Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
M orning brought more snow and a jacket piercing wind.
Keep going , just keep going , one foot in front of the other. The mantra ran through Ophelia’s mind as she tucked her chin and fought the wind, taking step after step along the icy sidewalk. White swirled around her, thick and mysterious, the freezing cold coating her leather jacket and sinking through the material to her skin and bones. Darn, it was cold.
She’d slept better than she had in years, awakening to the delicious smell of bacon and eggs. Flossy had eaten with her, giving her town gossip without any bite. Nobody seemed to know or care about who’d shot Hank. It was odd, and Ophelia couldn’t shake the feeling that, so far, the two people she’d interviewed had evaded the truth.
When she pushed Flossy, just a little bit, the elderly woman had started cleaning up and then insisted upon Ophelia wearing a thick blue knit hat with matching mittens over thermal hand liners, which proved surprisingly effective.
Her feet, on the other hand, were freaking freezing.
The B&B stood on the Main Street in town, only blocks from the sheriff’s office. It turned out that walking several blocks in a whiteout held more peril than she’d expected, and she rolled her eyes at herself. While the remote town failed to provide a car rental service, surely somebody had an old truck she could either rent or buy. She’d get on that after she found the sheriff’s office.
Snow blew across the vacant street, slamming against her legs. She seemed to be the only person dumb enough to be out in the brutal blizzard. Slipping, she yelped and quickly regained her footing. This might’ve been a bad idea.
She slogged through the snow and past the Green Plate Restaurant, a wooden building with weathered green eaves, closed without explanation. Well, except for the snow blowing into her face. Probably a good reason.
A shadow caught her attention across the street and to the side of Bob’s Bait and Outfitters, which stood dark and silent this morning. She blinked, twisting her head to see better. Nothing but snow and more snow. Great. Now she imagined shadowy threats. Even so, the skin at her nape prickled like somebody watched her.
She focused on not falling, trying to see through the billowing snow peripherally. On the other side of the road after Bob’s, a long wooden building housing a row of offices—all closed this Thursday morning—took a beating from the weather. A human form appeared at the far end, big and dark. She blinked, and he disappeared.
Had she really seen someone? Or had the snowy air distorted her vision?
Headlights cut through the murk, and a truck slowed while coming her way.
Awareness, that of a woman by herself on the side of a road, any road, straightened Ophelia’s spine. Her gun nestled reassuringly against her back, and she angled her right arm to retrieve the weapon if necessary.
The truck, covered in snow, stopped. The window slowly rolled down. “What the holy hell are you doing out in this storm?” Brock asked. In his deep voice, it came out more of a grunt than a snap, but anger lingered nonetheless.
She paused and then relaxed her shoulders. If he hadn’t tried to push her out of the plane the night before, then he obviously didn’t want her dead. Yet, anyway. “What are you doing out?”
“Coming to see you.” Definitely a growl this time.
Warmth, unexpected and unwelcome, flowed like a fine wine through her veins. “Why?” Did that sound flirty? She might as well swing her hips and twirl her hair at the guy.
His sigh didn’t come close to holding patience. “Get in the truck.” He leaned over and shoved the passenger-side door open in the middle of the snowy street.
She faltered. The truck’s interior looked nice and warm, and she wasn’t sure how much farther she had to struggle in the storm to get to the station. But nobody told her what to do. She really wanted to get into the truck. “Ask nicer,” she said, coughing out snow.
His eyes darkened. “Okay. Plant your fucking ass in the truck before I get out and haul you in here.”
Her head snapped up. “That was not nicer.” Both of her hands went to her hips. She could just shoot out his tire, but that’d create paperwork and possibly a psychiatric evaluation, and she didn’t have time for that nonsense. “You are such a complete dick.” Turning on her heel, she slipped, regained her balance, and charged back down the sidewalk.
Hence her surprise when he suddenly blocked her path. Holy crap, he’d moved fast from the truck, across the snow, and to the sidewalk. She was still waiting for clearance to obtain his military file, which now she feared might be heavily redacted. His years as a Navy SEAL probably provided a dangerous skill set.
She skidded to a stop and looked up. Today, he wore a thick red-and-black flannel coat, jeans that outlined powerful legs, and yet another pissed-off expression. “What the heck?” she hissed.
