There was the sound of running water and then the flapping of a dish towel. “Why do you want to know.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“I didn’t think it was. And I don’t know where he is.”

“You’re lying.”

There was a heartbeat of a pause, during which Isaac squeezed his eyes shut and counted the ways in which he was an asshole. For shit’s sake, he’d brought a wrecking ball into the woman’s life, crashing through her relationships both personal and professional, creating chaos everywhere—

Footsteps. Hard and sharp. A man’s. “You tell me where he is!”

“Let go of me—”

Before he knew he was blowing his cover, Isaac burst out of hiding, throwing the door wide. It took him three leaping steps to get to the pair of them and then he was all over Grier’s pops, swinging the man around and shoving him face-first up against the refrigerator. Palming the back of the guy’s head, he pushed that patrician piehole into the stainless steel so hard, good ol’ Mr. Childe’s panting breath left little clouds of condensation on the panel.

“I’m right here,” Isaac growled. “And I’m a little twitchy at the moment. So how about you don’t handle your daughter like that again, and I’ll consider not opening the freezer section with your face.”

He expected Grier to pull a let-him-go, but she did no such thing. She just took a box of Band-Aids out from under the sink and fiddled around choosing the right size.

Her father heaved a deep breath. “Get away . . . from my daughter.”

“He’s just fine where he is,” she answered, as she wrapped a strip around her index finger. Then she put the box away and crossed her arms over her chest. “You, however, can leave.”

Isaac briefly frisked her father’s fancy-ass sweater and superpressed pants, and when he didn’t find a weapon, he stepped away, but stayed close. He had a feeling the guy had gotten physical because he was scared to death and about to crack—but no one handled Isaac’s woman like that. Period—

Not that Grier was his woman. Of course not.

Damn it.

“You know you’re giving her a death sentence,” Childe said, his eyes boring into Isaac’s. “You know what he’s capable of. He owns you and he’ll mow down whoever he has to in order to get to you.”

“Nobody owns anybody,” Grier cut in. “And—”

Mr. Childe didn’t spare his daughter a glance as he cut her off. “Give yourself up, Rothe—it’s the only way to be sure he doesn’t hurt her.”

“That man’s not going to do anything to me—”

Childe wheeled around on Grier. “He already killed your brother!”