Safe. Long story. Need deep dive on mechanical pencil users in our suspect pool.
Zara: Mechanical pencils? As in those retro things people stuff in pocket protectors?
Will explain later.
Cory glanced over. "Your team?"
"Zara. She'll dig into anyone who might use technical pencils."
"Thank you," she said suddenly, for the millionth time, it felt like.
"For what?"
"For choosing us over your rules." The words felt inadequate. "I know what that costs you."
He was quiet long enough that she thought he wouldn't answer. Then: "Some things matter more than rules."
"Like what?"
"Like keeping you alive. Getting your daughter home for her pageant." His hands shifted on the wheel. "Like stopping whoever's doing this before they destroy more lives."
The simplicity of it, the certainty, made her throat tight. When had anyone besides her team ever put her first like that? When had anyone been willing to risk so much?
"Cory—"
His phone rang, cutting off whatever foolish thing she'd been about to say. Rachel's name on the screen.
Cory answered through the car’s stereo. “Yo, Rach… you’re on speaker. I’m here with Izzy.”
Rachel's warm voice filled the car. "Good news. I've got character witnesses lined up for the custody hearing. Pastor Dan, your supervisor at Knight Tactical, and—this is the best part—a child psychologist who's going to testify about the trauma of separating a child from their primary caregiver during times of crisis."
"That's amazing," Izzy breathed.
"You’re welcome. I'll keep pushing. How's everything else?"
"Complicated," Cory answered for both of them. "But we're handling it."
After they disconnected, Izzy let her head fall back against the seat. Four days until Chantal’s pageant. And all they had to do was unmask a conspiracy, stop a killer, and get her daughter home.
"We're going to make it," Cory said quietly, reading her thoughts.
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that steady certainty. But all she could think about was mechanical pencil leads scattered in the desert dirt and someone out there with a rifle, willing to kill to keep their secrets.
Behind them, Reed's sedan continued its faithful pace, carrying a broken man home to a wife who'd already lost too much. Ahead, Hope Landing waited with all its hidden dangers.
Four days.
The clock in her head kept ticking.
31
The Knight Tacticalhangar loomed ahead in the darkness, a fortress of steel and concrete that had never looked more welcoming. Cory checked his rearview mirror for the dozenth time, confirming Reed's sedan still followed.
They'd made good time from the desert, but Reed had to be running on fumes and stubbornness.
"He's not going to make it much longer," Izzy said, echoing his thoughts.
After Izzy hit the hangar’s remote, Cory pulled into the secure bay, Osgood behind them. The older man emerged from his vehicle like he was ninety instead of sixty, cradling his bandaged arm against his chest.
