Chapter 2
Izzy jogged across the frost-brittle tarmac toward Tailwinds Café, her breath puffing white clouds in the December air.
Grease still clung under her fingernails despite her best efforts with the orange-scented degreaser, and the cold bit through her coveralls like tiny needles.
Behind her, the Pilatus engines whined to life, the sound both familiar and painful—another mission she'd watch from the ground.
Coffee. Breakfast burrito. Then home to relieve her mother before Luz tried to do something stubborn like tackle the laundry with her walker. The list kept her moving forward when all she wanted was to climb aboard that plane with her team.
The café's bell jingled cheerfully as she pushed through the door, warmth and the mingled scents of fresh coffee and bacon wrapping around her like a hug. She was already calculating—grab food, eat in the truck while driving, maximize time—when her gaze landed on the window table.
Chief Cory Fraser sat alone, uniform pristine as always, watching the runway through the glass with the focused intensity of a hawk. Their eyes met across the café, and Izzy's stomach did an unwelcome little flip that had nothing to do with hunger.
Of course he's here. Of course.
For half a second, she considered backing out the door.
But that would look weak, guilty, like she had something to hide.
Plus, José was already waving from behind the counter, his youthful face creasing into a genuine smile.
The former Marine had bought Tailwinds from Lauren Daggett when she'd expanded her DreamBurger empire, and he'd quickly become a fixture in the Knight Tactical family.
And not only because of his outstanding grub.
Izzy forced herself forward, deliberately not looking at Fraser's table. "Morning, José. The usual, please.
"Coming right up." José's smile was warm enough to thaw permafrost. "Eating in today?"
"Actually, make it to go. I need to—"
"She'll eat here."
The words cut through the café's comfortable chatter like a blade. Cory's voice carried that particular tone of authority that made Izzy's hackles rise instantly. Who did he think he was, deciding where she'd eat her breakfast?
José's eyes darted between them, his smile faltering as he sensed the sudden tension. The entire café seemed to pause, waiting.
Izzy weighed her options. She could cause a scene. But that would make waves, draw attention. She thought of Chantal, probably driving her mom to distraction with her boundless morning energy.
As often happened in her life, she imagined making headlines. Imagined Chantal’s deadbeat dad getting ideas…. Thoughts of custody hearings and legal complications and all the reasons she needed to stay off law enforcement's radar.
"Fine." The word came out through gritted teeth. "I'll eat here."
Cory gestured to the chair across from him, all business, like he was conducting an interview instead of ruining her morning. Izzy grabbed her coffee from José—who gave her a sympathetic look—and stalked over, dropping into the seat with perhaps more force than necessary.
Up close, she could see the faint lines around his eyes, the precise part in his Nordic-blond hair. Even hours into his shift, his uniform looked like it had just come from the dry cleaner.
Without preamble, he slid a printed photo across the table. Security footage, grainy but clear enough—a figure in dark clothing near Town Hall's entrance, face obscured by a hood, towing a schlubby-looking guy by the arm.
"Funny how our cameras malfunctioned right before Spike Jenks appeared gift-wrapped on our doorstep," he said, those ice-blue eyes never leaving her face.
Izzy took her time adding sugar to her coffee, stirring with deliberate slowness. "Maybe you should upgrade your system. I hear the new firmware patches are much more reliable."
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. "This isn't a game."
"No?" She met his gaze steadily. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like someone finally did your job for you. Spike Jenks has been selling to middle schoolers for months. Everyone knows it."
"Alleged dealer," Cory corrected, though something flickered in his expression—frustration, maybe. "And even if he were dealing—which hasn't been proven in court—vigilante justice isn’t the answer."
"Right." Izzy leaned back, cradling her coffee mug. "Due process. Rights. All those things that protect dealers while kids get hooked on whatever garbage they're pushing."
"The law exists for a reason—"
"Does it?" The words came out sharper than intended. "Because I've got a six-year-old daughter who'll be at that middle school in a few years, and I'd really like to know the system's going to protect her from people like Jenks."
Cory's expression shifted slightly, something almost human flickering through the professional mask. "So we should just let anyone who thinks they know better take justice into their own hands? Where does that end?"
"When the system fails?" Izzy set her mug down harder than necessary. "Maybe someone should."
She was getting too heated, too invested. This wasn't her fight—it was Axel's crusade, his way of dealing with whatever demons followed him home from Afghanistan. She needed to remember that.
José appeared with her burrito, setting it down with a concerned glance at both of them before retreating quickly. The interruption gave them both a moment to regroup.
Cory leaned back in his chair, studying her with those analytical eyes that probably saw too much. "Knight Tactical has been a good partner to this town. The Admiral, Jack Reese's team—we've worked together for years without incident."
The implication hung heavy between them: Until you and your crew showed up.
Izzy straightened her spine. "Knight Tactical has nothing to do with this."
"Really?" His tone suggested deep skepticism. "Because someone with serious technical skills hacked those cameras. The kind of skills your team is known for."
She met his gaze without flinching. "Knight Tactical is not involved in vigilante justice. We have no intention of being."
Technically true. The organization wasn't involved. What certain members did in their off-hours was another matter entirely.
Cory's voice dropped, quiet but intense. "I respect what you all do. But if I find evidence—real evidence—I will arrest whoever's responsible." He paused, letting that sink in. "Even if it means taking a parent away from their child. Even if I personally agree that Spike Jenks is scum."
The mention of Chantal hit like ice water down her spine.
Izzy's fingers tightened around her coffee mug as the reality crystallized—Axel's one-man crusade was escalating, pulling others in.
Kenji or Zara had clearly helped with the cameras.
How long before it went too far? Before someone got hurt or caught?
Through the window, the Pilatus had finished its taxi and turned onto the runway. The café rumbled as the engines spooled up for takeoff, conversation dying as everyone turned to watch. The aircraft began its roll, gathering speed with that particular grace that never got old.
Izzy spotted movement in one of the aft portholes—Axel's massive frame was unmistakable. As the plane screamed down the runway, Axel gave Chief Fraser a slow, deliberate wave.
Cory half-rose from his seat, face darkening, but it was too late. The Pilatus climbed into the morning sky.
Izzy hid her smirk behind her coffee mug, but worry gnawed at her gut. Axel was getting bolder, more reckless. This wasn't going to end well.
Cory turned back to her, jaw locked tight. "Obstruction of justice is a felony, Ms. Reyes."
"So is selling drugs to kids." Izzy stood, tossing money on the table for her barely touched burrito. "Maybe start with the guy zip-tied to your front door, amigo."
She grabbed her food and headed for the door, needing to escape before she said something else she'd regret.
But at the threshold, she paused, glancing back at his rigid posture, his perfect uniform, the way he held himself like the weight of the entire town's law and order rested on his shoulders alone.
If he wasn't so uptight, he might actually be a decent guy.
But he was, and that was that.
The December cold slapped her face as she stepped outside, but she welcomed it. She pulled out her phone as she walked to her truck, thumbing out a text to save in drafts: We need to talk about your side project when you get back.
Because she couldn't afford to get arrested. Couldn't afford to have Chantal visit her in jail. Couldn't afford to prove that Chief Starched Undies might be right about them.
The Pilatus was a speck in the distance now, carrying her found family toward whatever waited in Alaska. And here she stood, caught between loyalty to her team and protection of her daughter, between what was right and what was legal.
Some days, she really hated being the responsible one.