Chapter 32
Saturday morning arrived too bright and too early.
Izzy stood at the kitchen counter, mainlining her third cup of coffee while watching Wilson's associate—a compact woman who moved like a ghost—guide Reed to an armored SUV tucked into the hangar between Cory’s personal vehicle and the team’s Eurocopter.
Reed’s truck had been pulled up next to Cory’s where it would remain, already swept for trackers, until it was safe for the injured man to return for it.
Reed paused at the vehicle door, looking back up at them. Even from here, she could see the fear in his eyes. Not for himself, but for what he'd set in motion by talking.
"He'll be safe," Cory said beside her, voice rough from too little sleep.
"Yeah." At a nod from the woman, she hit the button to raise the hangar door, shutting it immediately after the vehicle backed out. "One problem down, fifty to go."
They'd been up past 2200 reviewing Zara's research on the spa, studying approaches, timing everything to the minute. Now, standing in the morning light with an illegal tracker weighing heavy in her pocket, the whole plan felt insane.
"We don't have to do this," Cory said, reading her hesitation.
She almost laughed. "Yes, we do. Someone I trust is selling us out. Martha, Bill, Danny..." The names of her Mountain Angel family stuck in her throat. "I need to know who."
"Then we go." He checked his weapon. "But we do it smart."
She reached for the small tactical case on the counter. "Here. Standard Knight Tactical comms." She handed him a nearly invisible earbud. "Secure channel, encrypted. Tap once to activate, twice to mute."
Cory examined the tiny device. "Range?"
"Farther than we’ll need.”
Earbud halfway to his sculpted jaw, he pulled a face. “Are you saying it’s classified?”
“Worse.” She grinned. “Zara-fied. She’d kill me if I gave away her secrets.”
She fitted her own, the familiar weight barely noticeable after years of use. "Channel's already set. Just you and me."
He inserted the earbud with surprising ease. Most people fumbled with the placement first time.
"Testing," she said softly, not moving her lips.
His eyes widened slightly at the crystal-clear sound. "Copy. That's impressive."
"Wait until you hear the background noise cancellation." She grabbed her gear. "Ready?"
The drive to the spa took forty minutes through Sunday morning traffic. They ran through contingencies via comms, voices clear despite the road noise.
"There." Cory indicated the discreet entrance to Serenity Springs Med Spa.
The building looked more like a private estate than a medical facility—stone and timber construction nestled among pines, a valet stand but no visible cameras. The parking area held a handful of luxury vehicles.
"SBN's Mercedes," Izzy confirmed through the comm, spotting the white S-Class in a corner spot. "She's inside."
Cory positioned their vehicle with good sightlines but partially concealed by landscaping. "How long do you need?"
"Ninety seconds. Two minutes max." She pulled on thin gloves, the tracker feeling like it weighed fifty pounds in her pocket. "Keep the channel open."
"Copy. I've got overwatch."
She slipped out, his breathing a steady rhythm in her ear as she moved with casual purpose. Just another spa client heading to her car. Nothing suspicious about checking something in the parking lot.
"Clear so far," Cory murmured. "No movement from the building."
The Mercedes sat pristine in the hard morning sun. Izzy dropped to one knee beside the driver's door, ostensibly adjusting her boot while scanning for the best placement.
"Checking rear bumper mount," she subvocalized.
"Roger. Still clear."
She moved to the back of the vehicle, already dropping to slide underneath when Cory's voice sharpened in her ear.
"Contact. Someone's coming out. North side entrance."
Izzy's hands stilled on the tracker. "How close?"
"Ten seconds. Maybe less. It's— Oh no, it's SBN."
Through the comm, she could hear car doors and voices getting closer. Then, crystal clear through Cory's mic:
"—told them I needed my tablet for the Body Sculpting treatment. Can't possibly relax without reviewing the Monterey projections."
