Chapter 11
Cory watched Izzy disappear around the corner toward the imposing Knight Tactical hangars, noting how she checked her surroundings every few seconds. Andrew had her spooked, and for good reason.
He wished there was more he could do, but at the moment, he had his own problems.
The FAA hangar hummed with activity. Investigators clustered around a laptop balanced on a maintenance cart, their voices carrying that particular tone of people who thought they'd found their smoking gun.
"Chief, you need to see this." Reed Osgood straightened from the screen. "We pulled security footage from last night."
Tom Morrison stood to the side, frowning. His wife hovered at his elbow with a legal pad, already covered in her tidy handwriting. Two other investigators Cory didn't recognize made room for him at the laptop.
He positioned himself where he could see everyone's faces as well as the screen. "What am I looking at?"
"Evidence." Reed clicked play with the satisfaction of a man about to close a case. "Watch this. Someone had a key card. Knew exactly where to go."
The footage was grainy but clear enough. Timestamp in the corner read 20:17. The camera angle showed the side entrance to the hangar, with a partial view of the helicopter beyond.
A figure entered the frame, moving with purpose. Small build, wearing a distinctive dark jacket.
"That's Izzy Reyes' jacket." Reed's voice carried triumph. "Everyone knows that jacket."
Cory leaned closer. The jacket's back showed custom embroidery—"FIRECRACKER" in flame-styled letters, with smaller text reading "Mountain Angel Air Med Evac" underneath. Even in the poor light, the orange and red threads caught the camera.
"Martha had it made special," Reed continued. "Some joke about Izzy being small but explosive. I've seen her wear it dozens of times."
"Me, too," Janet added, her pen tapping against her notepad. "Very distinctive."
Tom squinted at the screen. "Are we saying the Reyes woman...?"
"Just watch," Reed said.
The figure approached the helicopter without hesitation, went straight to a specific panel. No fumbling, no searching. They opened it with practiced ease and worked for approximately six minutes. Then came the moment that made Cory's instincts scream.
The figure turned, almost posing for the camera, but stopping just before actually revealing their face.
"Build's right," Reed narrated like he was presenting to a jury. "She's what, five-four? This person's about that height."
"Run it again," Cory said. "Watch how they move."
Reed sighed but complied. This time, Cory focused on the gait, the shoulder set, the way the figure held their arms. Something was off. The movements were too deliberate, too measured. Like someone trying to walk a certain way rather than their natural stride.
"Freeze it there, when they turn."
The image stopped. Cory studied it, pieces clicking into place. The jacket pulled across the shoulders, bunched at the waist. The sleeves seemed to bind at the arms.
"This person's bigger than Izzy," he said carefully. "Look how the jacket fits."
"People layer up in winter," Reed countered. "She could be wearing something bulky underneath."
But Cory had seen Izzy in that jacket just last week at the volunteer appreciation dinner. It fit her perfectly, like it was made for her—which it was. This person filled it out wrong, shoulders too broad, arms too thick.
"This was at 20:17 last night?" Cory kept his voice neutral.
"Security system is synced. Timestamp's accurate." Reed crossed his arms, clearly not liking the questions.
Cory had driven past the church around 2030 on his way home from the department. The parking lot had been packed—Christmas pageant practice. He specifically remembered seeing Izzy's truck there because of the Knight Tactical decal.
"Half the town was at that pageant practice," he said.
Janet's pen stopped tapping. "Not everyone. Some people clearly had other priorities."
"How'd they get the jacket?" Cory pressed on, ignoring her implication.
"Mountain Angel volunteer room. No locks, just hooks. Anyone could grab it." Reed pulled up another window, showing a still image of the volunteer room. "But you'd need hangar access to get there in the first place."
"How many people have access?"
"All the volunteers, staff, maintenance crews..." Reed trailed off, apparently realizing the list was longer than he'd like for his neat theory.
Cory stepped back, mind racing. Andrew could have hit town yesterday. Earlier, even.
But the guy was six feet tall with broad shoulders. No way he'd fit in Izzy's jacket, much less pass for her on camera.
Which meant if Andrew was involved, he wasn't alone.
"Seems pretty clear-cut to me," Reed said. "We should bring her in."
The other investigators muttered agreement. Phrases like "inside job" and "who else would know" drifted through the group.
Cory couldn't defend her without evidence, but every instinct said this was wrong. Too convenient. Too obvious.
Was it an amateur frame job or deliberately sloppy?
"We need more than one angle," Cory said. "Let me check other cameras, verify the timeline."
"We have probable cause," Reed pushed. "Her jacket, her maintenance schedule—"
"You’re an investigator, not law enforcement, Reed." Cory used his chief voice, the one that didn't invite argument. "We do this right, or a lawyer tears it apart later."
Reed clearly wanted to argue but knew better than to buck the local police chief. "Fine. The FBI’ll bring her in as soon as they hit town."
The man might not be wrong.
Cory stepped outside, needing air and space to think. The pieces swirled in his mind like a puzzle dumped from its box.
The key facts flitted through his brain. They were looking for someone with aviation knowledge—the saboteur knew exactly which part to tamper with.
They had hangar access, and enough knowledge of Mountain Angel schedules to know when they could work uninterrupted.
He couldn't approach Izzy officially. That would require either arresting her or warning her she was under investigation, both of which would compromise the case. But he couldn't let her walk into this blind either.
Which left unofficial contact. He could feel her out, see how she reacted. If his instincts were wrong about her innocence...
But his gut said she didn't do this. Someone wanted her to burn for it, and they'd set up the perfect pyre. Almost.
He headed for his cruiser, already planning his approach. Find Izzy, warn her carefully, watch her reaction. Because someone was playing a deeper game here, and Izzy was just the first piece being moved.
The question was whether he could figure out the player before they made their next move.