Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
Pushing Daisies was dark and empty. Archer peered through the windows, then sprinted around the back of the building, but there was no sign of Scarlett or her purple Volkswagen.
He tried her phone for the hundredth time and was met with her voicemail once again. His stomach was a hard ball that had crawled up to lodge itself in his throat. His pulse pounded so hard it was all he could hear, apart from his jagged breaths.
A murderer was after his woman. A murderer might be with her right now.
His truck roared down the street as he headed for the bridge. He flew over it, jumping the sidewalk as he swerved around a stopped car, crashing back down on the cross street that would take him to Scarlett’s house. The streets were no different, but Archer saw monsters in the shadows. Every car that passed could contain Scarlett. He stared into every passing vehicle window as his hands clenched the wheel so hard it risked snapping between them.
It wasn’t until he approached the last corner leading to Scarlett’s little Cape Cod cottage that he saw the sleek black Mercedes.
For a moment, he thought Scarlett’s ex had stopped by, and his panic gave way to rage. That sniveling, cowardly bastard wasn’t going to steal back the woman he’d tossed away all those years ago. Archer had made a mistake today, but he’d die before he let that sleek, hoity-toity asshole get her back.
Then as he took the corner, he noticed a white pinstripe down the side of the car. Was that the same car? He didn’t remember a pinstripe. Her side gate was open, and there was movement behind the living room curtains.
No time to overthink it. If her ex was inside, she still needed to be warned about the threat Frank Smith posed, and her ex needed to be punched in the face. And if it wasn’t her ex…
Later, when Archer thought about those minutes, he realized he couldn’t remember large chunks of the drive from the loan shop to town, and from the flower shop to Scarlett’s house. He knew he somehow made it from his truck to her front door, but the memory of those moments was completely erased.
All he remembered was seeing the pinstripe, noticing the gate and the movement in the living room, and then all of a sudden he was shouldering the front door open and stumbling over the threshold. Two steps took him to the living room, where Scarlett sat on a dining chair, her wrists and ankles tied.
Archer’s chest squeezed violently. That was his woman—his life . She was tied up and in danger, and Archer was going to fix it. Then he’d never let her go. He’d tell her how much he loved her, and he’d do everything he could to make up for letting her down today. He’d get on his knees and beg her forgiveness. Anything—he’d do anything.
But there was one person he had to deal with first.
Frank Smith stood in front of her, but he turned to face Archer as he entered.
The man was older, balding, with a little paunch hanging over his belt buckle and enough jewelry to be at home on an episode of The Sopranos. He wasn’t the least bit intimidating, except for the deadness of his eyes and the sheen of sweat on his temples and forehead.
This was a man who wasn’t afraid of crossing the line. He had the eyes of a killer.
And in his hands, just inches away from Scarlett’s body, Frank clutched a wicked-looking knife.
“Who the hell are you?” Frank sneered.
“Get away from her.”
“Oh,” Frank grinned, adjusting his grip on his knife as he took a step closer to Scarlett. “You’re a hero. Unfortunately for you, you’re too late.”
“Archer, stay back,” Scarlett said, her voice surprisingly steady. Her eyes, though, betrayed the kind of terror that made Archer’s blood run cold.
That was his woman. She shouldn’t be afraid—not ever. She should be cherished and loved. She should feel safe.
Archer would make sure he fixed this.
The air in the room seemed to pulse. Frank vibrated with rage as he continued to pour sweat from every pore. His shirt was drenched in the underarm area, and his neck glistened as if he’d just gotten out of the shower.
The man wasn’t right in the head. Archer had to be careful.
“I’ve already killed that two-timing bitch, Ethel. It won’t be anything to kill you,” Frank said to Scarlett.
“You don’t have to do that,” Scarlett said, placating.
From his angle facing her side, Archer could see her working to loosen the bonds at her wrists. She seemed to be making progress, but it was too slow. Inching forward, Archer cursed himself for not bringing a weapon. He’d brought his bare hands to a knife fight, and it wouldn’t be enough.
“She lied to me,” Frank said, voice trembling. “She told me we’d be together forever. She said we’d start up the cash business again, and she’d never leave me. But the whole time…” He sucked in a breath. “The whole time , she was sleeping with another man.” The laugh that fell from Frank’s lips was dry, as if it crumbled to nothing the moment it left his lips. “Not just any other man. She was sleeping with my muscle . That useless lump of meat that couldn’t get his brain to boot up if he tried. A man who couldn’t make it through the day without reaching into his pocket for a fucking snack. She was two-timing me with him , when I was preparing to give her the world.”
Archer had taken two steps forward during Frank’s speech, and the older man whirled around to wave the knife at him. Archer froze.
“Not one more step,” Frank spat. “I’ll gut the girl.”
“Ethel hurt you,” Archer said. “I understand that. But that doesn’t mean you need to hurt someone else.”
