She rolled her eyes. "It's safe. Bulletproof, mostly bomb-proof, and shielded from EM radiation."
"Naturally."
"Wilson trained me in... a program I can't discuss." She busied herself checking Luz's bags. "Best tactical mind I've ever known. And completely off anyone's radar. He'll keep them safe."
Unorthodox didn't begin to cover it. But then again, they'd passed orthodox about the time her car exploded.
The knock was sharp, efficient. Izzy opened the door to reveal what Cory could only describe as a mountain in human form. Late fifties, grizzled beard, eyes that took in every detail of the room in a single sweep. The man moved with the economy of someone who'd learned that wasted motion got you killed.
His gaze landed on Cory. One nod. "Fraser. Hope Landing PD eight years. Army before that. Commendation for the Sullivan hostage situation."
Cory's spine straightened involuntarily. The Sullivan situation had been kept deliberately quiet. How deep had this guy dug?
"Wilson," was all the man offered in return.
"I'll get their things," Izzy said, disappearing down the hall with Luz.
The moment they were alone, Wilson's demeanor shifted. "Current on CQB tactics?"
"Yes, sir."
"When's the last time you qualified expert?"
"Six months ago."
"Know the difference between cover and concealment?"
"Cover stops bullets. Concealment doesn't."
The rapid-fire assessment continued—tactical formations, emergency medical, convoy procedures. Cory answered crisply, feeling like a recruit again under a drill instructor's glare.
Finally, Wilson grunted. "You'll do, I guess. Not like we've got a choice at the moment."
Before Cory could bristle at that insult, Izzy emerged with Luz and Chantal, bags in hand. Chantal immediately launched into a detailed explanation of unicorn sprinkles to Wilson, who listened with surprising patience.
"Ready, Princess?" Wilson asked Izzy.
She nodded. "Mama, vamos."
Quick hugs, whispered Spanish endearments, Chantal's arms tight around her mother's neck. Then Wilson was shepherding them into his mobile fortress with gentle efficiency.
"Your mama and baby will be safe," he told Izzy.
"I know." Absolute trust in those two words.
Then they were gone, the rumble of the modified vehicle fading into morning traffic. The apartment felt too quiet, too empty. Evidence of hasty departure lay everywhere—Chantal's coloring books, Luz's coffee mug still warm, the lingering scent of pancake batter.
Cory caught Izzy looking at him, expression unreadable.
"What?"
She shrugged. "Never seen you rumpled."
He looked down in horror. His uniform was wrinkled beyond redemption, shirt untucked on one side, and who knew what his hair was doing. When had he become the guy who didn't care about?—
"It's a new look for you," she said, flipping one last pancake onto a plate. "I like it."
He found himself trying to smooth his shirt, fix what couldn't be fixed without an iron and a comb. She turned back to the stove, hiding what might have been a smile.