Izzy rolled out from under the Mercedes just as SBN rounded the landscaping, designer heels clicking on the pavement. Their eyes met across ten feet of space, and time slowed to a crawl.
"Play it cool," Cory's voice was steady in her ear. "You belong there."
She was on her knees in the parking lot, dusty from sliding under the vehicle, wearing tactical pants and a black puffy over her Kevlar vest.
SBN stopped mid-stride, perfectly shaped eyebrows rising. "Ms. Reyes. What a... surprise."
"Go with confidence," Cory coached. "You're supposed to be there."
"Sloane." Izzy bounced to her feet, making a show of brushing off her knees.
"I'm so glad you're here. I dropped my keys.
They slid right under your car—beautiful Mercedes, by the way.
" She held up her key fob as evidence. "I'm supposed to have a consultation, but I think I'm at the wrong entrance? "
SBN's gaze flicked to the keys, then back to Izzy's dusty knees, clearly not entirely buying it but unable to prove otherwise. "A consultation. Here. Dressed like that?"
"Sell it," Cory murmured in her ear. "You're embarrassed but determined."
"I know, I know." Izzy gestured at her tactical attire with a self-deprecating laugh. "I came straight from the gym.” She thumped her chest. “My trainer’s got me wearing this weight vest everywhere. Have you tried them? Amazing ab workout.” She paused.
Sell it. SBN likes to be the smartest person in the room.
Let her. “They said casual was fine for the initial consultation? "
"Did they." SBN's tone could have frozen helium. She glanced toward the spa entrance, then back at Izzy. "Well then. Come on. I’ll show you around."
"This is bad," Cory breathed. "Abort?"
Declining would blow everything. "That would be great," she said aloud. "I'm a little nervous, actually. Never done anything like this before."
The other woman eyed Izzy’s face. “Clearly.” She retrieved her tablet from the Mercedes and gestured toward the entrance. "After you."
The spa's interior was all warm woods and soft lighting. A receptionist smiled at them with veneer-perfect teeth.
"Ms. Barnes-Nakamura, welcome back. And this is...?"
"Isabella Reyes," SBN supplied. "She has a consultation appointment. Apparently."
The receptionist's fingers flew over a keyboard. "I don't see anything on the schedule..."
No kidding.
"There must be a mistake." Izzy tried for apologetic confusion. "I spoke with someone about microneedling? Is that an informal thing maybe?"
The receptionist scrunched up her pretty nose as she scanned her monitor. “Not–– Oh." She brightened. "Looks like we had a cancellation. Dr. Vermillion could see you for an evaluation."
"Awesome. That’s…awesome." In a truly dreadful sort of way.
SBN's smile was sharp as a scalpel. "Dr. Vermillion is the best. She can take ten years off your face in a heartbeat."
Izzy suppressed a groan. Not the kind of qualifications she prized in a doctor.
Twenty minutes later, Izzy found herself in a stunning consultation room that could make the cover of Architectural Digest. When the perfectly coiffed, perfectly toned female physician stepped out of the room to take a call, Izzy tapped her comm once to keep Cory updated.
"In treatment room. Doctor examining my apparent pore crisis."
His snort of suppressed laughter helped ease her tension.
Dr. Vermillion—a woman who looked like she'd been assembled by scientists—slipped back in and began examining Izzy's face with a lighted magnifying glass. "Your T-zone shows significant oxidative stress. And these pores..." The doctor tsked. "When was your last professional extraction?"
"Extraction?" Cory's voice held barely contained mirth. "Need backup for that extraction?"
Izzy coughed to cover her laugh. "It's been a while."
"I see." The doctor made notes. "I recommend starting with our signature HydraGlow facial, followed by LED therapy. We should also discuss a custom serum protocol for home care."
"Copy all that?" Izzy muttered when the doctor turned away.
"Axel's going to love this."
"Don't you dare."
Forty-five minutes of torture later, Dr. Vermillion finally had to see an actual client. Izzy escaped with an armload of pamphlets and product samples.
