The difference was striking. Where the Bell showed nervous scratches and tool slippage, the Cessna's sabotage was almost surgical. Minimal marking, confident strokes, no wasted motion.
"They got better," Cory said slowly.
"Exactly." Izzy spun her chair to face him, eyes bright with discovery. "This isn't some master mechanic we're dealing with. This is someone learning on the job. The Bell was practice. By the time they hit the Cessna, they'd refined their technique."
Her phone buzzed on the desk beside the keyboard. Cory watched her glance at it, saw her expression darken like storm clouds rolling in. Her jaw tightened, fingers white-knuckling the phone as she read whatever was on the screen.
She stabbed at the screen with her thumb—deleting something, from the decisive gesture. The phone hit the desk with more force than necessary.
"Problem?" Cory asked, though her body language screamed the answer.
"Nothing I can't handle."
Probably not, but he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands had clenched into fists before she forced them flat on the desk.
Her ex. Had to be. Nobody else could put that particular mix of fury and fear in her eyes with just a text message.
She turned back to the screen, but he could see the tension in her shoulders. "So we've got someone hiring amateur saboteurs. MedFlight's the obvious suspect. They want Mountain Angel's contract."
"Whoa." Cory held up a hand. "Let's not jump to conclusions. Sure, MedFlight has motive, but?—"
"But what? They show up at every incident. Their representative is salivating over our problems?—"
"All circumstantial. Could be MedFlight. Could be someone with a grudge against Mountain Angel specifically. Could be insurance fraud. We can't fixate on one suspect."
She huffed out a breath. "Fine. You're right. We follow evidence, not assumptions."
"Even really logical assumptions."
The skinny mechanic from the hangar flashed through Cory's mind—that nervous energy, the way he'd kept edging toward the sabotaged parts. But no, too early to focus on one person. Evidence first, suspects second.
"Saboteurs for hire don't have learning curves," Izzy continued. "I've investigated suspicious failures for insurance companies. Real pros? They're ghosts. Perfect work every time."
"So whoever hired this person?—"
"Wanted someone expendable. Someone desperate enough to take the job and skilled enough to access aircraft, but amateur enough that they won't be traced back to whoever's paying them."
The implications hung heavy between them. Hired help became loose ends. Loose ends got tied off.
"We need to find them," Izzy said quietly. "Before they strike again. Or before?—"
"Before whoever hired them decides they're a liability." Cory pulled out his phone. "I'll put out a quiet alert to my deputies. Have them note anyone acting suspicious around the airport."
"Good idea." She saved her analysis, creating a file. "Cory, what scares me is the acceleration. In a couple days they went from nervous amateur to confident saboteur."
"I should update the FBI," Cory said finally. "They need to know about the learning curve. Reed’ll be working with them. I’ll call him."
"Think he'll listen?"
"He's competent. Just doesn't know Hope Landing, doesn't know who belongs and who doesn't." Cory watched her close the files, securing them. "We have the advantage there."
"For now." Izzy stood, energy crackling around her like static.
18
Two hours and a lifetime later,Izzy hauled her third bag through Knight Tactical's entrance, nearly colliding with Cory as he came in with an armload of groceries.
"Sorry—" They both said it simultaneously, then did that awkward dance where they both stepped the same direction twice.
