"What now?" she asked, the moment passing.
His stomach growled audibly. "More pancakes?"
"We should get to the investigation."
"You need to eat too. Then we join the investigation." He pulled out Luz's chair. "Sit. Eat. That's an order."
"You're not my boss."
"I'm the guy standing between you and whoever wants you dead. That makes me the boss of your nutritional intake."
She snorted but sat, sliding a plate across to him. They ate in companionable silence for a moment before he reached for the unicorn sprinkles.
"Chantal's gone," she pointed out.
"I'm aware." He shook a generous amount onto his stack. "I kind of like them."
The admission surprised them both. Her almost-smile returned, warming something in his chest.
He watched her eat mechanically, mind clearly elsewhere. Probably running tactical scenarios, calculating threats, planning countermoves. The warrior beneath the mother's skin. She'd survived things that would break most people, himself included. She didn't need protecting—she'd proven that.
But need and want were different animals entirely.
She might not respect his by-the-book methods. Wilson's assessment made it clear her world saw him as a small-town cop playing above his weight class. But warriors recognized warriors, even across different battlefields.
And warriors hunted those who threatened their pack.
His pack now included Isabella Reyes and her small, precious family.
Whether she wanted it or not.
16
Ridingshotgun in Cory's patrol vehicle felt like wearing someone else's shoes—functional but wrong. Everything in the SUV screamed "regulation," from the perfectly aligned equipment to the complete absence of goldfish cracker crumbs. Even the cup holders were pristine.
Who had perfect cup holders?
Izzy shifted in the passenger seat, trying not to think about tonight. Both of them. At Knight Tactical. Living in the same space.
"You're thinking too loud," Cory said, taking the turn toward the airport.
"Just appreciating your... organizational skills." She gestured at the spotless interior. "Do you detail this thing hourly or just daily?"
"Funny." But his lips twitched. "Your vehicle was nice. Before it exploded."
The words hit like a physical blow as they passed the spot. Even from the access road, she could see the scorch marks on the asphalt—a black starburst where her beautiful SUV had died. The pavement was warped, melted in places. They'd cleared the debris, but the scar remained.
Her throat went tight. That vehicle had been her pride and joy. Saved for two years to buy it outright. No payments, no debt, just hers. The first really nice thing she'd bought herself since?—
"Insurance will cover it," Cory said quietly, reading her face with annoying accuracy. "Graceline already drew up the preliminary report. Attempted murder, destruction of property, domestic terrorism charges. Your insurance company won't dare lowball you."
She had to clear her throat twice before words would come. "Thank you."
"Full replacement value plus. Given the circumstances." He kept his eyes on the road, giving her a moment to pull herself together. "Graceline's good at that stuff. Used to work insurance fraud before she came to us."
"Handy." The word came out steadier. She could do this. Focus on the case, not the crater where her independence used to park.
"That scorch pattern," she said, forcing her brain into analytical mode. "Tiny blast radius. Whoever planted the IED completely underestimated the explosive force needed."
