"We don't know what they know." Cory straightened his shoulders, slipping into his police chief persona. "Let me do the talking."
The agents entered like they owned the place, spreading out in that way that made any room feel like an interrogation chamber. Debartolo's expression could have frozen Hell itself.
"Chief Fraser. Ms. Reyes." He didn't wait for pleasantries. "Reed Osgood came to us yesterday. Told us some very interesting things about a shooting in Nevada."
Cory's stomach dropped, but he kept his expression neutral. Beside him, Izzy had gone perfectly still—the kind of stillness that preceded violence or flight.
"He was quite detailed," Preston added, pulling out a tablet. "Times, locations, the fact that you were both present when someone tried to kill him. The fact that you failed to report it to local authorities."
"Reed was in shock," Cory began, but Debartolo cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"Save it. We know you removed evidence from the scene. We know you conducted an unauthorized investigation. And we know you've been withholding crucial information from a federal investigation."
The other two agents had positioned themselves by the exits. Standard intimidation tactics, but effective.
"We need all of it," Debartolo continued. "Every photo, every note, every piece of evidence you've collected. Now."
"This is our investigation—" Izzy started.
"No." Preston's voice cracked like a whip. "This is a federal investigation that you've been interfering with. Failure to reporta shooting involving a federal witness? That's obstruction of justice."
"Reed wasn't a federal witness when?—"
"He is now." Debartolo's smile held no warmth. "Which makes your little desert adventure a federal crime. You contaminated a crime scene, removed evidence, and failed to notify authorities."
Cory felt the walls closing in. Everything they'd worked for, every lead they'd followed, about to be swept up by federal bureaucracy that would take weeks to process. And that was the good news.
"We should arrest you both right now," Preston added, clearly enjoying this. "Obstruction, tampering with evidence, interfering with a federal investigation."
He let that sink in before continuing. "But we're feeling generous. Turn over everything—and I mean everything—and maybe we won't put you both in federal custody today."
Cory glanced at Izzy, saw his own trapped fury reflected in her eyes. They had no choice. Fighting would only make things worse.
"Fine," he said, the word tasting like ash.
The next twenty minutes were excruciating. The agents tagged and bagged everything—Izzy's servo analysis photos, the receipt from Brad's cabin, Cory's detailed notes, even the broken mechanical pencil pieces from the desert. Years of investigative experience reduced to evidence bags and chain-of-custody forms.
"Your daughter needs at least one parent not in prison," Preston said to Izzy as he sealed another evidence bag. The casual cruelty of it made Cory's hands clench.
Debartolo saved his parting shot for last, standing at the door with their boxes of evidence. "ONE more step out of line—one more moment of interference—and you're both in federalcustody. Chief Fraser, your career is hanging by a thread. Cut that thread, and Hope Landing will need a new police chief by Christmas."
The door slammed behind them with finality.
They stood in the sudden silence, the operations room feeling violated, emptied of their work. Izzy sank into a chair, head in her hands.
"They took everything," she said, voice hollow.
Before Cory could respond, the exterior alarm chimed again. Through the monitor, he saw Martha's old truck pulling up, Bill in the passenger seat. Both looked furious.
"Great," Izzy muttered. "More good news."
Martha didn't bother with pleasantries when Izzy opened the door. The aging mechanic stormed in like an avenging angel, Bill hobbling behind on his bad knees.
"The Feds are threatening to make the Mountain Angel shut down permanent." Martha's voice shook with rage. "Forty years of saving lives, and they just... shut us down. No warning, no appeal, just done."
"Martha, I'm so sorry?—"
"And now I hear the FBI is investigating you?" Martha whirled on Cory. "You're the police chief. Do something. Fix this."
