Page 20 of My Darling Mayhem

Once I managed to prop my leg up and set my computer in my lap, I started sleuthing.

I hadn’t handled the purchase of Archer’s home, but it was still logged in our system. So, I pulled up the address and looked at a few details: the house style, lot size, and purchase price.

“Interesting,” I mused out loud, scrolling through the information while bits of sunlight strayed in through my living room window.

Archer had put in a cash offer for the house after it had been selected and built, so nothing was custom, but he overpaid by about fifteen thousand dollars. It didn’t make any sense when nothing was what he’d requested, and other homes in this areastayed on the market for a few months before being scooped up for nearly ten thousand less than the initial listing price.

It also showed he chose not to have the house inspected before moving in…which was typically not allowed, but that was when dealing with lenders. He didn’t have a lender or a realtor.

Odd.

What was that job he mentioned? How did he have that much money to put down on a house? I continued to dig through what he’d submitted. Typically, we had information on employment and contact info, but his information was all missing. Only his email was listed, not even a phone number.

Gwen wasn’t the type to skimp on inputting data. If anything, she was over-detailed regarding our client’s information. I clicked page after page, looking and inspecting, which led me nowhere. I switched to social media, typing in the club name and seeing what came up, but only a few images here and there popped up, none of them recent or of Archer. I had a social media account, but it wasn’t under my name, and I didn’t post anything. I only watched reels and occasionally looked for people’s accounts I had stopped talking to.

As if my fingers had a mind of their own, they started typing a familiar handle. Deep down, I knew nothing would populate, but a few times a week, I still tried.

@juan_hernan

A text came in, derailing my efforts.

Brian: We still on for coffee tomorrow?

Shoot. I had forgotten entirely about Brian and our agreement. Biting my lip, my fingers hovered over the screen as I considered my next move. I needed a ride tomorrow; technically, I had agreed to these plans with him.

With a resigned sigh and a simmering frustration in my stomach, I shot out a text.

Me: Yeah, would you mind picking me up?

His dots bounced around on the screen for a few seconds.

Brian: Actually, I can’t. Just got a text from a client, we’ll reschedule

Great. Maybe I should just call in sick tomorrow.

The alarm on my phone went off, making my fingers freeze mid-type. It was the one I had set, indicating it was time to get Cruz from the bus stop. This was probably better anyway…I didn’t need to look Juan up or see if I could find anything new about his life. I reluctantly put my laptop away.

I wouldn’t care about Archer or what I had found, except that conversation Lydia had in front of me had stuck in my head like glue. He was part of a club, not just part of, he was the president. I had already deduced that from his patches, but hearing someone talk about a real-life club in New York City had my mind churning.

He was dangerous, and because of him, more dangerous people would probably be arriving.

Using my crutches, I began walking toward the bus stop near the end of the street. I had barely made it out of my driveway and up to the sidewalk when I heard the familiar rumble of a diesel nearing. I kept my face down, watching the movement of my crutches so I didn’t fall when the truck came to a stop next to me.

“Need some help, neighbor?” Archer’s voice was playful, and it had me looking up.

His hair was tied into a bun at the nape of his neck, still messy but making him look masculine and handsome.

I lifted one of the crutches just barely. “Nope, got these bad boys, so I’m all set now.”

He laughed, and the sound was so bright and complete that it nearly made my breath hitch. When was the last time I had made a man laugh? When was the last time one had stopped to actually check on me?

“Wren, it will take you forever to hobble down the street to the bus stop. Just let me take you.”

Hearing him say my name was strange. It felt like I had his full attention, which also felt strangely safe like someone pulling me in from the cold on a stormy day.

“You honestly did enough today, Archer. I appreciate your help, but I’m good.”

I swung my crutches again, but Archer put his truck into park and turned off the engine…in the middle of the road.

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