Chapter 7
Izzy white-knuckled the steering wheel as she navigated Hope Landing's tiny sliver of morning traffic, her mind churning through servo actuator specifications instead of focusing on the road.
The radio droned about weather patterns, but she switched it off with an irritated jab.
She couldn't stop replaying yesterday's inspection—every bolt torqued to spec, every connection secure, every surface cleaned and checked.
What did I miss?
Nothing. She'd missed nothing. Ten years of maintaining aircraft in the field under combat conditions. She knew the difference between thorough and perfect. Yesterday had been perfect.
Plus, no way she’d have her mother and Chantal in public alone while Andrew was in town.
Single motherhood meant priorities, even when helicopters were falling out of the sky.
She checked the rearview mirror—a new habit since Zara's text last night. No suspicious vehicles, no sign of Andrew's rental car. Just normal Hope Landing morning traffic and her own paranoia staring back at her.
The Knight Tactical hangar loomed ahead. Something in her chest loosened at the sight. Even empty, it felt like home. She punched in her access code and stepped into the familiar space, the scent of aviation fuel and gun oil wrapping around her like a security blanket.
She missed her team.
The hangar felt cavernous without Kenji's terrible jokes echoing off the walls, without Deke's steady presence in the briefing room, without Axel raiding his emergency snack drawer.
Even Zara's quiet typing would have been welcome.
They were somewhere in Alaska, digging clients out of snow, investigating whether an avalanche had been natural disaster or attempted murder.
Her phone buzzed as she reached the equipment lockers.
Ronan: Heard about Bozo showing up. You need us, we're there.
Izzy's throat went tight. She had to blink hard against the sudden sting in her eyes. Her team leader, probably exhausted from rescue operations, still checking on her.
Absolutely not crying in the equipment room, Reyes.
She couldn't burden them with her disaster of an ex-husband when they were dealing with life-or-death situations. Her fingers shook slightly as she typed back.
Clown is the right word for the guy. No worries. I got this.
Ronan: Never doubted it. Guy would be better off facing me and the boys than little old you Stay safe, Reyes.
She had to press her palm against her eyes for a moment. These people—her found family—had her back even from two thousand miles away. The emoji made her laugh. Ronan Quinn using emojis was like watching a bear attempt ballet, but he'd done it just to make her smile.
Pull it together, chica.
She focused on selecting her tools. Digital torque analyzer for checking if someone had tampered with connections after her inspection. Servo tester to diagnose the exact failure mode. Hydraulic pressure gauge because her gut said this was about fluid dynamics, not mechanical failure.
Each tool went into the reinforced case with reverent care. These instruments cost more than her truck, and they could tell stories that human senses missed. The investigators would have most of the same equipment, but she only trusted her own.
One more text to Zara:
Any update on A's location?
No immediate response. Probably knee-deep in Alaska's crisis.
She headed out with her tools, Ronan's "stay safe" echoing in her mind like a protection prayer.
The Mountain Angel hangar looked wrong from the moment she walked up. Yellow tape crossed the entrance like a crime scene. Official vehicles clustered around—Reed Osgood's mud-splattered truck, SBN's pristine Audi rental gleaming, and two unmarked sedans that screamed government oversight.
Her helicopter—because she thought of every craft she maintained as partially hers—sat inside like a patient awaiting surgery.
Another local aircraft gearhead, Danny Flores, stood guard at the entrance, and her heart sank at his expression. The misery on his weathered face told her everything before he opened his mouth.
"Can't let you in, Iz. I'm real sorry."
"Danny, come on." She hefted her tool case. "I've got equipment that could help—"
"That FAA guy, Osgood?" Danny shifted his feet, wouldn't meet her eyes. "He ordered it sealed. Said no one who worked on it gets access."
The words hit like physical blows. "That's ridiculous. I know this airframe better than anyone. I can tell them exactly—"
"I know, I know." Danny looked genuinely pained. "If it were up to me... but the brass are all over this. That woman from MedFlight, she's in there taking pictures of everything like it's a crime scene."
Through the window, Izzy could see them clustered around her helicopter. Reed Osgood pointing at something, the Barnes woman documenting with her phone, two other investigators she didn't recognize poking at access panels she'd secured just yesterday.
Strangers' hands on her work. The thought made her skin crawl.
Cory Fraser pulled up next to her and hustled out of his vehicle, looking like he'd stepped out of a uniform catalog. Even his boots gleamed.
Danny straightened immediately. "Morning, Chief. They're expecting you."
"Danny." Cory nodded, then his gaze found Izzy. Something flickered in those ice-blue eyes—surprise? Concern? He recovered quickly, all business.
Danny opened the door without hesitation. Because of course the police chief got access while the actual mechanic who knew every rivet, every wire, every potential failure point got locked out.
"If he can go in, I can help," Izzy stepped forward, pride overriding caution. "I know every system on that Bell. Every quirk, every—"
Cory turned to face her fully, and that analytical stare made her want to squirm. "That's the problem."
The words landed like a slap. "Excuse me? I've been maintaining aircraft since before you were writing parking tickets. I've never had a single safety violation, never had a craft go down because of a mechanical, never—"
"I don't believe you did anything wrong."
The quiet certainty in his voice stopped her mid-rant. She blinked, derailed. "Then why—"
"Because procedure is procedure. You worked on it. You can't investigate it. Conflict of interest." His tone gentled slightly. "You know I'm right, even if you hate it."
She did hate it. And she hated that he knew that even more. But somewhere beneath the fury, her logical brain acknowledged the truth. If their positions were reversed, she'd make the same call.
Inside, she could see the investigators examining the main rotor assembly. "They're wasting time on the rotor head," she said, unable to stop herself. "That's not what caused mushy controls."
She stepped closer, mechanic's pride winning over better judgment.
"Servo actuator response would present as gradual degradation, not rotor-based.
They should be checking the hydraulic boost system, specifically the fore-aft servo.
Classic symptoms of pressure loss in that system, not mechanical binding. "
She realized she was lecturing, saw Cory's expression shift to something unreadable. "But what do I know? I'm just the mechanic who—"
"Stop." His voice carried that particular tone of authority that made her bite back the rest. "Not. Your. Investigation."
He turned toward the door, and desperation made her call after him. "Will you at least let me know what they find?"
He paused but didn't turn around. The silence stretched long enough that she knew the answer before he disappeared inside. Danny wouldn't meet her eyes as the door closed with a decisive click.
The sound of her helicopter being dissected by strangers filtered through the windows.
Izzy stood in the alleyway, diagnostic case heavy in her hand, watching through the window as investigators swarmed HER work. Her phone buzzed.
Zara: A still at motel. Hasn't left room. Want backup?
She typed back:
Not yet. Thanks, Z.
The expensive diagnostic tools mocked her through the case's padding. Thousands of dollars of precision instruments, and she couldn't use them. Couldn't help. Couldn't prove what she knew in her bones—that helicopter had been perfect when it left her hands.
Her phone rang. Martha.
"Don't come to the hangar, honey. They've locked us all out."
"I know. I'm here." Izzy watched Reed Osgood point at something in the engine compartment, his body language screaming incompetence.
Martha's voice dropped. "This stinks. That helicopter was perfect."
"I know that too. Thanks for the warning, Martha."
“Keep your head up, girl. We’ll have the last laugh.”
She could only hope.
After Martha hung up, Izzy walked back to headquarters in a daze. When had her life become this telenovela?
For the first time since her team left for Alaska, she felt truly alone in this fight.
Stay safe, Reyes.
Ronan's words echoed in her mind. She hoped it was an unnecessary warning.