Chapter 16
Riding shotgun in Cory's patrol vehicle felt like wearing someone else's shoes—functional but wrong. Everything in the SUV screamed "regulation," from the perfectly aligned equipment to the complete absence of goldfish cracker crumbs. Even the cup holders were pristine.
Who had perfect cup holders?
Izzy shifted in the passenger seat, trying not to think about tonight. Both of them. At Knight Tactical. Living in the same space.
"You're thinking too loud," Cory said, taking the turn toward the airport.
"Just appreciating your... organizational skills." She gestured at the spotless interior. "Do you detail this thing hourly or just daily?"
"Funny." But his lips twitched. "Your vehicle was nice. Before it exploded."
The words hit like a physical blow as they passed the spot. Even from the access road, she could see the scorch marks on the asphalt—a black starburst where her beautiful SUV had died. The pavement was warped, melted in places. They'd cleared the debris, but the scar remained.
Her throat went tight. That vehicle had been her pride and joy. Saved for two years to buy it outright. No payments, no debt, just hers. The first really nice thing she'd bought herself since—
"Insurance will cover it," Cory said quietly, reading her face with annoying accuracy. "Graceline already drew up the preliminary report. Attempted murder, destruction of property, domestic terrorism charges. Your insurance company won't dare lowball you."
She had to clear her throat twice before words would come. "Thank you."
"Full replacement value plus. Given the circumstances." He kept his eyes on the road, giving her a moment to pull herself together. "Graceline's good at that stuff. Used to work insurance fraud before she came to us."
"Handy." The word came out steadier. She could do this. Focus on the case, not the crater where her independence used to park.
"That scorch pattern," she said, forcing her brain into analytical mode. "Tiny blast radius. Whoever planted the IED completely underestimated the explosive force needed."
"Should've killed you instantly." His hands tightened on the wheel. "Instead it barely took out your vehicle."
"Amateur hour." Dark humor, her forever coping mechanism.
"Probably thought a little C4 goes a long way.
Shaped it wrong too—most of the blast went sideways instead of up through the floorboard.
" She laughed, not in a funny way. "Great.
I'm being hunted by someone who probably googled 'how to build car bomb' and followed the first result.
" She straightened in her seat as the FAA hangar came into view.
"Though I guess I should thank him for flunking chemistry. If he'd used the right amount—"
"We'd both be dead." The words came out harsh.
She glanced at him. "A good thing you saw that wire."
A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Almost wasn't fast enough."
She wanted to say something—thank him again, maybe, or make another joke to ease the tension crackling between them. But the words stuck in her throat. They both knew how close it had been. How different this morning would've looked if he'd been even one second slower.
"But you were fast enough," she said finally, voice steady. "That's what counts."
He nodded once, sharp, and she knew that was all they'd say about it. For now.
He slowed as they hit the alleyway between the hangars. Official vehicles clustered around the taped off entry to Mountain Angel’s hangar—government plates, rental cars, and one suspiciously pristine Audi that made Izzy’s shoulders tense.
"Ugh," she muttered.
"Play nice," Cory warned.
"I can do that." At his skeptical look, she amended, "I know how to fake playing nice. Kind of."
"Close enough."
Danny Flores stood guard again, but his misery lifted when he spotted Cory's vehicle. "Chief. Ms. Reyes. You're cleared to enter.”
The words hit differently than yesterday's rejection. Having the law on her side felt strange but good. She walked through those doors like she belonged there—because she did, whether Reed Osgood liked it or not.
Speaking of Reed, his face when he spotted her was pure vinegar. "Ms. Reyes shouldn't be—"
"She's consulting at my request." Cory's tone brooked no argument. "Problem?"
Reed's mouth worked like a fish out of water, but movement behind him caught Izzy's attention. Sloane Barnes-Nakamura stood near the damaged Cessna, designer athleisure wear impeccable, phone held up like she was documenting everything.
"What's she doing here?" Izzy didn't bother hiding her suspicion.
Reed straightened defensively. "MedFlight has graciously offered their forensic services if needed. Professional courtesy in the air medical community."
Yeah, I'll bet.
SBN's shark smile appeared as she approached. "Ms. Reyes. Chief Fraser. We're all in this together, aren't we? Such a tragedy for Mountain Angel."
Why did the woman's sympathetic tone make Izzy want to smash something? A perfectly made-up nose, maybe?
