14
The world spunin lazy circles, punctuated by a high-pitched scream that Izzy slowly realized was coming from inside her own ears. Weight pressed down on her—Cory's body still shielding her from debris that pinged off the asphalt like deadly hail. Heat washed over them in waves, and she couldn't breathe. His weight, the shock, the acrid smoke?—
Not again.
For a heartbeat she wasn't in Hope Landing anymore. She was back in Kandahar, ears ringing from the IED that had taken out their lead vehicle. Same acrid smell searing her lungs. Same crushing weight of a teammate shielding her. Same debris raining down like?—
No. Stay here. Stay present.
She forced her eyes open, focused on the details. Ice beneath her. Cory's Hope Landing PD uniform. Her SUV burning, not a Humvee. Hope Landing, not Afghanistan.
Through the ringing, she heard him speaking, felt his hands checking her arms, her head. "Are you hurt? Izzy, talk to me."
She couldn't answer. Could only stare at the inferno that used to be her pristine SUV. The black paint she'd washedjust yesterday. The leather seats she'd meticulously cleaned of Chantal's goldfish cracker crumbs. Gone. Just... gone.
The full horror crashed over her like a physical blow. "That was meant for me."
Cory's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. His hands continued their professional inventory—checking for blood, for breaks, for damage she was too numb to feel.
Then another thought, this one pure ice through her veins.
"CHANTAL."
The scream ripped from her throat as she shoved at Cory's chest, suddenly all motion and maternal terror. He rolled aside and she scrambled to her feet, legs shaky but functional.
"Give me your keys." She thrust out her hand, surprised it wasn't shaking. Yet.
Around them, chaos erupted. Shouts and running feet. The fire truck's engine roaring to life a hundred yards away. But all Izzy could see was her daughter's face. Someone had tried to kill her. What if they'd gone after?—
"Izzy, we need to preserve the scene—" Cory started.
She shoved him. Hard. "Your keys. Now."
Something in her voice—the operative, the soldier, the mother—reached him. She saw the moment he recognized she'd go through him if necessary. That she'd take his keys from his unconscious body if that's what it took.
"I'll drive." He waved toward his SUV, already shouting orders to the responders running over from the Cessna site. "We're good. Get this fire out. Hellman, keep a patrol on this site all night. Nobody but first responders touches anything."
They ran for his vehicle, Izzy's boots slipping on ice she normally would have navigated without thought. He had the engine running before her door closed, lights and sirens screaming to life as they tore out of the lot.
Code 3 through Hope Landing's empty streets. Cory drove fast but controlled, anticipating ice patches, taking corners at the exact maximum speed physics would allow. Any other time she might have appreciated his skill. Now she just frantically stabbed at her mother's contact.
Straight to voicemail.
Again. Nothing.
Her hands started shaking for real now, making it hard to hit the right buttons. "She always answers. Always."
Please, please, please.The prayer felt rusty, but she sent it up anyway.Not them. Please, Lord, not them.
Cory took a corner sharp enough to press her against the door, but she barely noticed. Just kept calling, kept getting that cheerful voicemail message in her mother's accented English.
The apartment building appeared ahead, looking exactly as it always did. No smoke. No fire. No emergency vehicles. Either very good or very bad.
Cory barely got the vehicle in park before she was out, sprinting for the entrance.
"Let me clear it first—" His voice behind her, concern mixed with something else.
She blew past him. No time for SWAT protocols or proper clearing procedures. Her baby was in there.
