Chapter 18
Luke
Sullivan and Mercer were 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.”
Mercer’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, well. When you have criminal houseguests, you get criminal visitors.”
Something hot and unpleasant sparked in Luke’s gut.
Houseguest. Someone else in her house. Someone who brought danger to her door.
“Someone’s staying with her?” he asked.
Sullivan shrugged. “He’s been there a few days, apparently.”
Jealousy flared—sharp, irrational, immediate. But the flare barely had time to breathe before it was crushed under something heavier. Protectiveness.
Luke’s mind was already moving. Maple Street. Sightlines. Entry points. Escape routes.
“Did you canvass the block?” he asked.
Mercer laughed. “Bennett, you’re not even assigned to this.”
“I know,” Luke snapped—then forced himself to rein it back in. “I just need to know.”
Mercer studied him for a long second. “Why?”
Luke opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because she mattered wasn’t an answer he could give. Because I should have been there definitely wasn’t.
Mercer tilted his head, studying him. "You know," he said slowly, "for a guy who doesn't care, you sure ask a lot of questions about Grace Hart."
Luke kept his expression neutral. "I told you. Maple Street's on my route."
"Uh-huh." Mercer exchanged a look with Sullivan. "She's pretty, I'll give her that."
"Drop it," Luke said.
Mercer smiled, not unkindly but not kindly either. "Just saying. Wouldn't be the first cop to get tangled up with a woman on his patch. Nothing to be ashamed of." A beat. "Assuming it's the right woman."
"Drop it," Luke said again. His voice came out flat. Final.
Mercer scoffed. “The Harts bring it on themselves. I just wish they wouldn’t bring it into our town.”
Luke’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Did you put out a BOLO at least?”
“Dark sedan.” Sullivan said. “Tinted windows. No plates noted.”
Luke didn’t respond. He couldn’t trust himself to.
She’d been scared.
And she hadn’t called him.
He was coming anyway.
Luke took the porch steps two at a time and banged on the door.
Silence.
He knocked again, louder, flat palm against wood.
“Grace!”
Footsteps.
The door opened.
Grace stood there, eyes wide, hair loose around her shoulders. She looked guarded.
“Are you okay?” The words came out rough, urgent, unfiltered. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” she said slowly. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard what happened,” he said.
She stared at him for a long second, something unreadable flickering across her face.
Behind her, water rushed through pipes. A shower. Someone inside.
Luke registered it instantly. He swallowed hard.
Something heavy pulled down through his gut. Not just jealousy—something colder. Something like regret.
“Someone’s here,” Luke said.
“Yes.”
The confirmation lit something sharp and unwelcome in his gut.
“Is that safe?” he asked.
Her eyes flashed.
Luke dragged in a breath, forced himself to slow down. “Grace, I just needed to make sure you were okay.”
She shook her head once. “You don’t get to show up now and act like this.”
Luke swallowed. “I know.”
“You didn’t want anything serious,” she said quietly. “You didn’t want people seeing you with me. So why are you here now?”
Water shut off down the hall. Pipes rattled. A door opened, then closed.
Male footsteps. Unhurried.
“Mercer said you have a houseguest,” he said. “A criminal—”
Grace folded her arms, red splashing across her cheeks. “You don’t get a say on who I have in my life, Officer.”
“I’m not here to interrogate you,” he said. “I just—”
“You banged on my door,” she interrupted. And then softer: “You scared me.”
The words cut deeper than anything else she’d said.
Luke took a step forward automatically. “Grace. I didn’t want to scare you. That’s the last thing I’d want. I just—when I heard what happened, I had to see you.”
She didn’t soften.
“I’m safe,” she said. “I’m not alone. And I don’t need you to check on me.”
Silence pressed in between them.
“Lock up. If anything else happens,” Luke said finally, the cop in him slipping through despite everything, “call it in.”
“I know,” she said.
She closed the door.
Luke stood there for a second longer than he should have, hands curled uselessly at his sides. The house was quiet again, sealed off from him completely.
He turned and walked back down the steps.
She hadn’t wanted him tonight.
And more than that—
She hadn’t needed him either.
He sat in the driver’s seat. Grace’s porch light was on, casting a pale square onto the steps he’d just climbed like he had a right to be there.
Luke dragged a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. He’d spent years training himself to read threats.
