Chapter 30
Back at the airstrip, Izzy watched Reed struggle into his sedan, favoring his bandaged arm.
"You sure about this?" she asked through his window.
"I need..." Reed's hands gripped the steering wheel. "I just need to get home to Robyn. I'll be right behind you."
The first thirty minutes passed in tense silence. Izzy kept checking the side mirror, watching Reed's white sedan maintain a steady distance behind them. Cory drove with the focused attention of someone processing too many thoughts at once.
Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore.
"So we're really not reporting this." Not a question.
His jaw tightened. "No. We're not."
"The Hope Landing police chief is officially not reporting a shooting." She let that sink in. "You took evidence from a crime scene. Failed to notify local law enforcement. That's your career if anyone finds out."
"I know."
"Do you?" She shifted to face him more fully. "Because a couple days ago, you were lecturing me about chain of custody and proper procedures. Now you're pocketing evidence and walking away from attempted murder scenes."
His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "A couple days ago, no one had tried to blow you up or force your mother and daughter into hiding."
The words hit harder than expected. "So you're doing this for us?"
"I'm doing this because the system's failing." His voice carried an edge she hadn't heard before. "The FBI's more interested in building a case against you than finding who's really behind this. Local law enforcement would just muddy the waters. We don't have time for bureaucracy."
"Listen to you. Cory Fraser, rebel without a badge."
"Don't." But she caught the slight loosening around his eyes. "I'm still law enforcement. This is... tactical flexibility."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
They drove another few miles before he spoke again. "That pencil bothers me."
"Mechanical pencils aren't exactly rare."
"No, but..." He drummed his fingers on the wheel.
"Could have fallen out of someone's pocket," Izzy mused. "When you're shooting from inside a vehicle, you're twisting, bracing against the window. Things fall out."
"Someone who carries mechanical pencils. Someone who was nervous enough to drop it, careless enough not to notice." Cory checked the mirror, confirming Reed was still with them. "Not a professional."
"That whole scene screamed amateur," Izzy agreed. "Ten shots with no real pattern. Any decent marksman would have..." She stopped, the reality of it hitting fresh. They'd been targets. Someone had pointed a rifle at them and pulled the trigger ten times.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." She wasn't, not really, but that was irrelevant. "Just thinking. Whoever did this knew where we'd be. Or at least knew where Reed would be."
"Gotta have been following Reed. No one except your team knew we were on him."
Exactly what she was thinking, but it felt good to have confirmation. Reed was the likely target. She pulled out her phone, texted Zara for the dozenth time. Still no response—probably out of cell range in Alaska.
The landscape changed gradually, desert giving way to scrub pine, then proper forest. The sun angled low, painting everything golden. In the mirror, Reed's sedan continued its steady pace, a loyal shadow.
"He's hanging in there," Cory observed.
"Adrenaline and stubbornness." Izzy knew the combination well. "He'll crash hard once he gets home."
"His wife's going to have questions about that bandage."
"His wife's going to have questions about a lot of things." She thought about Reed's shattered expression, the way he'd talked about his daughter's death. Twenty million in blood money that couldn't buy him peace. "You think he's involved?"
"I think he's a broken man who made mistakes." Cory's profile was sharp against the fading light. "Whether those mistakes included taking bribes..."
"He seemed genuinely shocked by the shooting."
"Fear's hard to fake." Cory was quiet for a moment. "But desperate people do desperate things. Maybe he knew more than he told us. Maybe that's why someone wanted him silenced."
They climbed into the mountains proper now, the temperature dropping with elevation. Hope Landing was still an hour away, but Izzy already felt the pull of it. Somewhere in that town, someone had tried to kill them. Someone who knew their movements, their plans.
Her phone buzzed. Finally, a text from Zara:
Got your messages. Digging into anyone who could have known your location. You safe?
She typed back quickly:
Safe. Long story. Need deep dive on mechanical pencil users in our suspect pool.
Zara: Mechanical pencils? As in those retro things people stuff in pocket protectors?
Will explain later.
Cory glanced over. "Your team?"
"Zara. She'll dig into anyone who might use technical pencils."
"Thank you," she said suddenly, for the millionth time, it felt like.
"For what?"
"For choosing us over your rules." The words felt inadequate. "I know what that costs you."
He was quiet long enough that she thought he wouldn't answer. Then: "Some things matter more than rules."
"Like what?"
"Like keeping you alive. Getting your daughter home for her pageant." His hands shifted on the wheel. "Like stopping whoever's doing this before they destroy more lives."
The simplicity of it, the certainty, made her throat tight. When had anyone besides her team ever put her first like that? When had anyone been willing to risk so much?
"Cory—"
His phone rang, cutting off whatever foolish thing she'd been about to say. Rachel's name on the screen.
Cory answered through the car’s stereo. “Yo, Rach… you’re on speaker. I’m here with Izzy.”
Rachel's warm voice filled the car. "Good news.
I've got character witnesses lined up for the custody hearing.
Pastor Dan, your supervisor at Knight Tactical, and—this is the best part—a child psychologist who's going to testify about the trauma of separating a child from their primary caregiver during times of crisis. "
"That's amazing," Izzy breathed.
"You’re welcome. I'll keep pushing. How's everything else?"
"Complicated," Cory answered for both of them. "But we're handling it."
After they disconnected, Izzy let her head fall back against the seat. Four days until Chantal’s pageant. And all they had to do was unmask a conspiracy, stop a killer, and get her daughter home.
"We're going to make it," Cory said quietly, reading her thoughts.
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that steady certainty. But all she could think about was mechanical pencil leads scattered in the desert dirt and someone out there with a rifle, willing to kill to keep their secrets.
Behind them, Reed's sedan continued its faithful pace, carrying a broken man home to a wife who'd already lost too much. Ahead, Hope Landing waited with all its hidden dangers.
Four days.
The clock in her head kept ticking.