“She didn’t hurt me,” Frank said, lips curling on the word. “She humiliated me. She made me a laughingstock. I’m glad I killed her. Should have killed that idiot Patz while I was at it. But I’ll do the next best thing.”
Frank lunged, but Archer was ready.
Grabbing the first thing he could reach, Archer’s fingers closed around the worn pages of a paperback. As Frank moved, Archer threw himself forward, holding the book with both hands. Frank’s knife sliced through the heart of it and stopped just inches from Scarlett’s chest.
Archer snarled, twisting the paperback to dislodge the knife from Frank Smith’s grip, tossing the whole thing aside. Scarlett, meanwhile, had worked her wrists free. She grabbed a pretty, stained-glass lamp from the side table and brought it down on Frank’s head, the screech of a banshee leaving her lips.
The glass shattered just as Archer managed a punch to Frank’s hard gut.
The man slumped on top of her legs and tumbled to the ground.
Archer pushed him aside and went to Scarlett, his heart hammering so hard he couldn’t think. He touched her everywhere. Her face, her arms, her legs, her sides. He checked her for injuries, sure that he’d been too slow, that Frank nicked her, that he’d lose her just when he realized he couldn’t live without her.
There was blood. Why was there blood? Had he gotten her? He checked her chest, but she hadn’t been stabbed. Why was she bleeding?
“…I’m okay, Archer. Babe, I’m fine.”
“Blood,” he said, unable to form more words.
“The lamp cut me. Look.” She showed him the palm of her right hand. It had a small nick that had smeared to look worse than it was. “I promise I’m okay.”
Scarlett stroked his face with her clean hand and pulled him closer so she could look in his eyes. It sounded like she’d been repeating the words for a while by the time Archer blinked and realized she was telling the truth. Her eyes were soft, though her breath still seemed a bit staggered. She swallowed, her thumbs stroking Archer’s cheeks. “I’m okay.”
“I thought I was too late,” Archer said. “I’m so sorry, Scarlett. I never should have skipped your party. I left you alone, and you almost died. It’s my fault. I made a mistake because I was afraid of how much I love you, but?—”
Scarlett shook her head, then leaned closer to bring her lips to his. She kissed him sweetly, almost innocently, and Archer trembled at the feel of it.
When she pulled away, her eyes were glistening. “Say it again,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry?—”
“Not that part.”
Archer blinked, rewinding the words that had tumbled out of his lips. He jerked when he realized what he’d said.
Scarlett smiled. “Yeah. That part.”
“I love you, Scarlett. I can’t think straight when I’m around you because what I feel for you is so big, it’s like it doesn’t fit inside me. You’re beautiful and successful and funny and clever, and I’m… I know you deserve so much better than me, sweetheart, but I don’t think I can live without you. I can’t let you go. You’re mine, Scarlett. If you’ll let me have you.”
Her thumbs traced the edge of his stubble as her lips curled into a soft smile. “You’ve had me from the moment you kissed me at Camilla’s wedding, Archer. But you’re wrong about one thing.”
He frowned, fear creeping into his heart. Would she push him away? Would she tell him he’d messed up, and she’d never take him back?
Scarlett’s smile bloomed bright. “I’m the one who’s not going to let you go.”
In the distance, sirens wailed as the police approached. Archer barely heard them. All that existed was the touch of Scarlett’s hands on his face and the thumping of his heart. A heart that he could finally admit belonged to someone else.
The woman of his dreams. His goddess of desire. His perfect mate.
He’d be the man she deserved, starting right now. No more fear. No more hesitation. She was worth any risk—even the risk of a deranged madman wielding a gleaming blade. Scarlett was everything to him, and he’d make sure she never forgot it.
“Look,” Scarlett said, nodding to a spot behind him.
Archer glanced over his shoulder at the prone form of Frank Smith on the floor. But that’s not where Scarlett was looking. It was The Pirate’s Captive , the fateful book that had changed so many things between them. A knife was embedded through the middle of the book, right in the center of the cover, where the pirate-lord-assassin’s glistening chest was revealed in the opening of a fluttering white shirt.
“Saved by the pirate-lord-assassin,” Archer noted as Frank stirred. The police sirens got louder, but they both ignored the distractions.
“You owe me a new copy,” Scarlett replied.
He met her bright gaze and cherished the smile on her lips. “I’ll buy you as many books as your heart desires, sweetheart. And you can read them to me whenever you want.”
When the smile on her lips turned megawatt-bright, Archer’s heart turned over. Because this wasn’t the blinding smile that she used to fool people into believing she was happy. This one went all the way to her deep brown eyes, lighting them up in a way that was a privilege to witness.
He suspected that smile went all the way down to the depths of her soul, and he vowed to make her this happy for the rest of both of their lives.
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” she said, then grabbed the front of his shirt to pull him in for another kiss.