9
The Knight Tacticalheadquarters echoed with each step of Izzy's boots against the concrete floor. Empty. The kind of quiet that crawled under her skin and made her fingers itch for something—anything—to fix.
She checked her phone again. No updates from Zara about Andrew. Nothing from the team in Alaska. Nothing from the Mountain Angel hangar where strangers were pawing through her perfect maintenance work.
This is what useless feels like.
She stalked past the briefing room where Ronan usually held court, past Axel's workstation with its half-eaten energy bars, past the comm center where Maya would be coordinating their movements. All silent. All wrong.
The supply room door stood open. She veered inside like a moth to flame. Third time this morning, but who was counting? She ran her fingers along the perfectly aligned MRE boxes, checking dates she'd memorized yesterday. Straightened medical supplies that didn't need straightening. Counted bandages that had already been counted twice.
Izzy's therapy,Axel called it.When our girl starts alphabetizing the ammunition, you know she's stressed.
"Shut up, Axel," she muttered to the empty room.
Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it so fast she nearly dropped it.
Automated weather update from NOAA. Of course. Snow squalls late in the day.
The armory beckoned next. At least there she could do something productive, even if it was busy work. She pulled her Glock from its rack. Field strip, inspect, clean, reassemble. The familiar weight, the satisfying click of components sliding home. She'd cleaned it yesterday after range practice, but so what?
The rifle came next. She ran a bore snake through the already-pristine barrel, applied oil that didn't need applying, checked sights that were perfectly zeroed.
Her stomach growled, breaking through the mechanical meditation. When had she last eaten? Right—she'd skipped breakfast to get Chantal to school early, making sure her mother had the doors locked tight with Andrew lurking at that motel.
She secured the weapons and grabbed her parka.
Outside, the late Sierra morning slapped her with its perfection. Crystal blue sky, snow diamonds sparkling on every surface, air so crisp it hurt to breathe. A bluebird day, skiers called it. The kind of morning that usually made her grateful to call Hope Landing home.
Today wasn’t in the mood. She hurried on, head down, boots crunching through snow as she angled toward the café. The path took her past the alley that led to Mountain Angel's hangar. She shouldn't look. She absolutely should not?—
She looked.
The hangar doors gaped open despite the cold. Her Bell 407 sat inside like a patient surrounded by too many doctors. Reed Osgood pointing at something. That MedFlight woman with her phone out. Other investigators she didn't recognize violating the helo with their ignorant hands.
And standing at the edge of it all, silhouetted against the morning light: Cory Fraser.
Their eyes met across the fifty yards of snow and ice. Even at this distance, she could feel that laser focus, that particular weight of his attention that made her feel like evidence being catalogued.
Heat flooded her face. She jerked her gaze away and picked up her pace, practically jogging now.
Great. Now he thinks I'm stalking the investigation.
Tailwinds was salvation, warm air and noise wrapping around her like armor. Packed. Every stool taken, most tables full. The breakfast rush mixed with the drama junkies, and the volume was approaching jet engine levels.
"—definitely hydraulic failure. Same thing happened to my cousin's Cessna back in?—"
"—told Martha she should never have hired that new girl. Too young, too?—"
"—heard the patient almost died when?—"
Izzy kept her head down and made for the counter. Just get coffee, get food, get out.
Simple mission parameters.
Heavy footsteps behind her in line. That particular cadence of authority that made her shoulders tense before she even turned.
Cory. Of course. Still in his pristine uniform, looking like he'd stepped out of a recruitment poster while she probably had engine degreaser under her fingernails.
