Andrew shrank back, finally seeming to understand the contempt they both felt.
Back in the parking lot, Izzy made it three steps before the weight of it all crashed down. She stopped, pressing her palms against her eyes.
"I can't believe I ever... What was I thinking?" Her voice came out thick with unshed tears. "I picked him. I actually picked that selfish?—"
"Everything unfolds according to God's plan." Cory's voice was gentle, no judgment in it. "Even our mistakes. Even our worst choices."
She lowered her hands to look at him.
"Without Andrew," he continued, "there would be no Chantal. And the world would be a darker place without that little girl's light."
The tears came then, just a few, quickly wiped away. But she smiled through them. "When you put it that way...."
For a moment, they stood close in the falling snow, and she thought he might hug her. Wanted him to. But they both stepped back, not quite ready for that line to be crossed.
The drive home was quiet, snow falling heavier now, turning the highway into a tunnel of white.
"Where will your contacts relocate him?" Cory asked as they headed back west.
She shrugged. "No idea. But nowhere fun. Probably some place that needs dishwashers who don't ask questions."
Dark humor masking the weight of the day. They'd saved Andrew but the real enemy was still out there. Sloane Barnes-Nakamura.
The lights of Hope Landing appeared through the snow like a promise of safety. But as they pulled into Knight Tactical's secure bay, Izzy knew it was a false promise.
Tomorrow would bring new dangers. But tonight, they were alive. They were safe.
And Andrew—the mistake that gave her Chantal—would disappear into whatever new life her contacts arranged.
She'd saved the man who'd tried to destroy her.
Sometimes grace looked exactly like that.
35
The smellof coffee pulled Izzy from restless dreams about snow and gunfire. For a moment, she couldn't place the unfamiliar ceiling above her—too industrial, too many exposed beams. Then reality crashed back. Knight Tactical. High-tech fortress. Her daughter hundreds of miles away.
She found Cory in the kitchen, silhouetted against the window where light snow drifted past like lazy thoughts. He'd already dressed in jeans and a gray henley that made his eyes look like winter sky. Without turning, he slid a mug across the counter toward her.
Two sugars, no cream. Exactly right.
"Morning," she managed, wrapping her hands around the warmth.
He slid around to face her, concern etched in those too-observant eyes. "Sleep okay?"
"Fine." The lie came automatically. She'd actually spent half the night staring at the ceiling, replaying yesterday's chaos. They'd saved Andrew. Andrew, who'd taken thousands to terrorize her. Andrew, who hadn't once asked about his daughter, even with a gun to his head.
And here was Cory Fraser, who'd broken every rule he held sacred to protect her and her girl. Who made sure she ate. Who prayed over their makeshift meals.
The contrast made her chest ache in ways she didn't want to examine.
She sipped her coffee and stared out at the falling snow. In another life, this could be a perfect Sunday morning—lazy breakfast, maybe pancakes with unicorn sprinkles, Chantal chattering about her dreams. Instead, they stood in a military-grade facility while her baby ate breakfast somewhere else entirely.
"I hate this waiting," she said, not meaning to voice it aloud.
"I know." Simple acknowledgment, no platitudes about patience or everything working out. She appreciated that more than he could know.
Her phone buzzed.
