Cory's knucklespopped as his fists clenched. The process server was still in reach—two strides and he could introduce the weasel's face to the café floor.
But he didn’t move.
Not appropriate for a police chief.
Or anyone, really. Besides, he'd seen Izzy training with her Knight Tactical team lots of times over the almost two years the new team had been in residence. She could drop this guy in one second flat, probably take out half the café if she wanted. The fact that she stood there, stone-still and silent, showed more restraint than most people possessed.
And far more class.
Still, Cory shifted his weight, moving subtly to position himself between Izzy and any potential threat. He'd learned to read stillness in his years wearing a badge—there was the stillness of shock, the stillness of grief, and the stillness that came right before violence. Izzy was balanced on that knife's edge.
Her sharp intake of breath cut through the café noise. Her whole body went rigid, and the color drained from her face like someone had pulled a plug.
A man muscled through the crowd from behind the fleeing server, shoving past tables with zero regard for the coffee cups he jostled. His eyes locked on Izzy with predatory focus, and his mouth stretched into an ugly grin.
"Hey there, Iz." He stopped too close, invading her space with practiced intimidation. "Looking good. Still working out, I guess."
The casual intimacy of it, the presumption, made Cory's jaw clench. Izzy stood frozen, trapped between the counter and this man who reeked of too much cologne—the kind that probably had a name likeSwaggerorVictory.
Only then did the man turn to Cory, like he'd just noticed the police chief standing there. "Andrew Duarte." His volume pitched to carry across the café. "Chantal's father."
He wore an expensive suit that didn't quite fit his frame, like he'd bought it off a rack without tailoring. Everything about his appearance screamed recent windfall, but he emphasized the word "father" like it was a weapon, with zero acknowledgment that he'd abandoned the child he now claimed.
“What do you want?” Izzy asked softly.
"I want my kid." Andrew announced it to the room at large, playing to his audience.
The entire café had given up any pretense of not watching. Forks paused halfway to mouths. Coffee cups hung suspended. This was better than anything on the Hallmark Channel.
"I'm in Florida now. Got a real good job and a nice place." Andrew's volume stayed theatrical. "Time my daughter had a real home."
"Andrew, we don't need to discuss?—"
"What?" He cut her off, spreading his hands in mock innocence. "You don't want folks knowing you been keeping a father from his little girl?"
Cory watched Izzy's jaw tighten. This was exactly what the creep wanted—maximum public damage. Witnesses to paint her as the vindictive ex who kept a loving father from his child. The manipulation was crude and seriously cruel.
Andrew pressed closer, using his height advantage to loom over her. "Got me a good situation down there. Steady work, benefits, the whole deal. Better than her growing up around... whatever it is you do now." He made a dismissive gesture that encompassed Izzy, her work, her entire life.
The grammar, the awkward constructions—Cory recognized someone reading from a script they didn't quite understand. This fool was somebody's puppet, and not a particularly bright one.
"My lawyer says I got a real good shot." Andrew glanced around, making sure his audience was still engaged. "Florida judges, they like fathers who step up."
"Since when can you afford a lawyer?" Izzy asked.
Andrew's chest puffed out. "Told you, I’ve got a great gig now. Company takes care of its people. They know I'm trying to do right by my kid."
"What company?" Cory found himself asking, voice mild but eyes sharp.
Andrew's gaze flicked to him, dismissive. "That's between me and them." Then, with calculated cruelty: "'Course, judge might wonder about the company you keep, Iz. Strange men around my little girl..."
The implication hung in the air like smoke. Andrew looked between them, a nasty smile spreading across his face. "You shacking up with this cop? That why you won't give me a chance to be a daddy?"
Cory saw Izzy's hands tremble—not with fear, but with the effort of keeping them still. This idiot had no idea he was poking a trained operator who could dismantle him before his nextbreath. The fact that she didn't move, didn't speak, showed a level of strategic thinking that impressed him.
Time to intervene before Andrew's stupidity got him hurt and Izzy in trouble.
Cory stepped forward, letting his full height and the weight of his uniform work for him. "Sir, you've completed service. Time to go."
