The delicate dance of working together. He was trying, she'd give him that. Even if every instinct told her to just pocket the evidence and analyze it properly back at the shop.
The servo assembly told its story in bent metal and tool marks. Same failure as the helicopter—deliberate sabotage. But this time she could see the pattern clearly. Specific angles, particular pressure points. Someone who knew exactly where to compromise the system for maximum catastrophic failure with minimum evidence.
But more than that, something about the technique itself niggled at her. Like a familiar face in a crowd—she knew she'd seen this before but couldn't quite place where. The specific angles chosen, the way the saboteur had concealed their work...
"Find something interesting?" SBN had materialized at her shoulder, leaning in too close.
"Just confirming the failure point." Izzy kept her voice neutral while her thoughts churned. The skinny mechanic was definitely sweating now, edging toward the exit.
Reed's phone chimed. He checked it with the expression of a kid on Christmas morning. "FBI will be here within the hour. This investigation will transition to federal jurisdiction." He could barely contain his glee at kicking them out.
SBN's disappointment flashed across her face before she smoothed it away. She'd wanted more time to snoop, clearly.
Cory's phone buzzed. He answered, face carefully neutral as he listened. "Understood, sir. Yes, sir."
He disconnected with the expression of someone swallowing something sour. "Hope Landing PD is officially off the case."
"And Ms. Reyes' consulting services are no longer required," Reed added with satisfaction.
Izzy shrugged. She'd expected this. But she'd gotten what she came for—that specific pattern, the angle of sabotage. Something about it screamed familiarity, like a word on the tip of her tongue.
Cory read her face with surprising accuracy. "What did you find?"
She gave a subtle head shake. Not here. Too many ears, too many eyes.
His frustration showed, but he controlled it. "We should go update the reports."
Code received.
"Right,” she responded. “Reports. My headquarters. Now."
The skinny mechanic tried to fade into the background as they prepared to leave. Izzy made sure to snap a few final photos "for her records," carefully framing him in several shots. If her instincts were right, she'd want his face later.
Danny looked apologetic as they passed. "Sorry about all this, Iz," he whispered.
She patted his shoulder. Not his fault he'd drawn guard duty for the vultures.
The moment they were outside, Cory turned to her. "Spill."
"Not yet. Need to check something first."
"Where?"
"At headquarters." The words landed between them like a lead weight.
Knight Tactical headquarters. Where they'd both be staying. Tonight. And for the foreseeable future.
Oh. Wow.
Living at headquarters was no big thing. Living there with Cory Fraser, Mr. Regulation himself, was another. He probablyexpected color-coded schedules. Socks sorted by day of the week.
Did he iron his socks? He probably ironed his socks.
"Home sweet home," he said as Knight Tactical came into view.
Was that... humor? From Chief Perfect Uniform?
"Try not to arrest my coffee maker," she said. "It's not regulation, but it makes good coffee."
