Page 48 of When the Smoke Clears

Ouch.

CHAPTER 12

LUKE

My knuckles tap against Isla’s door, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. From inside, a muffled groan echoes through the door, and it creaks open to reveal Isla, her hair a wild tangle that resembles a bird’s nest, and her eyes half-closed, still clinging to the remnants of sleep.

“Morning.”

She squints at me, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”

“6:20”

She yawns, a long, drawn-out exhale. “Are you going to work?”

Her voice is soft, rough from sleep, like gravel smoothed by rain. “I’m going in this morning for a few hours, but then I thought I’d take the afternoon off.”

She raises an eyebrow, a hint of defiance in her sleepy gaze. “Are you my babysitter now?”

I stifle a sigh. “I didn’t say that. I’m sure you have plenty to take care of at your mom’s house. I thought I could lend a hand.”

Isla’s expression shifts, her features softening as her shoulders relax. “That would actually be really helpful.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours. In the meantime, stay here.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. Sleep. Take a long shower. Whatever you want.”

Her eyes brighten. “That sounds nice.”

“See you later,” I say, turning in the direction of the front door. Just as I reach the end of the hall, her voice halts me.

“Luke?”

“Hmm?” I pause mid-step, turning back.

“Am I safe here?” Her voice carries a tremor, the first crack in the bravado she’s worn as a shield exposed. That question shouldn’t hurt, but it does. I’ve built my whole life around keeping people safe, yet hers is the only safety that ever mattered.

“Yes. I promise you.” My gaze meets hers, steady and sincere. “This cabin is safe. No one is going to hurt you.”

She nods, her shoulders relaxing.

The drive to work is a haze of empty roads, the kind of journey that renders your mind idle until you find yourself at your destination.

Upon arriving, I pull into my designated parking spot and cut the engine. The digital clock on the dashboard reads 6:45 AM, giving me some time before I meet with the mayor.

The urge to check the home perimeter cameras tugs at me. I hesitate, not wanting to breach Isla’s privacy. The cameras are only outside, so unless she’s taken up the practice of naked yoga, her privacy will remain intact.

I unlock my phone and open the surveillance app, scanning through the various camera feeds that cover every angle of my property. The screens flicker with images of dew-kissed grass and the sway of tree branches. The stillness of the scene reassures me.

Satisfied that all is well, I exit the app and pocket my phone. I push open the station doors, where the familiar scent of stale coffee greets me. I still have about an hour before the meeting, so I call Doc Stevenson to check in about our open cases.

He answers on the second ring.

“This is Doc.”

“Hey. It’s Luke. Just checking in. You got anything new for me?”