"Heading out," she subvocalized. "No sign of SBN." Probably enduring who knew what sorts of facial torture. Izzy shuddered. The woman actually scheduled hours of this into her week?
"Copy that,” Cory responded. “I'm at the north exit."
She found him exactly where promised, SUV idling. She yanked open the door and collapsed inside, tossing the spa materials in the back.
"Don't." She held up a hand. "Not one word."
"Your pores look very... examined." His voice still came through the comm and in person, creating an odd echo.
She yanked out her earbud. "I hate you."
He removed his as well, lips twitching as he nodded down at the gold-embossed shopping bag. "Free samples. That's nice."
"Apparently my T-zone is crying for help." She slumped in the seat.
He lost it. The controlled, composed police chief completely cracked up over her spa humiliation.
"Wait until your team hears—"
"You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, I'm definitely telling this story." He started the engine, still chuckling. "Tactical operative defeated by facial consultation."
"Actually..." She sat up straighter. "This could work. SBN thinks I'm having some kind of crisis. Desperate single mom prettying herself up for court."
"That's brilliant. Play into her assumptions."
They drove in thoughtful silence before Cory spoke again. "For what it's worth, you don't need any of that stuff."
She looked at him, surprised by the quiet sincerity.
"Your pores are perfect," he added, deadpan.
She slugged his arm, but gently. "Shut up and drive, Fraser."
While he headed back to headquarters, she texted Zara and Kenji.
Tracker in place.
The December sky had turned sullen while they'd been inside, heavy clouds pressing down like a gray wool blanket.
Fresh snow dusted the windshield, and through the gaps in the pines, Izzy could see the ski runs carved into the mountainside—tiny puffs of powder marking each skier's turn, white against white in the fading afternoon light.
Such a peaceful Sunday scene. Normal people living normal lives. Chantal loved skiing. Kid was a natural. Izzy’s jaw clenched. When would she get to take her baby out again?
Her phone buzzed. Her stomach dropped as she read:
ANDREW: NEED TO MEET. EMERGENCY. THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ME.
“What?” Cory asked.
"Andrew just texted. Thinks someone’s going to kill him."
His jaw tightened as he pulled into a scenic overlook, the valley spreading below them in shades of gray and white. "Could be a trap. Probably is a trap."
"Duh."
Izzy studied the message again. All caps. Classic Andrew panic mode. "But look at the pattern. Brad knew something, Brad's dead. Reed knew something, someone tried to kill him. Now Andrew..."
"Who's been taking MedFlight money to harass you." Cory drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "He's a loose end."
"For sure."
"You think it's genuine?"
She slapped her phone against her palm. Maybe. Maybe not. With her ex, everything depended…. "I think whether it's a trap or not, whoever's behind this will be there. Watching." She met his eyes. “Regardless, we’ll get a shot at whoever's pulling the strings."
Cory stared out at the snow beginning to fall harder now, fat flakes catching on the windshield. "It's a gamble."
"Everything's a gamble at this point." She gestured at the spa behind them. "I just got a facial consultation after committing a felony. We're past playing it safe."
"Where does he want to meet?"
She texted back.
Where?
Andrew: Old mining overlook. Sunset Point. One hour. PLEASE.
"Sunset Point." Izzy knew the place—abandoned scenic overlook twenty minutes up the mountain. Popular with teenagers during the summer. But in the winter, the trailhead was isolated, a single access road with plenty of places for an ambush. "Perfect place for a trap."
"Or a desperate man who knows he's being hunted." Cory started the engine. "We go in careful. First sign of an ambush, we bail."
"Agreed." She checked her weapon, then looked back at the ski runs one more time. Somewhere up there, families were laughing, racing each other down the mountain, thinking about hot chocolate and warm fires. “We’ve got plenty of time to gear up first.”
Whether Andrew had devised a trap, or someone more serious was behind this, she’d go on loaded for bear.