Something had shifted during that service. Watching their church family without them. Hearing Pastor Dan's words about storms and faith. Feeling Cory's steady presence beside her.
She'd been in plenty of boats during plenty of storms. But this was the first time in years she hadn't felt alone in one.
"Ready?" Cory asked, checking his weapon with practiced movements.
"Ready." She secured her Glock, pulled on her tactical vest. "Let's go see what Tom Morrison has to say about attempted murder."
As they headed for the vehicle bay, Izzy sent up a prayer of her own—rusty but sincere.Lord, I don't know if You're still listening to me. But please... let us find answers. Let me bring my baby home.
The snow had picked up, coating the world in deceptive peace. But Izzy knew better. Storms didn't care about Sunday morning tranquility.
Good thing she had the Lord, and Cory, in her boat.
36
The Morrison housesquatted in Evergreen Estates like a glass-and-steel tumor—all sharp angles and pretentious minimalism. These Silicon Valley types seemed to think floor-to-ceiling windows equaled sophistication, but to Izzy, it just looked cold.
Fresh snow blanketed the circular driveway, only one set of tire tracks marring the white. Janet's car, probably. Izzy recalled seeing the woman on the church livestream.
"Someone's watching," Cory murmured as they approached the front door.
Izzy had caught it too—curtains twitching in an upstairs window. By the time Tom Morrison answered the door, whoever had been watching was gone.
"Chief Fraser? Ms. Reyes?" Tom looked like he'd aged five years since she'd last seen him. His weekend uniform—pressed khakis, blue button-down—couldn't hide the haggard lines around his eyes. "What brings you here on a Sunday?"
"Sorry to intrude, Tom." Cory's tone was carefully calibrated—concerned colleague, not interrogating cop. "Mind if we come in? We’ve got a few questions about the Mountain Angel situation."
"Of course, of course." Tom stepped back, and Izzy's gaze immediately went to his shirt pocket.
Mechanical pencil. Clear barrel, dark lead visible inside.
She caught Cory's slight nod. He'd seen it too.
The living room looked like a furniture showroom—beige and gray, everything arranged at ninety degree angles. No family photos, no personal touches. Just expensive furniture that had never been truly lived in.
"Please, sit." Tom gestured to a leather sectional that probably cost more than Izzy's monthly mortgage. "Janet. We have company."
Janet Morrison appeared from the kitchen, wearing what Izzy privately called "rich lady casual"—designer jeans, cashmere sweater, subtle jewelry that screamed expensive. Her smile never quite reached her eyes.
"Chief Fraser, Ms. Reyes. Can I offer you coffee? Tea?"
"We're fine, thanks." Cory settled into the interrogation with the ease of long practice. "Tom, I need to ask about your whereabouts Friday afternoon."
Tom's hand went to his collar, adjusting it needlessly. "Friday? I was here. Home sick, actually."
"Sick?"
"Food poisoning." Tom grimaced. "That new taco truck downtown. Never trust a food truck that's too clean, my father used to say."
"You do love those food trucks," Janet added, perching on the arm of Tom's chair. "Against my better judgment."
"What time frame are we talking about?" Tom asked.
"Afternoon." Cory kept his tone conversational. "There was an incident near Tonopah. Shooting at the Desert Sky Aviation airstrip."
Tom's brow furrowed. "Shooting? Off all things. Anyone hurt?"
"Reed Osgood took a bullet. He'll live." Cory watched them both carefully. "The shooter fled the scene, but they left evidence behind."