Danny hovered near the door, clearly uncomfortable with the tension. But Izzy's attention caught on another figure—a skinny mechanic lurking near the Cessna's engine compartment. Something familiar about him nagged at her. Airport rat, maybe? She'd seen him around, but couldn't place him exactly.
What she could place was the way he wouldn't meet her eyes. How he kept edging toward the damaged servo assembly like a moth to flame. Her instincts, honed by years of reading hostile intent in foreign countries, screamed warnings.
She caught Cory's eye. He gave a subtle nod—he'd noticed too. Good. At least her new "partner" had solid instincts.
"Let's look at the servo assembly," she said, pulling on nitrile gloves.
"Chain of custody?" Reed practically shrieked. "You can't just—"
"I'm documenting the failure pattern." She kept her voice level. "Unless you'd prefer to wait for the FBI and explain why you prevented a qualified expert from examining evidence?"
Cory stepped in, trying to bridge the gap. "She needs to follow proper procedure, but she also needs to identify what caused this. Reed, you document while she examines. Maintain the chain."
The delicate dance of working together. He was trying, she'd give him that. Even if every instinct told her to just pocket the evidence and analyze it properly back at the shop.
The servo assembly told its story in bent metal and tool marks.
Same failure as the helicopter—deliberate sabotage.
But this time she could see the pattern clearly.
Specific angles, particular pressure points.
Someone who knew exactly where to compromise the system for maximum catastrophic failure with minimum evidence.
But more than that, something about the technique itself niggled at her. Like a familiar face in a crowd—she knew she'd seen this before but couldn't quite place where. The specific angles chosen, the way the saboteur had concealed their work...
"Find something interesting?" SBN had materialized at her shoulder, leaning in too close.
"Just confirming the failure point." Izzy kept her voice neutral while her thoughts churned. The skinny mechanic was definitely sweating now, edging toward the exit.
Reed's phone chimed. He checked it with the expression of a kid on Christmas morning. "FBI will be here within the hour. This investigation will transition to federal jurisdiction." He could barely contain his glee at kicking them out.
SBN's disappointment flashed across her face before she smoothed it away. She'd wanted more time to snoop, clearly.
Cory's phone buzzed. He answered, face carefully neutral as he listened. "Understood, sir. Yes, sir."
He disconnected with the expression of someone swallowing something sour. "Hope Landing PD is officially off the case."
"And Ms. Reyes' consulting services are no longer required," Reed added with satisfaction.
Izzy shrugged. She'd expected this. But she'd gotten what she came for—that specific pattern, the angle of sabotage. Something about it screamed familiarity, like a word on the tip of her tongue.
Cory read her face with surprising accuracy. "What did you find?"
She gave a subtle head shake. Not here. Too many ears, too many eyes.
His frustration showed, but he controlled it. "We should go update the reports."
Code received.
"Right,” she responded. “Reports. My headquarters. Now."
The skinny mechanic tried to fade into the background as they prepared to leave. Izzy made sure to snap a few final photos "for her records," carefully framing him in several shots. If her instincts were right, she'd want his face later.
Danny looked apologetic as they passed. "Sorry about all this, Iz," he whispered.
She patted his shoulder. Not his fault he'd drawn guard duty for the vultures.
The moment they were outside, Cory turned to her. "Spill."
"Not yet. Need to check something first."
"Where?"
"At headquarters." The words landed between them like a lead weight.
Knight Tactical headquarters. Where they'd both be staying. Tonight. And for the foreseeable future.
Oh. Wow.
Living at headquarters was no big thing. Living there with Cory Fraser, Mr. Regulation himself, was another. He probably expected color-coded schedules. Socks sorted by day of the week.
Did he iron his socks? He probably ironed his socks.
"Home sweet home," he said as Knight Tactical came into view.
Was that... humor? From Chief Perfect Uniform?
"Try not to arrest my coffee maker," she said. "It's not regulation, but it makes good coffee."
"No promises."
Okay. Maybe they could do this. Maybe sharing space with Captain Organization wouldn't be a complete disaster. They were both professionals. Both focused on finding who was sabotaging aircraft. They could coexist for a few days without killing each other.
Probably.
But as they rounded the corner to the Knight Tactical hangar, that servo pattern nagged at her. She knew she'd seen it before. The specific angle, the pressure points chosen, the way the saboteur had hidden their work...
She just had to remember where.