"This is protection."
They stared at each other, neither backing down. But she could see he'd already won. Those patrol cars weren't going anywhere. Neither was he.
"Fine." The word tasted like defeat.
"Great." He rose, all business now. "You got extra blankets?"
"What?"
"I'm staying the night."
"That's not?—"
"Non-negotiable."
Too tired to fight anymore. Too tired to do anything but accept the inevitable. "Once my mom and Chantal are out, I'll stay at Knight Tactical."
"Smart. Most secure location for miles."
"It's a fortress. Makes Fort Knox look like a convenience store." She managed a ghost of pride. "We've got redundant systems for our redundant systems."
"Good thing it's big." He checked his phone, probably already planning security rotations or whatever it was by-the-book cops did. "Because I'll be staying there too."
The words landed like a second bomb, leaving her staring at his matter-of-fact certainty.
Living at Knight Tactical. With Cory Fraser.
What could possibly go wrong?
15
Consciousness returned slowly,pulling Cory from the depths of exhausted sleep. Something was wrong. Not danger-wrong, but... wrong. His neck ached from the unfamiliar angle, and the couch beneath him was definitely not his bed. Memory crashed back—the explosion, Izzy's apartment, insisting on staying?—
Someone was watching him.
His eyes snapped open to find a small face inches from his own, dark eyes studying him with scientific intensity.
His heart rate spiked. Not used to waking up to small humans.
"Mommy said I couldn't wake you up," Chantal informed him solemnly. "But you're awake now, so it's okay."
Kid logic. Right. He sat up slowly, trying not to spook her, his uniform wrinkled beyond salvation. "Morning, Chantal."
"Are you having breakfast with us? Mommy's making pancakes. She only makes pancakes when she's worried, but she says she's not worried." The little girl tilted her head. "Are you worried?"
Before he could formulate a response that wouldn't alarm a six-year-old, Izzy's voice carried from the kitchen. "ChantalMarie, stop interrogating the police chief and come set the table."
"But Mommy?—"
"Now, mija."
The little person sighed dramatically and padded toward the kitchen. Cory followed, drawn by the domestic sounds and the smell of pancakes that made his stomach remind him he'd skipped dinner.
Izzy stood at the stove, looking impossibly put-together for someone who'd nearly been blown up a few hours ago. She glanced over her shoulder. Laughter danced in her eyes.
"She's been watching you for ten minutes. I told her not to poke you to see if you were really asleep."
"I appreciate the restraint." He rubbed his neck, trying to work out the kink.
