"Car accident when I was twelve. After that, Mom tried to keep the tradition, but it felt hollow. Like we were going through the motions." She pulled her hand back, needing distance. "Eventually we just stopped."
"I'm sorry."
"He would have liked you." The words surprised her. "The whole integrity thing. Standing for what's right even when it costs."
"High praise." Cory's voice was gentle. "Thank you."
They finished eating in comfortable silence, then returned to the monitors. Three suspects stared back from their board—Tom Morrison with his convenient inspection reports, Reed Osgood with his pattern of mechanical failure findings, Sloane Barnes-Nakamura with her corporate tentacles in every buyout.
"Whoever this is knows me," Izzy said quietly. "Really knows me. My jacket, my routines, what buttons to push with Andrew and custody."
"We'll find them." Cory's certainty was a lifeline. "They're getting sloppy. The FBI visit proves that—they're pushing too hard, too fast."
Her phone buzzed. Another notice. Credit card payment declined. Then another—utility auto-pay failed.
The walls were closing in, just as their enemy intended.
But as she looked at Cory, steady and determined beside her, something fierce rose in her chest. They wanted to isolate her, break her, make her vulnerable.
They'd miscalculated.
Because she had never been less alone.
25
Coffee in hand,Cory was just settling at the computer across from Izzy the next morning when his phone buzzed. She sat surrounded by a fortress of printouts, multiple laptops open on the conference table, completely absorbed in whatever Knight Tactical's cybersecurity whiz, Zara, had sent her. Morning light caught the exhaustion under her eyes, but also the fierce determination that made something tighten in his chest.
He put the phone to his ear. "Fraser here."
"Chief, I'm so sorry to bother you on your personal time." Graceline's voice carried genuine apology. "We've got a situation downtown, and everyone else is up on Old 40 working a jackknifed semi."
He straightened. "What kind of situation?"
"Eugene Holcomb borrowed his grandson's snowmobile." A pause. "He's doing donuts in the Safeway parking lot."
Cory pinched the bridge of his nose. Eugene. Of course. "How fast is he going?"
"Fast enough that three shopping carts are now modern art installations. Manager's threatening to call in those FBI agents if we don't handle it."
"On my way." He disconnected, catching Izzy's amused glance.
"Eugene again?"
"Snowmobile in the Safeway lot."
Her lips twitched. "Testing winter readiness?"
"That’d be my guess." He grabbed his jacket, not liking the idea of leaving her alone even in her secured building. "You'll be?—"
"Go." She waved him off, already turning back to her screens. "Eugene needs you more than I do. Besides, I've got shell companies to unravel."
Twenty minutes later, Cory sat in his SUV watching Eugene's grandson retrieve the snowmobile while Eugene himself signed autographs for a group of impressed teenagers. The old man had been properly chastised, the Safeway manager appeased, and the shopping carts would live to roll another day.
This was his town. These were his people—even the ones who decided Tuesday morning was perfect for geriatric snowmobile adventures. The FBI might have resources and federal authority, but they didn't know that Eugene only acted out when he missed his late wife. They didn't know the manager's bark was worse than his bite, or that those teenagers would spread the story until Eugene felt like a hero instead of a nuisance.
Local knowledge. It mattered more than the feds realized.
He turned onto Main Street, intending to head straight back to Knight Tactical, when Landing Love Ice Cream caught his eye. The converted cottage with its painted wooden steps looked like something from a snow globe, complete with icicles hanging from the gingerbread trim.
