Chapter 21 #2
His eyes moved over her in one sweep. The torn shirt. The dirt on her cheek. The way she was holding herself too carefully, as if movement hurt. Something tightened in his chest that had nothing to do with anger.
"What happened?" His voice came out quieter than he intended.
"Someone tried to grab me," she said. "At the corner store. They tried to put me in a van." A shudder swept over her frame.
They'd tried to take her. Put her somewhere he couldn't find her.
"Did they hurt you?"
"I'm fine."
"Tatum."
"I got away," she said, lifting her chin. "I'm fine."
She wasn't fine. He could see it in the tremor in her hands, the pallor of her face, the effort it was taking her to hold herself together. He fought the urge to pull her in and not let go. Instead, he stepped inside and closed the door.
"Let me see your head."
"It's fine."
"Let me see it."
She sighed and turned around. He reached up, his fingers careful as they found the knot on the back of her skull. When she winced and pulled away, something moved through him that wasn't entirely anger.
"You need ice," he said, keeping his voice steady. "And you need to be checked for a concussion."
"I don't have a concussion."
"You don't know that."
"I know what a concussion feels like," she said, turning back to face him. "This isn't one."
He didn't believe her, but he could see the stubbornness in her eyes and knew arguing would get him nowhere. He pulled out his phone.
"What are you doing?" she frowned.
"Calling Ryker. I'm putting a full-time security detail on you. No arguments."
"Archer..."
"No arguments, Tatum." He met her eyes and kept his expression neutral, keeping everything he was feeling well back from the surface.
The fear. The fury. The part of him that wanted to promise her nothing would ever touch her again and mean it completely.
"They just tried to kidnap you in broad daylight.
This isn't a warning anymore. This is an escalation. "
She looked like she wanted to argue. He could see it in her face, that fierce independence that was so fundamentally her, the thing that made her extraordinary and also the thing that was going to get her killed if he couldn't keep her safe.
Then something shifted. The fight went out of her. "Okay," she said quietly.
He blinked. "Okay?"
"Okay. Put security on me. Whatever you think is best."
The relief that moved through him at those words was out of proportion to what the situation called for, and he knew it. He made the call. Ryker answered on the first ring.
"I need a full security detail on Tatum. Now. Twenty-four seven. I don't care who you have to pull. Make it happen."
"On it," Ryker said without hesitation.
Archer ended the call and looked at Tatum. She'd sunk back onto the couch, a bag of frozen peas pressed to her head, eyes closed, face pale. She looked small. Vulnerable. Nothing like the fierce, stubborn woman who'd been arguing with him thirty seconds ago.
He sat down beside her.
She'd fought hard enough to get away from two men and make it back here on her own. He knew that. He also knew that, sitting here looking at a bruise forming on her forearm and a tear in her shirt, he was having a great deal of difficulty being objective about any of it.
"What the hell were you thinking?" He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there it was.
"I was thinking I needed food," she said, her voice carefully level. "And I'm a grown woman who can go to the corner store without a babysitter."
"Clearly not." The words came out harder than he intended. "Because you got attacked. In broad daylight. And they tried to put you in a van, Tatum. Do you understand what that means?"
"I got away."
"This time." He ran a hand through his hair, his control fraying at the edges. "What happens next time? What happens when you're not fast enough to fight them off?"
"I didn't get lucky," she snapped. "I fought back. I handled it."
"You got hit in the head hard enough that you're sitting here with frozen peas trying not to throw up. That's not handling it. That's barely surviving it."
She stood. He saw what the movement cost her. Her face went pale. She swayed.
His hands shot out to steady her.
"Sit down."
"I'm fine."
"Sit. Down."
The room was tilting for her. He could see it in her eyes.
She sat. Archer crouched in front of her, the anger draining away and leaving something colder and sharper in its place. He guided the frozen peas back to her head, his hands as gentle as he knew how to make them.
"You need to see a doctor."
"I don't need..."
"Yes, you do. I'm calling one now."
"Archer..."
But he was already pulling up his contacts. Dr. Reeves was on call in the Society's clinic. He sent the text, then stayed where he was for a moment, closer to her than was strictly necessary, close enough to feel something he had no useful name for tighten in his chest.
"The doctor will be here in twenty minutes," he said, standing. "Until then you stay on that couch. You don't move. You don't argue. Understood?"
She didn't open her eyes. "Fine."
The thought of what would have happened if she hadn't was not something he was going to let himself finish.
He turned and walked out, closing the door behind him with very careful control. Because if he stayed one more minute, he was going to say something he couldn't take back. Or do something that would change everything.
And he wasn't ready to decide yet whether that would be a mistake.