"Mechanical pencil. Or what's left of one." He pulled out an evidence bag, collected the pieces carefully. The old-fashioned kind. Specific. Unusual. Where had he seen that before?
“Could have prints,” Izzy sounded excited.
“Good possibility.” It had clearly been run over by their shooter. Whoever had dropped it clearly didn’t know they’d left it behind.
She studied the scene one more time, that analytical mind working. "Ten shots in forty seconds. Spray pattern, not precise targeting. Amateur hour for sure."
He squinted down at the tiny airport shed. “Or someone who wants us to think it was an amateur.”
She raised her dark eyebrows. “Such a suspicious mind, Chief.”
“Comes with the territory.”
“No doubt.”
They returned to the vehicle in thoughtful silence, a shaken Osgood trailing behind them. The question of law enforcement hung in the air, unspoken but pressing. Cory knew what procedure demanded. Call the locals, preserve the scene, file reports. But...
"We should call the sheriff," Reed said, though his tone suggested he dreaded the prospect.
Cory looked at Izzy, saw his own calculations reflected in her expression. By-the-book meant hours of statements, federal involvement, their investigation grinding to a halt while bureaucracy churned.
"We're conducting an unofficial investigation," he said slowly. "I'm on personal leave. By the time locals respond, take statements, call in crime scene techs..."
"Plus, I'd have to explain why Hope Landing's police chief and a suspended mechanic were interrogating me in Nevada," Reed added. The reality of their situation seemed to settle on his shoulders like lead.
"I just want to go home to Robyn," he said quietly.
Izzy crossed her arms, decision made. "So we're all in agreement. This didn't happen."
The words should have bothered Cory more than they did. Failing to report a shooting, contaminating a crime scene, ignoring every protocol he'd sworn to uphold. But watching Izzy work—competent, decisive, mission-focused—he found himself nodding.
They were past playing by the rules.
"Let's go," he said simply.
As they prepared to leave, Cory found himself studying Izzy one more time. Blood on her hands from treating Reed, glass in her hair from the exploding window, dust on her clothes from investigating the ridge. She looked like she'd been through a war.
But her eyes remained clear, focused. Ready for whatever came next.
He'd worked with good cops, even worked with federal tactical teams. But Isabella Reyes operated on a different level entirely. He was deeply grateful she was on his side.
30
Back at the airstrip,Izzy watched Reed struggle into his sedan, favoring his bandaged arm.
"You sure about this?" she asked through his window.
"I need..." Reed's hands gripped the steering wheel. "I just need to get home to Robyn. I'll be right behind you."
The first thirty minutes passed in tense silence. Izzy kept checking the side mirror, watching Reed's white sedan maintain a steady distance behind them. Cory drove with the focused attention of someone processing too many thoughts at once.
Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore.
"So we're really not reporting this." Not a question.
His jaw tightened. "No. We're not."
"The Hope Landing police chief is officially not reporting a shooting." She let that sink in. "You took evidence from a crime scene. Failed to notify local law enforcement. That's your career if anyone finds out."
