Chapter 23 - Grace
Grace
Grace woke to the sound of something wrong.
Her eyes snapped open, heart racing, the dark of her bedroom unfamiliar for a disorienting second.
The house was quiet. No voices. No footsteps. Just the low hum of the refrigerator down the hall and the faint rush of blood in her ears.
She lay still, listening.
A soft scrape.
Her breath caught.
It sounded like it came from somewhere near the back of the house—wood against wood, faint and careful. Not an accident. Not the house settling.
Grace slid one hand under her pillow and wrapped her fingers around her phone.
Don’t panic, she told herself. Panic would make noise. Panic would make mistakes.
She stayed still long enough to hear it once more. She wasn’t imagining it.
Her stomach dropped.
Grace swung her legs out of bed and moved quietly, bare feet tiptoeing across the floor. The hallway felt longer in the dark, every shadow stretched into something waiting. She stopped just before the kitchen, heart hammering so hard she was sure it would give her away.
Nothing moved.
But the back door—she could feel it. The presence of it, like a held breath.
The door handle turned.
For one horrifying second she thought the door would open—
But the lock held.
A second later, the handle jerked harder. Testing. Trying.
She backed up instead, retreating step by careful step until she was in the living room, crouched behind the couch, phone clutched tight in her hand.
She dialed and the screen seemed too bright in the dark room.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “Someone is outside my house. They’re trying to get in.”
“Ma’am, are you alone?”
Grace’s voice broke then. “Yes.”
She wished someone was with her. She wished Luke was with her.
“Okay,” the dispatcher said calmly. “Officers are on the way.”
Grace pressed her forehead to the edge of the couch and closed her eyes.
She thought of locked doors. Of staying calm. Of doing exactly what she’d been taught to do.
She was shaking now, adrenaline finally flooding her system, but she stayed quiet. Stayed still. Listened to the dispatcher’s voice anchor her to the present.
She wasn’t helpless.
She wasn’t careless.
She had done everything right.
And still—fear pressed in close, cold and intimate, as footsteps shifted outside her house.
She held the phone tighter and waited for the sound of sirens.
Grace sat on her couch wrapped in a blanket she didn't remember grabbing, watching Officer Sullivan go to the kitchen.
Mercer stood in her living room, notepad out, asking questions in that same flat, skeptical tone he'd used the last time.
"And you're sure you heard something?"
Grace's fingers tightened on the blanket. "Yes."
"But you didn't see anyone."
"No," she said. "I called 911. Like you're supposed to."
Mercer made a noncommittal sound and jotted something down.
The officer came back from the kitchen. “Nothing obvious,” he said. “Looks like someone may have been testing the door. Could’ve spooked themselves and taken off.”
Grace didn’t feel comforted.
Mercer closed his notebook. "We'll increase patrols in the area. But honestly, Miss Hart—“
The front door slammed open.
Grace jumped, blanket falling from her shoulders.
Luke filled the doorway.
His chest rose and fell too fast, like he’d been running.
His gaze landed on Grace. His eyes swept her from head to toe in a single frantic pass.
Something in his expression cracked.
"Grace," he breathed.
Then he was moving—crossing the room in three long strides, dropping to his knees in front of the couch.
"Are you hurt?" His voice was rough, urgent.
Grace stared at him. "I'm—I'm fine—"
"You're shaking." He was blocking out everything else in the room—one hand on her shoulder, one cupping her elbow, grounding and gentle. "Jesus Christ, you're shaking."
"Bennett," Mercer said sharply. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Luke didn't look at him. Didn't even acknowledge he'd spoken. His eyes stayed locked on Grace, searching her face with an intensity that made her chest tight.
"I need you to tell me what happened," Luke said. "Everything. From the beginning."
"Luke—" Grace started.
"Please." The word cracked. "Please, Grace."
Grace swallowed. “Someone was trying to get in. At the back door."
Luke's jaw clenched so hard she heard his teeth grind.
“You…” She watched his face grow tight. “You were alone?” His hand tightened slightly on her shoulder—not hurting, just... holding. Like he needed the contact to stay calm. "You were alone.” It wasn’t a question.
For just a second, his eyes closed. His throat worked like he was swallowing something down. When he opened them again, he touched her face gently. “Hey,” he said quietly, voice dropping, all the sharp edges pulled back.
His eyes searched her face one last time, cataloging—no blood, no bruises, no fresh terror breaking through. “I just need to do some cop stuff now. Alright?”
Grace nodded.
Only then did he stand.
He turned to face Mercer and Sullivan, and the shift from concern to cop was immediate. Luke’s shoulders squared, every inch of him radiating authority.
"What did you find?" he demanded.
Sullivan cleared his throat. "Could've been an animal—"
"It wasn't a fucking animal."
The profanity hung in the air.
Grace had never seen Luke lose his professional composure like this.
Mercer stepped forward, voice dropping. "Bennett. You need to step outside."
"No."
"That wasn't a suggestion."
"I'm not leaving." Luke's voice was flat, absolute. "Not until I know she's safe."
"She is safe," Mercer said. "We've cleared the scene. There's no one here."
"Right now," Luke snapped. "There's no one here right now. What about in an hour? Two hours? When you're both back at the station and she's alone again?"
"That's not our—"
Luke cut him off. His voice rose, sharp and uncompromising. "A woman called 911 because she heard someone trying to get into her house. And you're standing here telling her it was probably a raccoon?"
Mercer's expression sharpened. “Why are you even here, Bennett?”
"Someone has already threatened her," Luke continued, voice rising. "And you think she's imagining things?"
Mercer's face flushed. "You don't give orders here, Bennett. You're not even supposed to be on this call."
"I don't care."
"You should," Mercer said coldly. "Because right now you're acting like—"
He stopped himself.
But Grace knew the unspoken end of that sentence.
Like you're involved with her. Like she’s someone to you. Like she matters.
She didn’t. Not to Luke. She knew that.
Then Luke stepped forward. Close enough that Mercer had to tilt his head back slightly to hold his gaze.
"Luke," Grace said softly.
He didn't turn. Didn't break eye contact with Mercer.
"You think I'm out of line?" Luke asked. "You think I'm being unprofessional? Fine. Put it in a report. Write me up. I don't care."
His voice dropped lower, harder.
"But you're going to treat this call with the same seriousness you'd give if it was anyone else in this town. And you're going to stop acting like she deserves this because of her last name."
Sullivan looked at the floor. Mercer's face had gone carefully blank.
Grace's breath caught.
Luke turned back to her then, and the fury in his expression melted into something else. Something raw and unguarded.
"I'm not leaving you unprotected again,” he said. Softer now. Meant only for her. "Not until I know you're safe."
Grace stared at him.
This wasn't the man who'd parked around the corner. Who'd slipped out before dawn. Who'd treated her like a secret.
This was someone else entirely.
She just wish she knew what that meant.
"Okay," she whispered.