Her defenses shot up as she opened the door. "If you're here to arrest me?—"
"I need to see your Mountain Angel jacket," he said without preamble. "The one with 'Firecracker' on the back."
Her stomach dropped to her knees. Of course. He'd found some evidence, and now he thought she?—
His voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, firm and certain. "I don't think you did anything. But someone wearing your jacket did."
She blinked, caught completely off-guard. "What?"
"We need to talk. Can I come in?"
"Mommy, who is it?" Chantal's voice carried from the dining room.
Izzy stepped aside automatically, her mind racing. As Cory entered, she became hyperaware of her chaotic home through his eyes. Chantal's artwork plastered the walls—mostly helicopters and jets and unicorns in improbable color combinations. Dishes cluttered the sink. Her mother's walker stood by the couch next to a basket of unfolded laundry. The angel wings for the pageant draped over a chair, shedding glitter with every air current.
Not exactly the pristine environment she imagined Chief Perfect Uniform maintained.
"Are you a police?" Chantal appeared in the doorway, still clutching her fork, a smear of green sauce on her chin.
"This is Chief Fraser," Izzy said weakly. "He's... here about work."
Chantal's eyes went wide. "Do you have handcuffs?"
"Chantal."
"I do," Cory said, surprising Izzy with the gentle humor in his voice. "But I only use them on bad guys."
"Cool." Chantal studied him with the intense scrutiny only a six-year-old could manage. "We're having Abuelita’s chili verde. It's the best in the whole world. Do you want some?"
"That's nice, but?—"
"Mija, come finish your dinner." Izzy’s mom appeared from the kitchen. She moved carefully with her walker but her sharp eyes missed nothing, taking in Cory's uniform, Izzy's tenseposture, the way they stood too far apart like opponents in a ring.
"Mamá, this is Chief Fraser."
Luz's expression shifted to something Izzy recognized with dread—her matchmaking face. "How wonderful. There's plenty of food. You'll join us."
"I don't want to intrude?—"
"Nonsense. Izzy, set another place. Chantal, show our guest where to wash his hands."
Before either of them could protest, Chantal had grabbed Cory's hand and dragged him toward the bathroom. "This way. Our soap smells like lemons."
Izzy met Cory's eyes over her daughter's head. He looked as overwhelmed as she felt, but there was something else there too. A softness she hadn't seen before as he let himself be tugged toward their tiny hallway bathroom.
"Muy interesa," Luz murmured in Spanish, watching them go.
"Mamá, don't start."
"I'm not starting anything." Her mother's innocent expression fooled no one. "But a handsome man shows up at dinnertime, looking at my daughter like that..."
"Like what? Like he might arrest me?"
"Like he's worried about you." Luz patted her arm. "Big difference, mija."
When Cory returned, Chantal chattering at his heels about her spelling test, Izzy had added a fourth place setting. Their small table felt smaller with him there, his broad shoulders and perfect posture making their mismatched chairs look even shabbier.
But Chantal was in full hostess mode, explaining the proper way to eat chili verde ("You have to put it on the tortilla but nottoo much or it falls out"), while her mother kept pushing more food onto his plate.