But this was different. This wasn’t a case file.
This was Grace, his Grace, standing on her own porch with a man inside her house and another one scaring her, and Luke hearing about it secondhand. Like it was gossip instead of vital information.
He should have been there.
Not only tonight—before. When the window was broken. When the sedan showed up.
And not only hadn’t he been there, he wasn’t even the one she called.
Luke’s jaw tightened.
He’d drawn the lines. He’d made the rules. He’d been very clear about when he showed up and when he didn’t. Late nights. Quiet entrances. No witnesses. No complications.
Luke stared through the windshield at her home. The street was quiet now. Maple Street looked the way it always did: tidy, harmless, like the kind of place where nothing bad ever really happened.
That was a lie.
Someone had waited until she was alone. Had stood on her porch and scared her.
He’d touched her.
The detail slid through his mind like a blade. The man had touched her hair—an intimate gesture, a violation.
Luke’s hands curled into fists.
This wasn’t someone clumsy or drunk or stupid. They’d been deliberate. Confident. Testing boundaries.
His gaze flicked to the dark windows, to the faint glow leaking through the curtains. Someone moved inside—just a shadow passing a hallway light.
Jealousy stirred, sharp and unwelcome.
He pushed it down hard.
This wasn’t about that.
This was about the fact that there was a threat near her, and Luke was sitting in his car like a stranger instead of doing something about it.
Protocol told him to leave. He’d already overstepped any professional interest.
But instinct screamed louder than protocol ever had.
He checked his mirrors. The street behind him was empty. No dark sedan. No movement. No obvious danger.
That didn’t mean anything.
Luke exhaled slowly, forcing his breathing to even out. He couldn’t storm back up the steps. Couldn’t knock again. Couldn’t insert himself into her life just because fear made him want to.
She’d made that boundary crystal clear.
But leaving—actually leaving—felt like swallowing broken glass.
“She’s safe,” he muttered under his breath, like saying it might make it true. “She’s not alone.”
The words didn’t help.
Because safety wasn’t just about locks and lights and having someone in the next room. It was about trust. About knowing who would come if things went wrong.
And tonight, that hadn’t been him.
Luke started the engine at last, the quiet purr of it sounding loud in the stillness.
He swallowed.
If anything else happened, she’d call it in.
She just wouldn’t call him.
The truth felt heavy and undeniable.
Luke put the car in gear and eased away from the curb.
As he turned the corner, he glanced in the rearview mirror one last time.
The porch light was still on.
And as he drove off into the quiet streets of Crystal Lake, one thing was painfully clear:
Whatever he’d been telling himself before—about arrangements and boundaries and not wanting more—none of it mattered now.
Grace was in danger.
And Luke Bennett had never been very good at walking away from that.
Luke lay on his back staring at the ceiling, hands folded on his stomach like he might as well be in a coffin.
Grace had never been here. Not in his home and not in his bed.
That thought was strange.
He knew her house well.
Her couch. Her kitchen. Her narrow hallway where he’d learned exactly how many steps it took to reach her bedroom in the dark. Her bed, warm and lived-in and inviting.
She’d never visited his house. He’d never invited her to.
Luke swallowed and shifted onto his side, staring at the clock on his nightstand.
He rolled onto his back again.
The image wouldn’t leave him—Grace standing in her doorway, hair loose, eyes guarded. The way she’d said I don’t need you.
That had been the worst part.
Not the man inside her house.
Not the sedan.
Not Mercer’s words.
That.
He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye socket and let out a slow breath.
She walked to school every morning.
The realization washed over him with a chill of fear.
He sat up.
Grace walked.
Rain or shine. Twenty minutes there every morning, twenty minutes back every afternoon. Same sidewalks. Same streets. Same stretch of Maple where the houses thinned out just enough to feel exposed.
Someone had already been watching her house. They would know her routine. And they would know her route.
Luke swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet on the floor.
That walk was a long time to be alone when someone had taken an interest in you.
The thought made something hot and sick twist low in his gut.
He wasn’t assigned to her case.
He wasn’t welcome at her door.
She’d made that very clear.
But this—
This was about her safety.
Luke rubbed a hand over his face.
She would be furious.
He accepted that.
Anger he could live with.
Grace in danger, that he couldn’t allow.