Chapter 37
Monday morning began in a blur.
Cory stared at Izzy’s phone, reading Zara's text for the third time. After everything they'd risked—committing a federal crime, placing that tracker—SBN had done nothing more exciting than attend legitimate business meetings.
"She met with hospital board members, two insurance executives, and her yoga instructor. That's it." Izzy read aloud from her own phone, frustration bleeding through every word. "We risked federal prison for her weekly schedule."
"At least we know she's probably not involved directly," Cory offered, though the words felt hollow. They'd eliminated one suspect but were no closer to answers.
The Knight Tactical operations room felt smaller with both of them pacing opposite patterns across the floor. Three steps, turn, three steps back. Like caged animals sensing a storm.
When the exterior door alarm chimed, they both froze.
"Expecting anyone?" he asked.
Izzy checked the security monitor, her shoulders tensing. "FBI. Four agents."
Through the screen, Cory recognized Debartolo and Preston in their identical dark suits, plus two agents he didn't know. They moved with the purposeful stride of men who knew exactly what they wanted.
"They can't know about the tracker," Izzy said, but uncertainty crept into her voice.
"We don't know what they know." Cory straightened his shoulders, slipping into his police chief persona. "Let me do the talking."
The agents entered like they owned the place, spreading out in that way that made any room feel like an interrogation chamber. Debartolo's expression could have frozen Hell itself.
"Chief Fraser. Ms. Reyes." He didn't wait for pleasantries. "Reed Osgood came to us yesterday. Told us some very interesting things about a shooting in Nevada."
Cory's stomach dropped, but he kept his expression neutral. Beside him, Izzy had gone perfectly still—the kind of stillness that preceded violence or flight.
"He was quite detailed," Preston added, pulling out a tablet. "Times, locations, the fact that you were both present when someone tried to kill him. The fact that you failed to report it to local authorities."
"Reed was in shock," Cory began, but Debartolo cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"Save it. We know you removed evidence from the scene. We know you conducted an unauthorized investigation. And we know you've been withholding crucial information from a federal investigation."
The other two agents had positioned themselves by the exits. Standard intimidation tactics, but effective.
"We need all of it," Debartolo continued. "Every photo, every note, every piece of evidence you've collected. Now."
"This is our investigation—" Izzy started.
"No." Preston's voice cracked like a whip. "This is a federal investigation that you've been interfering with. Failure to report a shooting involving a federal witness? That's obstruction of justice."
"Reed wasn't a federal witness when—"
"He is now." Debartolo's smile held no warmth. "Which makes your little desert adventure a federal crime. You contaminated a crime scene, removed evidence, and failed to notify authorities."
Cory felt the walls closing in. Everything they'd worked for, every lead they'd followed, about to be swept up by federal bureaucracy that would take weeks to process. And that was the good news.
"We should arrest you both right now," Preston added, clearly enjoying this. "Obstruction, tampering with evidence, interfering with a federal investigation."
He let that sink in before continuing. "But we're feeling generous. Turn over everything—and I mean everything—and maybe we won't put you both in federal custody today."
Cory glanced at Izzy, saw his own trapped fury reflected in her eyes. They had no choice. Fighting would only make things worse.
"Fine," he said, the word tasting like ash.
The next twenty minutes were excruciating.
The agents tagged and bagged everything—Izzy's servo analysis photos, the receipt from Brad's cabin, Cory's detailed notes, even the broken mechanical pencil pieces from the desert.
Years of investigative experience reduced to evidence bags and chain-of-custody forms.
"Your daughter needs at least one parent not in prison," Preston said to Izzy as he sealed another evidence bag. The casual cruelty of it made Cory's hands clench.
Debartolo saved his parting shot for last, standing at the door with their boxes of evidence.
"ONE more step out of line—one more moment of interference—and you're both in federal custody.
Chief Fraser, your career is hanging by a thread.
Cut that thread, and Hope Landing will need a new police chief by Christmas. "
The door slammed behind them with finality.
They stood in the sudden silence, the operations room feeling violated, emptied of their work. Izzy sank into a chair, head in her hands.
"They took everything," she said, voice hollow.
Before Cory could respond, the exterior alarm chimed again. Through the monitor, he saw Martha's old truck pulling up, Bill in the passenger seat. Both looked furious.
"Great," Izzy muttered. "More good news."
Martha didn't bother with pleasantries when Izzy opened the door. The aging mechanic stormed in like an avenging angel, Bill hobbling behind on his bad knees.
"The Feds are threatening to make the Mountain Angel shut down permanent." Martha's voice shook with rage. "Forty years of saving lives, and they just... shut us down. No warning, no appeal, just done."
"Martha, I'm so sorry—"
"And now I hear the FBI is investigating you?" Martha whirled on Cory. "You're the police chief. Do something. Fix this."
The pain in her voice cut deep. Cory spread his hands helplessly. "I can't. The FBI has taken over. I have no authority in their investigation."
"No authority?" Martha's face flushed darker. "This is our town. Our people. MedFlight is behind this—we all know it—and you're telling me you can't do anything?"
"The federal government—"
"Who cares about the government." The shout from proper Martha shocked them all. "They're destroying everything we've built, and for what? So some corporation can make more money?"
Bill put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Martha..."
She shrugged him off, tears starting to flow. "I've given my whole life to helping people. We all have. And now Izzy's being blamed for something she didn't do, and you're telling me the law can't help?"
"We're going to figure this out," Izzy said quietly.
Martha turned to her, fierce love replacing anger. "You bet we are. Whatever you need—money, lawyers, someone to break kneecaps—Bill and I are here."
"Martha." Bill protested.
"What? I'm old. What are they gonna do, give me life? I've only got a few years left anyway."
Izzy smiled. "No kneecap breaking. But thank you."
Martha pulled her into a hug. "You're family, girl. Mountain Angel takes care of its own. We'll get through this."
After extracting promises to call if they needed anything—legal or otherwise—Martha and Bill left. The hangar felt even quieter in their wake.
Izzy stood by the window, staring out at the overcast sky. Then, so quietly Cory almost missed it, she began to speak.
"I don't know if You're listening. Haven't talked to You in a while." Her voice was rough, uncertain. "But my baby needs me. Needs me to solve this, to come home. I can't do it alone anymore. Please... help us find the truth. Help me get home to her."
The simple, desperate mother's prayer hung in the air. Cory moved to stand beside her, not touching, just present.
Her phone buzzed, shattering the moment.
Zara's text appeared in all caps:
FIRE AT MOUNTAIN ANGEL HANGAR
Before either could process, the distant wail of sirens cut through the morning air. Multiple sirens, getting louder.
"No," Izzy breathed. "No, no, no—"
They were already moving, grabbing jackets, heading for the door. The sirens screamed closer, and through the window, Cory could see smoke beginning to rise in the distance.
Someone had just destroyed Mountain Angel's last chance at survival.
And they both knew this was no accident.