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