The man tried to shove past immediately. Cory planted himself in the doorway, immovable. Up close, Izzy’s ex looked rougher than he had at the café—bloodshot eyes, two-day stubble, expensive shirt wrinkled like he'd slept in it.
"Sir, you need to step back."
"Get out of my way." Andrew tried to shoulder past again. Behind Cory, Izzy made a small sound—not fear exactly, but recognition. This was familiar territory for her.
"Chantal's not here," Izzy said, voice carefully neutral. "She's safe."
"Safe?" He finally focused on his ex-wife, ugly satisfaction crossing his features. "Safe from what? You're the one getting blown up. You're the one being investigated by the FBI."
"Andrew, please?—"
"Shut up." He jabbed a finger past Cory's shoulder. "I want my daughter. Now."
"She's in protective custody," Cory said firmly. "As is Ms. Reyes. There's been a credible threat?—"
Andrew's laugh was harsh, mocking. His gaze swept Cory's casual clothes with obvious disdain. "Playing house already? That was fast, even for Isabella."
"I'm Chief Fraser, Hope Landing Police. We met the last time you annoyed Ms. Reyes."
Another harsh laugh. "Yeah? So what? You look like a lumberjack."
Cory felt heat rise in his neck but kept his voice level. "Sir, you need to calm down or I'll have to ask you to leave."
"Ask me to leave?" Andrew's voice rose. "I'm here for my daughter. My lawyer says I have every right?—"
"Your lawyer's not here," Cory interrupted.
That stopped Andrew short. His eyes narrowed, calculating. Then he shifted tactics, focusing on Izzy.
"Yeah, well my attorney’s gonna love this." Each word was carefully aimed. "Suspended license—oh yeah, I heard about that. FBI investigation. Living with some man while our daughter's in hiding."
Cory felt Izzy shrink behind him, her hand gripping the back of his shirt. Seeking anchor.
"What kind of mother gets her car bombed?" Andrew continued, warming to his theme. "What kind of mother puts her child in danger? Hides a child from her father?"
"I'm protecting her," Izzy's voice was small, nothing like the warrior he knew.
Andrew's small eyes narrowed. "From what? The only danger here is you. Your job, your enemies, your choices."
"That's enough," Cory said.
But Andrew wasn't done. "I'm filing emergency custody papers tomorrow. My lawyer says with your current situation, it's a slam dunk. Criminal investigation, unstable environment, hanging out with men?—"
A wounded sound escaped Izzy. Cory felt it like a physical blow.
"Judge will have Chantal with me by Christmas," Andrew delivered the killing blow with obvious relish. "Maybe sooner. Florida's nice this time of year. She'll love the beach."
"You can't—" Izzy's voice broke.
Andrew's smirk widened at her distress. "Watch me."
He turned on his heel, striding toward a rental Lexus that screamed overcompensation. The car chirped as he unlocked it, and he threw one last look over his shoulder.
"Tell my daughter Daddy loves her. She'll be hearing from me real soon."
The door slammed behind Cory with unnecessary force. He turned to find Izzy sliding down the wall, legs giving out like someone had cut her strings.
"I can't—" Her breath came in short gasps. "He can't take her. He can't?—"
