Chapter 23
"Coffee?" Cory appeared at her elbow with a fresh mug. Two sugars, no cream. Exactly how she liked it.
When had he learned that?
"Thanks." She accepted the warmth gratefully, trying not to read too much into the small gesture.
"I'm sending this to Zara," she said, attaching the image to an encrypted message. "She never sleeps anyway. Probably hacking something as we speak."
"At one in the morning?"
"Time zones are a social construct to Zara." Izzy hit send. "Plus, they're in Alaska. Different rules up there."
They sat in comfortable silence, both processing the night's discoveries. Brad Houzer, dead in his squalid cabin. Five thousand dollars in blood money he'd never get to spend. The prayer Cory had said over him still echoed in Izzy's mind—quiet, sincere, unexpected.
Her phone buzzed.
Ronan: Client's son tried to bribe Axel with Pokemon cards to teach him knife fighting.
A laugh escaped before she could stop it.
Axel: Kid offered me a holographic Charizard. I'm considering it.
"Oh no," she muttered, typing quickly.
DON'T corrupt the children.
Axel: Says the woman who taught Chantal to hotwire Power Wheels.
"That was educational." she protested to the phone.
"Do I want to know?" Cory asked, fighting a smile.
She showed him the exchange. "For the record, I only taught her the theory. And only because she asked how cars worked without keys."
"Naturally." His lips twitched. "Very educational."
Kenji: If it helps, Axel already taught him to make a shiv from a juice box.
Maya: No he didn't.
Kenji: But he WOULD.
The moment of levity felt good, necessary. A reminder that somewhere in Alaska, her team was safe, still themselves, still finding humor in the darkness.
Her laptop chimed. Video call from Zara.
"That was fast, even for her." Izzy accepted the call.
Zara's face filled the screen, clearly huddled in a tent, her breath visible in the cold. "Can't sleep when my girl's in trouble. Nice receipt, by the way. Very illuminating."
"Please tell me you found something useful."
"Oh, I found something interesting." Zara's fingers flew across her keyboard, screen sharing to show her results. "That five thousand dollar Visa card? Someone loaded it at a Reno convenience store, just like the receipt shows."
"We know that part—"
"But here's where it gets fun." Zara pulled up transaction records. "The day before, that same card received a payment of $4,562. Want to guess what for?"
Izzy leaned forward. "What?"
"An aviation technical manual on . Specifically, 'Advanced Servo Actuator Systems and Maintenance.' Retail price? Fifty bucks. Listed price from this particular third-party seller? $4,562."
"That's insane markup," Cory said, leaning over Izzy's shoulder to see better.
"That's money laundering," Zara corrected. "And here's the beautiful part—the manual was never shipped. Order was placed, payment processed, then mysteriously cancelled after the money cleared."
Izzy's brain worked through the implications. "So someone lists a fake manual for crazy money..."
"Buys it themselves with a prepaid card, takes their cut, rest gets deposited to the seller account.
Seller withdraws the clean money, loads it onto a fresh card with a little extra to make a round five thousand.
" Zara looked pleased with herself. "Classic washing technique. Small-time, but clever."
"Can you trace the seller account?" Cory asked.
"Already did. Fake name, fake address, IP address bounced through three VPNs."
“So we’ve got a dead end.” Izzy couldn’t help the dejection lacing her voice.
"Yeah, but we do know it's not MedFlight," Zara pointed out. "Big corporations don't need to launder five grand through . This is someone smaller. Someone who knows the system but isn't part of it."
"Someone local," Cory added. "Who knew about Izzy's jacket, knew Brad would be a weak link."
"I'll keep digging," Zara promised.
After they disconnected, Izzy slumped in her chair. Another piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit. Her eyes felt like sandpaper, and her brain was moving through molasses.
"We should sleep," Cory said, but made no move to leave.
"We should." She didn't move either.
His phone rang, startling them both. "My sister. It's one in the morning her time—"
She watched him stare at the phone for another ring, then saw something shift in his expression.
Without a word, he closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly.
His lips moved in what she recognized now as silent prayer—quick, maybe ten seconds, but focused.
Like he was centering himself, asking for guidance.
The gesture was so natural, so unpretentious, that something twisted in Izzy's chest. When was the last time she'd prayed? Really prayed, not just the desperate "please don't let me die" variety?
Cory opened his eyes and answered. "Rachel? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," a warm female voice replied as Cory switched to speaker. "I'm reviewing the custody filing you sent. Figured you'd be awake."
"I'm with Izzy," he said, glancing at her. "Okay if I put you on speaker?”
"Of course.”
He fumbled with his phone for a second before a younger, very pretty and very feminine version of Cory smiled at her. “Hi, Izzy. I'm Rachel, the sister who keeps Cory humble."
"Hi," Izzy managed, thrown by the easy warmth.
"So, I've gone through Andrew's filing. It's mostly smoke and mirrors. Lots of accusations without substance. But judges sometimes give fathers the benefit of the doubt, especially if the mother appears unstable."
"I'm not unstable," Izzy said automatically.
"I know that. But on paper? Suspended license, federal investigation, living with a man who isn't family—"
"That's protective custody."
"I know," Rachel soothed. "But opposing counsel will twist everything. We need character witnesses. Lots of them. People who can testify to your stability, your parenting, your community ties."
Cory was already making notes. "Pastor Dan would testify. The whole church would."
"Good. What about her employer?"
"My team's in Alaska," Izzy said. "But they'll be back in a few days. Admiral Knight and our second team, too."
"Did you say, ‘Admiral?’ That’s so perfect. Military folks carry weight with judges." Rachel paused. "Cory mentioned your mother is with your daughter?"
"Hidden. Safe." The words came out tight.
"Smart. Document everything. Every threat, every interaction with Andrew. Build a paper trail showing you're protecting her, not hiding her."
They talked for another twenty minutes, Rachel outlining strategy with the same precision Cory brought to crime scenes. Genetics, apparently. When she finally hung up with promises to file responses tomorrow, Izzy felt something she hadn't in days: hope.
"Your sister's doing this as a favor to you," she said quietly.
Cory looked up from his notes. "Of course. Family helps family."
The simple statement hit her unexpectedly. He considered her family. Her and Chantal both. Somewhere between that first antagonistic breakfast and tonight, they'd become his to protect.
"Thank you," she managed around the lump in her throat. Again.
"For what?"
"For..." She gestured helplessly. "All of it. Rachel. The prayer. Breaking rules. Everything."
He ducked his head, apparently fascinated by his notepad. "Anyone would—"
"No." She cut him off. "They wouldn't. You're a good man, Cory Fraser."
The words hung between them, too heavy for the late hour and their exhaustion. She stood abruptly, needing distance before she said something even more revealing.
"We should sleep. Actually sleep this time."
"Right." He stood too, gathering papers unnecessarily. "Big day tomorrow."
They walked down the hall toward their rooms, careful not to touch in the narrow space. At her door, Izzy paused, not quite ready to be alone with her thoughts.
"That thing you did," she said, not looking at him. "Before answering the phone."
She felt him go still behind her.
"The prayer thing." She turned, meeting his surprised gaze. "It was... nice. Natural. Like breathing for you."
"It is," he said simply. "Always has been."
"I used to pray." The admission surprised her. "Before. When things made sense. Haven't in a while."
"It's never too late to start again."
"Maybe." She opened her door, needing to escape before this conversation went deeper.
She closed the door and leaned against it, heart doing complicated things in her chest. Through the wall, she heard him moving in his own room, getting ready for bed. Such a domestic sound. Such a dangerous comfort.