Eli’s gaze flicked to Luke. Recognition flared there immediately—tight, wary.
“Well,” he muttered. “If it isn’t Officer Bennett.”
Luke didn’t react to the tone. He guided Eli inside instead, pausing every time Eli sucked in a breath.
"Easy," Luke murmured, slowly steering him toward the couch. He lowered Eli down, until he was fully seated. Eli hissed softly through his teeth, instinctively curling forward.
“Ribs?” Luke asked.
Eli nodded jerkily.
Luke turned his head slightly. “Grace, could you make us some tea, please?”
Grace blinked. This was her house. Her brother. Her mess.
And yet?—
“Okay,” she said.
She went to the kitchen, hands shaking as she filled the kettle. From there, she could still see them—Luke crouched slightly in front of Eli, voice low, posture steady.
“So,” Luke said. “What happened?”
Eli huffed a humorless laugh. “You really want me to answer that?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t,” Luke replied.
“The guys I was working with,” Eli said after a beat. “Not exactly the type you give two weeks’ notice to.”
Luke tilted his head. “You told them you were done.”
“Yeah.”
“And they didn’t take it well.”
“No.”
The kettle screamed. Grace flinched, turned it off.
She carried the mugs back on a tray, heart pounding.
Luke took one, passed it to Eli carefully. “Slow.”
Grace set the tray down and folded her arms, bracing herself.
“He’s not a criminal,” she said sharply. “If that’s where this is going?—”
Luke looked up immediately. “It’s not.”
She swallowed. “Because he’s my brother.”
“I know.”
Luke stood and crossed the room. He stopped in front of her, so close that she had to tilt her head to look at him. One hand came to her waist.
“Yes, I’m a cop,” he said. “But I’m not your enemy here.”
Eli scoffed weakly. “That’s usually how it goes.”
