"I just wanted to go home to Robyn." Reed's voice cracked on his wife's name.
Under the harsh LED lights, Cory got his first good look at the field dressing. Blood had soaked through, dark and accusing. Izzy was already moving, hands gentle but efficient as she examined the bandage.
"This needs attention. Now." She pulled out her phone. "I know someone."
"No hospitals," Cory said quickly. "They report gunshots?—"
"Not this guy." Izzy was already dialing. "Former Special Forces medic. Runs an off-books clinic for people like us. No questions, no paper trail."
People like her. Operatives who lived in the shadows, who couldn't always explain their injuries to civilian doctors. Cory filed that away, another glimpse into the world Izzy inhabited.
"Thirty minutes," she said, disconnecting. "He'll come to us."
They settled Reed in the conference room, Cory noting how the man's hands shook as he accepted a bottle of water. Shock setting in properly now, the adrenaline finally exhausted.
The medic arrived in exactly thirty minutes—a grizzled man in his fifties who moved with the economy of someone who'd patched up bodies under fire. He worked in efficient silence, confirming Izzy's field assessment while Reed gritted his teeth.
"Clean through-and-through. You're lucky." The medic packed his supplies. "Antibiotics twice daily. Keep it clean. You know the drill."
After he left, Cory found himself in an unexpected position—convincing a federal investigator to accept protection from someone who operated entirely outside the law.
"You can't go home," Cory said firmly. "Whoever shot at you knows where you live."
"Robyn's alone. She'll panic if I don't come home."
"Call her. Tell her you're working a sensitive case." Izzy's voice was gentle but firm. "One of my associates will pick you up at 0800. Take you somewhere safe. I’ve got another person in mind to watch Robyn. She’ll never know they’re there."
“This investigation’ll be wrapped up soon,” Cory added. “And if you change your mind about telling Robyn, we’ll have her brought to you.”
Reed looked between them, and Cory saw the moment he accepted his new reality. "How did it come to this?"
"That's what we need to figure out." Cory pulled out a chair. "Why would someone try to kill you?"
Reed's Adam's apple bobbed. "Last week, I told Tom Morrison I was retiring. I mentioned maybe reviewing my old cases. Making sure I hadn't missed anything... criminal." Reed's voice dropped to a whisper. "All those mechanical failures. What if I was wrong?"
"A guilty, retired FAA investigator might start talking," Izzy said.
"Or worse—might reopen investigations." Cory's jaw tightened. "You became a liability."
Reed nodded miserably. "Morrison must have reported to whoever's behind this. Now someone's shooting at me."
"Speaking of Morrison..." Reed straightened slightly. "Three weeks ago, I saw something."
Cory leaned forward as Reed continued.
"Evergreen Lodge bar. Tom Morrison and that MedFlight woman—Barnes-Nakamura. They had files spread out. Personnel files."
“MedFlight’s?" Izzy's voice had gone sharp.
He shook his head. "Mountain Angel. I saw the logos." Reed closed his eyes, remembering. "When I walked past, I heard her say 'This one has access to everything.'”
"They have someone inside," Cory breathed.
"I saw Martha's photo on top when they covered the files." Reed opened his eyes. "I think MedFlight’s got a mole at Mountain Angel. Or they’re looking to hire one."
The implications crashed over Cory like a cold wave. Someone Izzy trusted—someone with access to schedules, aircraft, her personal items—was feeding information to the enemy.
Izzy's face had gone pale, but her voice stayed steady. "Reed, you need rest. Let's get you to a room where you can lie down properly."
