"Being alive? The point of being alive is being alive, Kari."
My chest tightens. When Del is afraid, it sounds like anger, and right now she sounds furious.
"Liam's here," I say quietly.
"The hot security man who let someone waltz into your house while he was off playing detective?"
"That's not fair."
"I don't care about fair. I care about you breathing." A pause. Something clatters on her end — Del stress-cooks the way I stress-bake. "Is he at least sleeping in the same room?"
"Same bed."
Dead silence.
"There's a pillow wall," I say, too quickly. "Everything is fine. Cameras are up, locks are new, and I'm sanding Patricia's favorite baseboard."
"If anything else happens — anything — you call me. Not text. Call."
"I will."
"And tell the hot security man that if he lets someone break in again, I'll drive down there with a nine-inch chef's knife."
"I'll pass that along."
"I love you. You're an idiot."
"Love you too."
The kitchen smells wrong.
Not bad. More like confused. A skillet on the stove producing smoke in a color food should not produce. A cutting board holding what might have been an onion before it was murdered. The counter looks like a crime scene reconstructed by someone who's heard cooking described but never witnessed it.
Liam stands in the middle of it, sleeves pushed up, gray eyes narrowed at the skillet with the expression of a man who has faced genuine danger and is only now encountering something he can't outmaneuver. A beeping smoke detector
"What are you doing?"
"Cooking."
"What are you cooking?" I ask as I hit the button on the smoke detector to stop the annoying beeping.
He looks at the skillet. Looks at me. "It was going to be chicken."
"Was?"
The skillet pops. Something spatters. Liam steps back with reflexive precision that speaks to combat training, and I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste copper.
"Move," I say.
He moves. I rescue the chicken, assess the damage. The garlic has been smashed but not peeled, like he punched it and hoped for the best.
"You don't cook," I say.
"I cook eggs."
"Eggs are not cooking. Eggs are a survival mechanism."
I pull a fresh onion from the bin. The knife block offers the good chef's knife.
