“Or I need to know right now whether this danger is real enough that your daughter could be involved.”
Luke looked at her for one long second.
Then he answered with brutal honesty.
“Yes.”
That was enough.
Autumn nodded once.
“Then we go.”
Luke stared, as if he hadn’t expected her to say it that easily.
“You don’t have to.”
She gave him a level look.
“I already walked through a blizzard for you. At this point, I’d like a return on the effort.”
Even Lena almost smiled at that.
Luke didn’t smile.
But his eyes did something close.
“We take my truck,” he said.
Lena shook her head.
“They’ll expect that.”
“So what do you suggest?”
She held out a key fob.
“The hostess’s car.”
Autumn blinked.
“You stole the hostess’s car?”
“I borrowed it for national disappointment prevention.”
“That is not a real phrase,” Autumn said.
“It is tonight.”
Despite everything, Luke huffed out a breath that sounded dangerously close to laughter.
Then he looked at Autumn.
This time, when he spoke, his voice was lower.
More personal.
“If you come with me now, you need to understand something. I can keep you close, or I can keep you comfortable. I probably can’t do both tonight.”
Autumn met his gaze without flinching.
“Then stop worrying about comfort.”
Something in his expression shifted at that.
Something protective and deeply male and almost too intense to name.
He took one step closer.
Snow landed in her lashes.
His voice dropped further.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
They stood there for a second that felt too intimate for the amount of danger surrounding it.
Then Luke opened the passenger door of the borrowed car.
Autumn slid in.
Lena bent toward the window.
“There’s one more thing,” she said.
Luke looked at her sharply.
“What?”
Lena’s gaze moved to Autumn.
“The gift.”
Autumn looked down at the crushed package she still carried.
“What about it?”
Lena’s voice turned grim.
“It’s not from you, is it?”
Autumn frowned.
“No.”
Luke’s head snapped toward her.
“You brought a gift to a blind date that isn’t from you?”
“It was delivered to my office this afternoon,” she said. “There was a note with your name on it.”
Luke’s blood ran cold.
“Open it,” Lena said.
“Here?” Autumn asked.
“Now.”
Luke crouched beside the car as Autumn slowly peeled back the damaged wrapping.
Inside was a small wooden music box.
No card.
No inscription.
Just the box.
Autumn lifted the lid.
A soft, tinny melody began to play.
Luke’s face drained of color.
“What?” Autumn whispered.
He stared at the turning mechanism as if the past itself had just reached through snow and glass and Christmas lights to touch his throat.
“That song,” he said.
Lena shut her eyes briefly.
Luke looked at Autumn.
His voice was barely above a whisper now.
“My wife used to sing that to our daughter.”
Autumn went completely still.
Snow kept falling.
The engine idled.
And in the middle of the storm, with the music box trembling in her hands, she realized this night had never been random at all.