To his credit, he knew better than to grab her. “The storm is getting worse. Get in the truck, and we’ll argue where we won’t freeze to death.”
“No.” Yeah, she wanted inside that truck, and staying in the storm felt stupid, but he’d ordered her, not so nicely, and a woman couldn’t take that kind of crap. Plus, she worked as an FBI agent, for God’s sake. At least, for now. “I need to get to the sheriff’s office. Get out of my way, or I’ll get you out of my way.” She meant every word.
“You know how to fight?” Snow landed on his dark eyebrows and jaw scruff, warming and melting instantly.
“You bet your ass I do,” she said, more than prepared to take him down.
He rubbed his jaw. “Huh. I’m Navy. You’re FBI. Probably great training.”
Now he sounded…interested? Seriously? “FBI beats Navy every day.” All right. That probably wasn’t true, and she hadn’t exactly excelled in hand-to-hand, although she knew decent moves.
His lip quirked. “Not a chance, city girl. You trained in a nice gym with yoga mats. I trained in sand and blood. I’m eight inches taller and about a hundred pounds—at least—heavier than you.”
“So you’ll land harder,” she countered. How could she be having this ridiculous conversation in the middle of a blizzard? “Are you freaking crazy?”
“Could be.” He cocked his head to the side, his gaze warming. “How about we thumb wrestle for it?”
All right. He was touched in the head. Why were the sexy ones always nuts? “There is no way I’m taking my hand out of this glove.” The wind whistled a harsh tune, slapping ice against her chin.
“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said since you got here.” He blinked snow out of his eyes. “How about this? It’s been a while since I had to use manners, and I’m way too rusty. I’m sorry I swore at you, and I have the key to the sheriff’s office. I’ll open the building if you let me drive you there.”
As an apology, it worked. He’d given her an out and sounded somewhat sorry, so she ran to the still-open door and jumped inside the glorious warmth, sighing with pleasure and not caring one whit that she dropped snow all over his seat as she shut the door.
He slipped onto the driver’s seat and quickly flipped a U-turn, sliding across the ice.
“Tell me you’re sober,” she mumbled.
“Close enough,” he said, settling back.
Heat blasted from the dash, and she sighed, her skin still stinging. “Why don’t you like me?” The words shocked her as they came out of her mouth.
A flick of his wrist had the windshield wipers going faster. “It’s not that I don’t like you. I just don’t want you here in town.”
She blinked. Once and then again. “Excuse me?”
He sighed, the sound long-suffering. “Listen. We’re about to get snowed in for months, and most folks go a little nuts the first time. You’re a government agent. You’re going to make a lot of enemies quickly, I’m responsible for you, and you’re just too damn pretty to have to deal with every day.”
Her mouth opened and then closed. There was so much to unpack in that sentence that she didn’t know where to start. “Um. All right.” He found her pretty? Her chest warmed. Wait a minute. “You are not responsible for me.”
“Sure, I am. I brought you here. The choice belonged to me.” He ducked to better see the white world outside.
Talk about some kind of backwoods rule. “You were the only one sober enough to fly yesterday—the only one for miles. You had to come and get me.” She stretched her legs out, pushing her feet closer to the blissful heat.
He lifted a shoulder, and snow fell onto the seat. “Yeah, but I could’ve taken you to Anchorage and kicked you out there. I made the choice to fly you here, and that makes you my problem in everyone else’s eyes.”
Problem? “I’m not anybody’s problem,” she muttered. This was insane. “Also, why would my solving a couple of cases tick people off? You’d think everyone would want these disappearances or homicides solved.”
He shook his thick hair. “People live here because they like the solitude. They want to be left alone, and you’re about to turn over a bunch of rocks that should remain in place.”
Caution ticked down her spine. Was he warning her off? Again? Hadn’t they dealt with that the night before? “Let’s talk about Hank some more. Tell me about him.”
Brock stiffened. “Nope.”
She turned to study him. While she was nowhere near a behavioral analyst, she’d dealt with enough suspects to trust her instincts. “He raised you, right?” She waited until Brock nodded. “Tell me something about him. Anything.”
“He didn’t like the federal government.”
She huffed. “The documents from the Knife’s Edge investigation are flimsy, which concerned my boss, FBI Assistant Director Bill Burrington. Your guardian saved my boss’s life during a combat situation decades ago, so Hank’s death can’t be a mystery. That’s why I’m here. Supposedly, your Sheriff Blazerton has records and case files regarding several crimes for me to investigate, and I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
Brock didn’t twitch. “Your info is outdated.”
