The FAA offices occupied the third floor—beige walls, fluorescent lights, the universal smell of government buildings everywhere. Coffee, copy toner, and quiet desperation.
The receptionist looked about nineteen, blonde hair in a high ponytail, reading a romance novel behind her desk. Her name plate read "Brittany."
"Hi there." She beamed at them like they'd made her whole day. "How can I help you folks?"
Cory edged in front of Izzy and flashed his badge. "We're looking for Reed Osgood. Is he in?"
"Oh, you just missed him." Brittany's face fell dramatically. "Like, literally ten minutes ago. He got called out on an investigation."
"Where?" The word came out sharper than Cory intended.
"Um..." Brittany glanced at her computer screen. "Tonopah? No, wait..." She squinted, lips moving as she read. "Sorry, it's near Tonopah. Some little airstrip. Probable landing gear failure, he said. He won’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest."
Cory opened his mouth to ask for specifics, but Izzy's hand on his arm stopped him.
"That's too bad," Izzy said smoothly. "We'll try to catch him another time."
"I could call him for you?" Brittany offered eagerly.
"No need." Izzy's smile was pure charm. "It’s nothing pressing. We'll figure it out. Thanks so much for your help."
They maintained casual smiles until the elevator doors closed.
"If she calls him, tells him we were asking..." Izzy didn't need to finish.
"He'll run." Cory jabbed the parking garage button. "Or worse, set up an ambush."
"Zara can find him." She was already texting. "Flight plans, credit card hits, cell towers. Give her twenty minutes."
They sat in his SUV while Izzy worked her phone, the parking garage's concrete ceiling making everything feel closed in. Cory drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, watching an executive in a thousand-dollar suit struggle with his Tesla's door handle.
"Got him." Izzy held up her phone triumphantly. "Desert Sky Aviation, thirty miles east of Tonopah. Middle of nowhere."
"How does Zara do that?"
"Seriously? You actually want to know?”
“Right. Belay that."
She plugged the address into GPS. "Two and a half hours if we push it."
"Then we push it." He started the engine. "But first?—"
"No."
"We need supplies. It's a long drive through empty desert."
"We don't have time for?—"
"Five minutes." He was already pulling out of the garage. "Trust me."
The gas station on the edge of town looked like it hadn't been updated since the Carter administration. Cory loaded up—water, jerky, trail mix, those terrible gas station sandwiches that somehow tasted good on long drives.
"Red Vines?" Izzy held up the package when he returned. "Seriously? Those are like eating plastic."
"Road trip essential." He tossed her a bag of chips. "So's that."
"I haven't eaten gas station food since..." She trailed off, already opening the bag. "These are terrible for you."
