Chapter 4
"You planning to marry that hydraulic line, or just date it exclusively?"
Martha's voice made Izzy roll out from under the helicopter.
The seventy-two-year-old mechanic stood above her, holding two cups of coffee and wearing her trademark smirk.
Martha had been one of the first female A&Ps in California, and she could still diagnose an engine problem faster than mechanics half her age.
"Just being thorough." Izzy accepted the coffee gratefully, sitting up on the creeper.
"Uh-huh." Bill wandered over from the fixed-wing he'd been inspecting. The former Navy pilot moved with the careful shuffle of someone whose knees had seen better decades. "That's the third time you've been thorough with that same line. What's eating you, kid?"
"Nothing. Just missing my team. They're in Alaska dealing with an avalanche situation."
Martha and Bill exchanged one of those looks that made Izzy feel like she was sixteen again, getting caught sneaking in after curfew.
"So..." Martha's tone shifted to something sly and dangerous. "Heard you had breakfast with Cory Fraser at Tailwinds this morning."
Izzy nearly dropped her coffee. "What? How did you—"
"Marge saw you two." Bill's grin widened. "Said it looked pretty cozy."
"Cozy?" Izzy sputtered, heat rising in her cheeks. "He practically arrested me for eating eggs. It was an interrogation, not a date."
"Mmm-hmm." Martha's eyes danced with mischief. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
"Besides," Izzy set her mug down with more force than necessary, "dating Cory Fraser would be like dating a parking meter—rigid, inflexible, and always demanding exact change."
Martha snorted. "Parking meters don't look that good in uniform."
"You're not helping." Izzy glared at him, but her traitorous mind conjured up the memory of Cory's broad shoulders, the way his uniform fit just right—
Her phone buzzed, saving her from further interrogation. She grabbed it eagerly, expecting an update from her team.
Ronan: Alaska is FREEZING. How's paradise?
She smiled, typing back quickly.
Paradise is great if you enjoy Axel's empty snack drawer mocking you.
Another text popped up before she could pocket her phone. Unknown number, but something about it made her stomach clench.
Can't wait to see MY daughter. See you soon
The world tilted.
Izzy's hand clenched around the phone so hard she thought the screen might crack. The hydraulic fluid smell suddenly turned nauseating, and she had to grab the helicopter's skid to keep from swaying.
Andrew.
MY daughter. Possessive. Threatening.
And that stupid emoji—he'd always thought he was so clever, so charming. The "see you soon" made her blood run cold. Was he already here? On his way?
"Honey, you just went white as a sheet." Martha touched her shoulder, voice shifting from teasing to concerned in an instant.
"Just... unexpected news." Izzy forced herself to breathe normally. "I need a minute."
She retreated to the break room, legs unsteady. Why now?
He'd seen Chantal exactly three times since abandoning them when their daughter was five months old. Never paid a dime of support. Never showed an ounce of interest in the beautiful, bright little girl who sometimes asked why she didn't have a daddy like other kids.
Izzy splashed cold water on her face, trying to think. She needed to get back out there before Martha organized a search party.
When she returned to the hangar, the volunteers had shifted into their favorite pastime—gossip disguised as shop talk.
"Tom Morrison's coming by again," Bill grumbled, wiping his hands on a rag. "Another 'routine' inspection."
Martha snorted. "Third one this year. Ever since those crashes started, he's been hovering like a worried hen."
"You hear MedFlight's been sniffing around?" Old Frank looked up from the engine manual he'd been studying. At seventy-eight, he still volunteered three days a week. "Offering to buy out the volunteer program. Say they want to 'modernize' operations."
"Like they modernized Bakersfield?" Bill's expression darkened. "Shut down the volunteer program, started charging five figures per flight?"
"Heard the hospital administrators have been getting threats," Martha added, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Anonymous calls. 'Accept the buyout or else' kind of thing."
"What kind of threats?" Izzy forced herself to engage, needing the distraction.
"Don't know exactly. Probably some corporate intimidation tactics." Frank shook his head. "In my day, business was done with handshakes, not threats."
The conversation felt distant, unimportant compared to the phone burning in her pocket. She kept checking it obsessively, as if Andrew might text again with details about his plan. Or maybe hoping he'd text "Just kidding" and disappear back to whatever Florida bar he'd crawled out of.
"Afternoon, folks." Tom Morrison's voice interrupted her spiral. The insurance adjuster stood in the doorway, his too-large puffy jacket wilting in the hangar's warmth. His wife Janet hovered behind him, clipboard in hand and lips pursed in their perpetual expression of mild disapproval.
"Just need to verify maintenance logs, check compliance," the insurance adjuster said, already looking overwhelmed by the task.
"Tom, you forgot to check the tail rotor logs last time," Janet said crisply, organizing papers with serious efficiency. "And the avionics certification expires next month. You'll need to note that."
"Right, right. Thank you, dear." Tom accepted the papers she handed him, clearly lost without her guidance.
Izzy mechanically provided the requested documentation, her responses on autopilot.
Tom asked questions, Janet rephrased them when he stumbled, and Izzy answered without really hearing any of it.
Her mind kept circling back to Andrew's text.
That possessive "MY daughter." The implied threat in "see you soon. "
"I need to use the restroom," she announced abruptly.
Once safely locked in the small bathroom, Izzy sat on the closed toilet lid and let her hands shake. She'd always been too independent, too proud to ask for help. Hadn't she proven she could handle single motherhood? Hadn't she built a life without anyone's help?
But this was different. This was about her daughter.
Her fingers moved across her phone screen before she could second-guess herself. She texted Zara, their cybersecurity expert. Z would do anything for Chantal. For Izzy, too.
Got a problem.
The response was immediate:
Zara: Just landed in Vancouver for fuel. What can I do?
Tears pricked Izzy's eyes. No questions about why she was bothering them mid-mission. No hesitation. Just immediate readiness to help.
It's my ex. Just got this...
She screenshotted Andrew's text and sent it.
Can u locate him?
Zara: In a heartbeat. On it.
Izzy pressed her palms against her eyes, overwhelmed by the reminder that she wasn't alone anymore. She had a team. A family that had chosen her.
When she finally emerged, Tom was still fumbling through his inspection. The volunteers had gone back to discussing MedFlight's aggressive expansion tactics, but Izzy couldn't focus on any of it.
Her mind spun through possibilities. Andrew had never wanted Chantal—not when she was born, not during the divorce, not in the six years since. So why the sudden interest? Why the possessive language?
Was someone paying him? Using him? Or had he found some angle to work, some way to hurt her that he hadn't thought of before?
"You sure you're okay, honey?" Martha appeared at her elbow as Tom and Janet finally prepared to leave.
"I will be." Izzy managed a weak smile. "I've got backup this time."
But inside, cold fear continued to grow. Andrew knew exactly how to hurt her—he'd had plenty of practice during their brief, disastrous marriage. And he'd always been vindictive when he didn't get his way.
She stared at her phone, willing Zara to work miracles. She needed to know where Andrew was before he got anywhere near Chantal. Because whatever he wanted, it wouldn't be good.