gun down as if it had burned her. “That’s all.” She held out her hands, splaying the fingers. “I’m too shaky, and I closed my eyes on the last shot.”

He took her hands in his and turned them palm up. “You might want to wear gloves for a while—driving gloves so your fingers aren’t covered, until your skin toughens up.” He touched a red place on her palm. “You could get blisters.”

His warm hands bothered her. She didn’t like the way his touch made her feel—cared for, protected. She knew from long experience that she couldn’t trust that feeling. She’d never been able to depend on others to take care of her. Her mother had worked two jobs and juggled a string of boyfriends. With teaching during the day and waitressing at night, she’d never had time for Resa and her sister, so Resa had raised Celia. And of course it was Resa that Celia had come to when she left her deadbeat jerk of a husband.

She pulled her hands away from Archer’s touch.

“So what’s your plan, Resa?”

His question caught her off guard. “My plan? Oh, you mean for the gun?” She swallowed and prepared to lie. “After what happened to my sister, I just think I’ll feel better knowing I have protection.”

“You’re not fooling me, you know.”

She took off the headphones and set them on the shelf, then picked up the gun and ejected the magazine. “Fooling you? I’m not trying to fool you.”

“You saw him.”

The blunt words shocked her. She dropped the magazine to the countertop. “I saw—I saw someone. I have no idea if it was him or not. How could I know?”

“You’re the only witness they have, other than the victims. And they all swear he threw something over their faces so they couldn’t see anything. They could be lying—out of fear, maybe, but so far we haven’t been able to crack them.”

“I knew Celia couldn’t give a description. But none of the others could, either?”

He shook his head. “They were all attacked in the dark. All asleep. None of them heard anything before he covered their faces. So you’re the only person who can possibly identify him. And he saw you.”

Again, his words, uttered in that low, deep voice, ripped through her like a bullet. “He turned and looked at me. He had on a hooded jacket. His face was shadowed. I couldn’t see anything but his eyes, and I’m not completely sure that I saw them. I felt them.”

She shuddered and took a step toward him. She had to get out of the tiny cubicle. It suddenly felt too small, too hot. “Excuse me.”

Archer didn’t move. “Not yet.” He put a hand on either wall. With his height and his broad shoulders, he loomed over her. The fact that he was so much bigger and stronger than her and was blocking her way should have alarmed her, but oddly she felt safe, protected.

“Do you know the person who’s following you?”

“Following me? How—” Her throat closed up. She hadn’t told anyone except the police detective about the dark sedan. It took her a moment to get her voice back. “How do you know that?”

“I saw a car pull out behind you last night.”

“You did?” A small shred of hope dangled in front of her like a carrot. Maybe if he thought she was in danger, he would help her after all. “You were watching?” “This house is on a hill. I could see the moon glinting off a metal surface. Then after you turned, it moved. It wasn’t somebody you know?”

She shook her head. “It’s him. I can feel it. It’s like he’s toying with me. If I slow down, he slows down with me. If I try to maneuver under a streetlight so I can see the make of his car or get a glimpse of the front plate, he hangs back or turns.” She shuddered. “Last night he followed me all the way to my apartment complex.”

Archer pinned her with his glare. “You knew he was behind you and you led him to your apartment?”

“I live in a gated community.”

He cursed. “That only works if you’re behind the gate.”

“The gatehouse is well-lit. He turned away when I pulled up to the gate. What else could I have done?”

“You could have turned around and come back here. You could have called the police.” He massaged his right palm.

“Right. I called Detective Banes last week. Fat lot of good it did.”

“So now the Lock Rapist knows where you live.”

She nodded miserably.

“Okay. Get out your cell phone. I want to give you my number and get yours.”

She retrieved her cell phone from her purse and entered his number.

“Now. You should move—immediately. And hire a security service.”

“I just moved there. It was the only gated complex in Nashville that I could afford, and I can barely pay the rent now. There’s no way I can move again. And I’d never manage to pay a private security firm.” She managed a small smile. “So it looks like I’m on my own. Now can I leave?”

His brow furrowed and he studied her with those dark eyes. She stepped forward, violating his comfort zone and her own. She felt heat radiating from him through the barriers of their clothes. It had to be her imagination.

He lowered his arms and stood aside, giving her a free path out of the lane.

“I’ll follow you home tonight.”

She turned to look at him. “What? No. I can’t let you do that. I’m fine—besides…”

He watched her expectantly.

She swallowed. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

A tight smile lit his face. “I doubt it. Hell, most days I feel like I’m going nuts myself.”

“I think he only follows me on Tuesday. But then I’ve only noticed him twice, so that’s hardly a representative sample.”

“No, but it could be significant. The attacks have occurred in a regular pattern too. June and December, with one exception.” Bitterness edged his voice.

She considered his words. “My sister’s attack was this past December. When exactly were the others?”

“December two years ago, then the next June, then December again—” he paused for an instant “—then February, June, and your sister this past December.”

February. The one anomaly in the rapist’s pattern. Archer’s wife’s attack. “And you were on the case for—?”

“I took over as lead detective after the second rape.” He wiped his face. The pale web of scars on the back of his hand glimmered in the harsh range lights. “The first thing I did was cut off all media attention. He wasn’t happy about that.”

“Media attention? Why would he want attention?” Resa asked.

“Serial offenders typically crave the notoriety. Plus, they need to gloat over how far behind the investigators are. They’ll go to almost any lengths to keep the media’s attention focused on them.”

Resa’s stomach churned with a sudden relization. “Oh, Archer. That’s why he attacked your wife,” she whispered.

He nodded shortly, and Resa saw his jaw muscles tense. “This guy is obviously very organized. Maybe not by choice. His job could force him into a pattern. Or it could be his home situation. He may have a family—”

Resa gasped. “A family? That can’t be possible. How could a man with a wife and children do the things he does?”

Archer turned off a bank of lights, throwing the firing range into darkness. His office and the entrance to the stairs were the only lighted areas. “Many serial offenders have families. If you were to look in on them at home, they’d seem like ordinary working stiffs. He might even coach Little League.”

“Oh my God.” She’d thought of the Lock Rapist as a shadowy entity who emerged to attack his victims, then faded back into some dark abyss until his next attack.

She’d never considered the possibility that he had a life.

“How can someone who has a family—a wife—” her voice choked.

Archer shook his head. “There are certain common predictors of deviant behavior or violence. But nothing’s ever that easy. No one knows why one man crosses the line and another doesn’t.” He stepped into his office and grabbed a set of keys from his desktop. “Are you ready?”

“You don’t have to follow me home. Like I told you, I’ve only noticed him on Tuesdays.” The idea that the man who’d attacked her sister had placed following her on his regular schedule spooked her.

Tuesday: pick up milk, call the plumber, follow Theresa Wade.

An icy chill slid down her spine and she shuddered.

Archer turned out the lights in his office, then placed a guiding hand on the small of her back. “Let’s go.”

Resa opened her mouth to protest again, but Archer’s warm protective touch at the small of her back made her feel safer than she’d felt in months, maybe ever.

On the other hand, his certainty that she needed protection increased the cold fear that had haunted her ever since her sister’s attack.

The Lock Rapist thought she could recognize him. He considered her a threat. And when he caught her, he’d kill her.