“Until the police can free up someone to guard you, you’re coming with me.”
His authoritative tone that just five minutes ago she’d thought was reassuring now raised her hackles. “And I don’t have any say-so in this?”
“Nope.”
A splinter of fear stabbed her. “Why? What’s happened?” Resa knew how much Archer valued his privacy. How desperately he wanted to bury himself in that basement firing range of his and never come out.
There was only one reason he’d give all that up. Only one reason he’d even consider taking on the responsibility of keeping her safe.
He thought he had the chance to catch the man who’d destroyed his life…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mallory Kane credits her love of books to her mother, a librarian, who taught her that books are a precious resource and should be treated with loving respect. Her father and grandfather were steeped in the Southern tradition of oral history, and they could hold an audience spellbound for hours with their storytelling skills. Mallory aspires to be as good a storyteller as her father.
She loves romantic suspense with dangerous heroes and dauntless heroines and often uses her medical background to add an extra dose of intrigue to her books. Another fascination that she enjoys exploring in her reading and writing is the infinite capacity of the brain to adapt and develop higher skills.
Mallory lives in Mississippi with her computer-genius husband, their two fascinating cats and, at current count, seven computers.
She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at rickey_m@bellsouth. net.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Geoffrey Archer – This former police detective’s life was destroyed when his wife shot him and committed suicide after having been attacked by a serial rapist. Archer will do anything to stop the Lock Rapist – anything except unfreeze his heart.
Resa Wade – Her sister was attacked and raped by the Lock Rapist. The police say they’ve done all they can, but Resa isn’t giving up. She wants the rapist behind bars – or dead. There’s only one person who wants him more than she does, and that’s Geoffrey Archer.
Earl Slattery – An installer of home security systems, Slattery has the perfect job. He can get past any lock, any alarm. When the one person who can identify him teams up with his nemesis, Geoffrey Archer, he must destroy them both or the burning inside him will never stop.
Clint Banes – Banes took over as lead detective on the Lock Rapist case after Archer was injured. But is Clint as dedicated to bringing the perp to justice as Archer?
Frank Berry – Archer’s day manager of his basement firing range is a loyal friend. But associating with Archer could put his wife and himself in danger.
Silent Guardian
MALLORY KANE
This book is dedicated to Tina Colombo,
whose help and encouragement have meant more to me than she can possibly know.
Prologue
The bright winter sun sent a pale rainbow of color through the sheer curtains.
The facets of a diamond solitaire sparkled with prisms of light, almost overpowering the hard blue glint that shone from the barrel of the 9mm Glock aimed at her head.
“No!” he cried. The breakfast tray in his hands tumbled slowly, silently to the floor as he dived toward the bed.
But no matter how fast he was, the bullet was faster. It happened as if in slow motion—her sad brown eyes meeting his, her hand turning—pointing the barrel of the gun at him, the tears glistening on her pale cheeks like the diamond on her left ring finger.
He reached out just as the gun’s report echoed in his ears. The bullet stopped him in his tracks. Yet he still struggled to get to her, to somehow stop her. His bare feet slipped in juice, in coffee, in blood.
As he hit the bed and grabbed at her arm the second shot rang out, and her blood spattered his face and hands, mingling with his own.
Geoffrey Archer opened his eyes to darkness and nauseating, aching loss. He kicked away the sweat-soaked sheets and vaulted up, crossing the room in two long strides. In the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, then leaned his forearms against the lavatory and hung his head, waiting for the nausea to pass.
Finally, he straightened, pushing his hair back with his hands. His right hand cramped, and burning pain shot through his fingers and up his wrist.
His legacy from his wife’s suicide.
He massaged his wrist and flexed his fingers as he stepped to the window and threw back the drapes. The red and purple stain on the eastern sky reminded him of that last morning and his dream.
He’d been too slow. He was always too slow.
Chapter One
The barrel of the gun glinted blue in the bright lights. Theresa Wade stared at it, her fingers still chilled from touching the cold steel. She reached into her purse for a box of ammunition and set it down beside the gun. Then she set her purse aside and picked up the noise-canceling ear protectors.
After she’d donned the headgear and the safety goggles, she looked down the narrow corridor stretched out in front of her. At the far end, twenty-five yards away, was a piece of newsprint on which was printed the silhouette of a man’s head and torso in deep blue.
There was no face on the silhouette, nor was there one in her mind. Still, she knew who the target represented. It was the shadowed face of the Lock Rapist. The man who’d raped her sister and five other women, the man she’d seen sneaking out of her apartment building that night. The man who had seen her.
With renewed determination, she looked down at the gun. It didn’t look like much lying there. A few inches of blue-black metal. A hollow tube with a handle.
She reached for the box of bullets, but her jaw clenched and her temples pounded. Her fingers closed in a fist.
“Come on, Resa,” she whispered. Pick it up. She’d brought her gun in here. She’d set it on the counter. And if tonight went the way every other night had gone for the past two weeks, at the end of the evening she’d pick it up, slide it back into her purse alongside the box of bullets and leave the firing range.
But tonight wasn’t like every other night.
Tonight she stopped waiting for Geoffrey Archer to come to her.
Frank Berry, the day manager of Archer’s firing range outside of Nashville, had warned her, “You want to learn to handle that gun, come during the day. I’ll be happy to teach you. But I leave at seven. After that, you’re on your own.”
She’d asked him about Archer.
“Yep. He’s down here every evening till ten. But he’s not gonna help you. Don’t expect him to.”
But she did. Archer was the reason she was here. She could feel him, sitting in his office near the stairs that led up from the basement firing range into the foyer of his Victorian home.
Detective Geoffrey Archer. Former detective with the Nashville Police Department.
She