She finally released her grip on the door. “What do you mean?”
“Sheriff Blazerton died in May. I heard he had a heart attack in the middle of church services. He was a good old boy, and we’ve missed him. Almost made it to ninety years old, which is impressive around here. Very.”
“You’ve been without a sheriff for more than six months?” she gasped.
“Yep.” The tone had an edge to it.
She stilled. Now what? Wait a second. “You said that you heard . Don’t attend church?”
“Nope. But I left town beginning of May when the weather finally let us move again and just returned last week. Went on a walkabout to deal with shit. That’s all I’m saying about it.” His tone did not invite additional questions.
Fine. “At least you can tell me about your family.”
“Long story short, since you’re looking into us. We lived in a very small village even farther away from civilization. An avalanche took out the settlement, and only four of us kids survived because we were at a daycare, or maybe a relative’s, outside of the outpost. The caregiver apparently had a heart attack during the avalanche, and we lived on our own for a few days, or so legend says. None of us remember anything about that time. A trapper named Hank found us, took us in, and that’s the end of it.”
“Hank Osprey.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “So, he adopted all four of you.”
“Yeah. Hank wasn’t the most creative of sorts. He named us A, B, C, and, of course…D.” Brock’s tone carried both sadness and anger, with an edge that hinted at a warning.
She shook her head. “He named you A, B, C, and D?”
“Yep. A couple of us might be genetic brothers or cousins or whatever, and we do look alike. All with green eyes and Inuit features. Regardless, when Hank took us, we all became brothers. We lived off the grid and finally visited Knife’s Edge, where the sheriff made Hank give us real names and do formal adoptions. We became Ace, Brock, Christian, and Damian. See? Simple explanation.” Brock shrugged.
“How intriguing. What about birthdays? Do you celebrate those since you don’t remember your childhood before that time?”
He grinned. “Yeah. One year, a traveling circus came this far out, and Hank sat us down with a fortune teller lady. She looked into a crystal ball that appeared more like a marble ball and gave us all birthdates based on horoscopes or something like that. I celebrate on April tenth because I guess I have the characteristics of an Aries, whatever the hell they may be.”
Made sense. Aries held a strong sense of duty and loyalty, and those fit Brock perfectly. “I think Hank chose good names. Plus, Osprey is a strong surname, so you lucked out there.”
“Also Hank’s choice.”
She frowned. “How so?”
“The guy grew up somewhere in the mountains and didn’t have a last name until he wanted to join the Navy at seventeen and see some of the world outside of Alaska.” Brock slowed the truck and parked on the street, probably next to the curb. The sheriff’s station stood two stories, brick and dark. Heavy snow already hung off the eaves and had begun blocking the front door. “Hank saw an osprey flying high above on the way to the enlistment office, and there you go. It’s a good damn thing he didn’t see a pile of dog sh—poop.”
“That’s a fascinating story.” She forced herself to open the door and step into the frigid air. Had the entire town closed down for the day? Seemed so.
The wind cut into her as if also wanting her gone. What had she been thinking, heading to the middle of nowhere to find peace? “Should’ve gone to a spa,” she muttered, ducking her head and trudging up the three frozen steps to the wide, burgundy-colored metal door.
“Amen to that.” Brock kicked snow out of the way and dug a key out of his pocket.
She partially turned toward him, trying to hide her shivers. “Don’t you feel like you need to avenge your guardian? If you loved him like I think you did.” Did she need to unravel family drama?
Brock paused with the key and looked down at her, his eyes a darker green than they had been the day before. “We take care of our own here. If somebody did shoot Hank, it happened by accident, plain and simple. Nobody wanted him gone. I know, deep in my heart, that nobody murdered Hank.”
She swallowed. The mores of a small town, one isolated from the rest of the world, were probably skewed. “The truth matters,” she whispered. They’d already gone over this. It seemed a night to think hadn’t changed Brock’s mind any. “How can you not want justice?”
His chin lifted a micro fraction. “Darlin’? If I needed justice, I’d get it myself.” He turned and unlocked the door, shoving the dented metal open with one powerful shoulder.
She couldn’t hide her shiver this time.