"Pancakes?" She raised an eyebrow.
"Unicorn sprinkles, actually."
Understanding softened her expression. "Chantal says they make the pancakes magical."
"Smart kid."
"Yeah." Her voice went quiet. "She is."
The sharp buzz of the doorbell shattered the moment.
He moved to the security panel, Izzy right behind him. The monitor showed two people in dark suits, that particular federal swagger unmistakable.
"FBI," Izzy said flatly.
Cory looked down at himself—yesterday's jeans, work boots, flannel shirt he'd grabbed from his go-bag. He lookedlike he was ready to chop wood, not face federal agents. Beside him, Izzy wore her Knight Tactical uniform—black tactical pants, company polo with the logo embroidered on the chest. Professional. Put-together.
And highly dangerous.
They met the agents downstairs at the hangar’s man-door. Debartolo and Preston, their credentials said. Both gave Cory's casual attire a quick scan, dismissal flashing across their faces before they schooled their expressions.
"Ms. Reyes," Debartolo said, pointedly not acknowledging Cory. "We need to ask you some questions about the aircraft incidents."
"Of course." Izzy stepped back. "We can talk in the conference room."
We.She'd included him without hesitation. The agents noticed, exchanging glances.
"You’re Fraser?" Preston asked, tone suggesting he'd already categorized Cory as the help.
"Chief Cory Fraser, Hope Landing PD. I'm the investigating officer."
"Were," Debartolo corrected. "This is a federal matter now. Plus, we heard you’re on the beach."
"I’m on personal leave, not administrative.”
The agents exchanged glances. “For now,” Debartolo said.
Preston grinned. "Lead the way."
The Knight Tactical conference room was set up for mission planning—large table, wall-mounted screens, maps covering one wall. The agents settled on one side, Izzy and Cory on the other. Us versus them, clearly delineated.
Debartolo pulled out a tablet. "Let's start with the helicopter." He jutted his chin at Izzy. "You were the last person to perform maintenance on it?"
"Yes." Her voice stayed steady. "Full inspection, signed off the morning of the crash."
"And you found nothing wrong?"
"Nothing. It was in perfect condition."
They walked through the maintenance procedures. Cory watched the agents work—competent but impersonal, following a script. They didn't know Hope Landing, didn't understand the dynamics at play.
"Now, the Cessna," Preston said. "You didn't work on that aircraft?"
She threw them a look. “Agents, there’s no way you didn’t check the paperwork. I’ve never worked on that Cessna."
Debartolo tapped the tabletop. “All that means is you never signed off on the aircraft.”
Preston leaned forward. "Ms. Reyes, why were you at the scene immediately after the emergency landing?"
