He zipped up his jacket and hurried toward the scene.
The ground ambulance crew was already extracting their patient—a heart attack victim from one of the remote cabins, according to dispatch. The pilot emerged from his seat, hands visibly trembling as he pulled off his helmet. His co-pilot looked equally rattled, kept glancing back at the helicopter like he couldn't quite believe they'd made it.
"Controls went mushy about five minutes out," the pilot told anyone within earshot, his voice still tight with adrenaline. "Like flying through molasses. Never felt anything like it in twenty years of flying."
A collective exhale seemed to ripple through the gathered crowd as the patient was successfully transferred to the waiting ambulance. Crisis averted—barely.
Cory had just started toward Izzy when headlights swept across the lot. A sleek Audi rental pulled up, and out stepped a woman who looked like she'd raided a Tahoe boutique on her way through town. Brand-new Patagonia jacket, designer ski pants that had never seen an actual ski slope, and fur-lined boots that cost more than most people's rent. Her perfectly styled black hair and full makeup suggested she either hadn't been sleeping or had a very efficient morning routine.
She moved across the icy parking lot with the careful steps of someone who'd never navigated winter conditions, despite her thousand-dollar outfit screaming "outdoorsy executive."
Before he could process that arrival, Tom Morrison's Subaru pulled in, Janet driving while Tom had his head buried in paperwork already. Tom emerged looking overwhelmed as usual, clutching his ever-present clipboard while Janet organized his coat and gloves and trotted after him. Tom had decades of experience as an aviation insurance investigator under his belt, first working for a big firm, and most recently semi-retired, but often called in by companies like the one insuring Mountain Angel.
Probably a win-win for a man who didn’t seem to have much going on in his life but work.
A mud-splattered truck rumbled up next, and Reed Osgood climbed out. The local FAA investigator looked thoroughly annoyed at having to be conscious at this hour. His flannel shirtwas buttoned wrong, and his steel-gray hair stuck up at odd angles.
Cory's instincts pinged hard. Three arrivals within minutes of each other, all somehow aware of an emergency that had just happened.
"Interesting how quick those three made it here, don't you think?"
Izzy had materialized at his elbow, her voice low enough that only he could hear. She nodded toward the newcomers. " Unless they all sleep with their aviation radios on, someone called them."
She was right. Someone had orchestrated this gathering, wanted all the players here to witness... what exactly?
"I'll find out," he murmured back, then moved toward the arrivals with his best official-but-approachable demeanor.
The woman reached him first, extending a manicured hand. "Sloane Barnes-Nakamura, VP of Regional Operations for MedFlight. I go by SBN." She said it like he should be impressed. "I monitor emergency frequencies when I'm in town. Professional interest."
Cory noted the full makeup, the pressed suit, the lack of any sleep-rumpled edges. "That's very dedicated of you, Ms... SBN. What brings you to Hope Landing?"
"Week-long series of meetings with hospital administrators. We're exploring partnership opportunities." Her smile was sharp as winter wind. "When I heard about the emergency, I felt I should show support for our colleagues in the air medical community."
Behind him, Izzy muttered something that sounded like "vulture waiting for the wounded animal to die."
Ugly, but probably accurate.Cory headed for the Morrisons.
Tom was fumbling with his notepad, trying to look official while Janet whispered in his ear.
“Tom. Mrs. Morrison.” He greeted them. “You got here quick.”
"Someone called," Tom admitted. "Said my expertise would be needed immediately."
"Anonymous tip," Janet clarified crisply. "Woke us both. They were very insistent that Tom's insurance experience would be crucial."
Cory pressed the matter, but Tom was too preoccupied with his examination to add much.
Reed Osgood was even less helpful. "Got a call about a potential safety violation. Some concerned citizen." He yawned hugely. "Look, I'd rather be in bed, but when someone reports a possible safety violation, I have to investigate. It's the law." He jerked a thumb at the helo. “Woulda been called out anyway as it turns out.”
Three calls, three arrivals, all within minutes of an emergency landing. Cory filed that away as he watched Izzy work with the ground crew.
She was photographing everything—the helicopter's position, the angle of the rotors, even the pattern of snow disturbance from the landing. When someone reached for the engine cowling, she stopped them with a sharp command.
"Not until FAA clears it. We preserve everything as-is."
Her competence in crisis was impressive, thinking three steps ahead like someone who'd handled emergency scenes before. He’d seen her military file. The non-classified one, at least. Impressive wasn’t even the word.
When the flatbed arrived to transport the helicopter, she directed its positioning to maintain evidence integrity better than some cops he'd worked with.
