The cops hadn’t solved anything. They hadn’t made her feel any better.
She thought of Luke—of the way she used to feel safe in his arms.
Then reality settled back in. He’d been very clear where they stood. He'd come if she called—but only for sex. He wasn’t hers when she needed comfort or protection.
CHAPTER 18
Luke
Sullivan and Mercerwere talking on the other side of the squad room, voices low, but Luke heard the name anyway.
“What?” The word came out sharper than he intended.
Mercer glanced over, surprised. “What?”
“You said Hart,” Luke said. His pulse had already kicked into gear, fast and ugly. “Grace Hart?”
Sullivan frowned. “Uh. Yeah.”
Luke’s stomach dropped. “Something else happened?”
Mercer’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you care?”
“Because—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. Forced his tone neutral. Professional. “Maple Street’s on my route.”
That wasn’t entirely a lie.
Sullivan shrugged. “Some guy showed up at her house. Spooked her.”
Luke was standing before he realized he’d moved.
"What guy?" he asked. "Was she hurt?"
Mercer and Sullivan exchanged a look.
"No," Sullivan said slowly. "She wasn't hurt. But he got close. Touched her hair."
Luke went still. "He touched her?"
"Just her hair," Mercer said dismissively. "Creepy, but nothing bad.”
Something hot and blinding flared in Luke's chest—rage so pure it nearly whited out his vision. He forced himself to breathe. In and out. Until the urge to grab Mercer by the throat passed.
"This guy," Luke said, his voice carefully controlled, “did he threaten her?"
Sullivan scratched at his jaw. “Nah. Just said something vague.”
“And she’s okay?”
Mercer blinked. “I guess.”
“Is she safe?” Luke pressed.
Sullivan tilted his head.
Luke realized, too late, that he hadn’t disguised the urgency in his voice at all.
“I know her,” he said. “She’s not the kind of person who scares easy.”
