"Absolutely not." The words came out harsher than Cory intended. "We're partners in this. I'm not letting you take a federal rap alone."
"But—"
"Either we both do it or neither of us does."
Maya leaned forward. "How many more Brads will she recruit? How many more aircraft will they mess with?"
The weight of it pressed down on Cory's chest. Everything he'd sworn to uphold, every principle he'd built his career on, warred with the simple truth—more people would die if they didn't act.
A long silence stretched across the connection. Cory felt something fundamental shifting inside him, some line he'd drawn in permanent ink suddenly seeming arbitrary.
He paced, back and forth, a tight line from the screen to the door and back. But inspiration remained elusive. "The evidence will be inadmissible," he said finally. "Fruit of the poisonous tree."
"We don't need admissible," Zara said. "We need truth. Once we know where to look, we leave it alone. Let the FBI stumble across it independently."
Cory flinched. That was such a narrow line. The kind of rationalization that destroyed careers and consciences.
But then he thought about Reed Osgood, shaking with shock and blood loss. About Izzy's car exploding.
"Tracker only," he heard himself say. "It comes off the moment we ID the mole."
"Copy that," the team responded in unison.
After they disconnected, Cory sat in the sudden quiet, wondering what he'd just agreed to. Izzy moved around the kitchen, starting coffee neither of them needed.
"You didn't have to do that," she said quietly.
"Yes, I did."
She turned to face him. "Why?"
Because watching you work today showed me what real courage looks like. Because your daughter deserves to come home. Because sometimes protecting the innocent matters more than protecting your career.
"Because it's the right thing to do," he said simply.
Something shifted in her expression, and she crossed the space between them. For a moment, he thought—hoped—she might...
A crash from the guest room shattered the moment. Reed, crying out in his sleep.
"I'll check on him," Izzy said, but her hand briefly touched his arm as she passed. "Thank you, Cory. For all of it."
He watched her go, then slumped into a chair. Tomorrow they'd commit a federal crime. Cross a line he'd never imagined crossing.
His phone buzzed. Zara had sent SBN's schedule.
Spa appointment 1000 to 1400hrs. Perfect window.
Cory closed his eyes and found himself praying. Not for forgiveness. That would come later, maybe. But for wisdom. For protection. For the strength to see this through.
Because tomorrow, Chief Cory Fraser would become someone else. Someone who put illegal trackers on vehicles and hoped the ends justified the means.
Lord, help me be the man Izzy and her family need me to be. Even if it costs me everything I thought I was.
32
Saturday morning arrived toobright and too early. Izzy stood at the kitchen counter, mainlining her third cup of coffee while watching Wilson's associate—a compact woman who moved like a ghost—guide Reed to an armored SUV tucked into the hangar between Cory’s personal vehicle and the team’s Eurocopter. Reed’s truck had been pulled up next to Cory’s where it would remain, already swept for trackers, until it was safe for the injured man to return for it.
Reed paused at the vehicle door, looking back up at them. Even from here, she could see the fear in his eyes. Not for himself, but for what he'd set in motion by talking.
