Kellan sank his shoulders beneath his RFD hoodie, blocking out the early October chill as he surveyed the front of Isabella’s tidy, three-story apartment building along with the two on either side of it. Evening sunlight still illuminated the city block, although the collection of evenly placed streetlights would take over the job in less than an hour. The handful of people crossing the leaf-covered sidewalk looked friendly and perfectly in-place as they walked their dogs or strolled by, and after his second three-sixty, Isabella cleared her throat from beside him.
“You do realize this is completely unnecessary,” she argued—albeit lightly—for the thousandth time.
And for the thousandth time, Kellan argued right back. “Look, you can blame my lieutenant for this. But if I have to check in with him every twelve hours as a just-in-case, then you can put up with me doing a little look-see while I walk you to your door.”
“A little look-see?” Isabella’s caramel-colored brows lifted in challenge, and okay, she might have him there.
Too bad for her, the last ten years had honed his ability to field a raft of shit like a consummate pro. “Suck it up, buttercup. I like you. I’m not going to apologize for wanting to make sure you get into your apartment safe and sound.”
Although he’d intended the words as a tease, Kellan couldn’t help but realize how much truth hid behind them, too. Yes, the sex had once again been mind-blowing, and he and Isabella were clearly compatible between the sheets. But then she’d opened up about Angel and getting taken off this case, trusting him enough to let him in, then spend an entire day with him besides, and damn it, Kellan couldn’t deny what was right in front of him.
He did like her.
Which would be dangerous, except for the fact that right now, in this moment, it felt too fucking good to scare him.
“Fine.” Isabella’s throaty voice brought him back to reality with a sexy snap. She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, a tiny smile shaping her mouth as she turned and started to move over the sidewalk. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you insist on checking under my bed, you’re going to find a legion of dust bunnies. They may or may not be friendly.”
“You’re a badass,” he said, falling into step beside her and nudging her shoulder with his. “I’m willing to bet you can take the dust bunnies.”
“You’re lucky I like you, too. Otherwise I’d make you fend for yourself,” Isabella quipped back. She pulled her key ring from her jacket pocket, unlocking the main door to the building and holding it wide to usher him over the threshold. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”
Kellan scanned the tiled, hallway-style lobby, and nice, there were two—make that three surveillance cameras in place. “Not bad security,” he said, jutting his chin at the acrylic dome anchored to the ceiling by the bank of metal mailboxes lining the main corridor.
She nodded. “The feeds aren’t monitored live, but the cameras are a nice deterrent. We haven’t had so much as a purse-snatching since they were installed a couple of years ago.” She pressed the up button, stepping onto the elevator when the doors opened a few seconds later.
Kellan followed, and as much as he knew his segue to the next topic might tempt her to clam up, he also knew he couldn’t dodge it. “Are you going to be okay, not working on this case?”
Isabella’s shoulders tensed around her neck. Still, she answered. “I don’t know. The most important thing is that DuPree gets caught. But this is personal. My c—”
Her lashes fanned wide for just a breath before her eyes dropped to the thin carpet covering the elevator floor, and Christ, the sadness on her face was enough to gut him.
“Hey.” Kellan stepped in, hooking a finger beneath her chin. “I know you feel responsible for Angel. Your team will get DuPree, Moreno.”
By the time Isabella lifted her gaze back to his, she’d nailed her guard back into place. “I know,” she said, her smile as small as it was brief. Before he could answer—or call her out on her answer—the elevator bumped to a stop, the doors sliding open at the third floor. He and Isabella moved down the hall, the jingle of her keys breaking the silence as she flipped them against her palm.
“This is me,” she said, stopping in front of a glossy black door labeled with a brass plaque reading 311. The hallway looked as bright and well-kept as the rest of the building, the door solid and undisturbed, and Kellan’s muscles loosened with ease.
Right up until Isabella turned her key in the lock, and the deadbolt didn’t click.
She whipped her hand from the door just as a shot of adrenaline punched through Kellan’s chest. “I always lock it,” she whispered, bending down noiselessly to liberate the Glock 43 from the ankle holster beneath the cuff of her jeans.
Fuck. He reached beneath his hoodie for the holster at his side, pulling out the SIG Sauer P229 he’d been licensed to carry ever since he’d been discharged from the Army. Sending one last split-second gaze over the hallway, Kellan double-checked to be sure the space was empty of either potential threats or friendlies who could get hurt.
“You’re clear,” he whispered.
She nodded, one hard dip of her chin. “My kitchen is at three o’clock, and there’s a breakfast nook next to it. Clear that space while I check the bedroom on the other side. You copy?”