Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
B rock had just placed his hand on the diner’s door when the hum of a snowmobile caught his attention. Ace came into view through the darkness, his headlights on and a black knit hat low on his forehead.
“No helmet?” Ophelia asked, pausing next to Brock.
It was a miracle his brother had bothered to come for dinner. “His hard head would dent any rock it might hit.” He’d talk to Ace later about being a dumbass and not wearing a helmet. Hank had always made sure they had something on their heads.
Snow drifted gently down, covering them as Ace stopped the machine at the curb and stretched off, his gaze on the agent through the dark night and billowing snow. “I’m glad I shaved. Hello.” He even took off his glove to shake her hand.
Brock barely kept from rolling his eyes. “Special Agent Ophelia Spilazi, please meet my brother, Ace.”
They shook hands. “Call me Ophelia.”
Was it Brock’s imagination, or had her voice softened? A spurt of something he didn’t like blared through him, and he grunted, yanking the door open. “Let’s get inside where it’s warm.”
The smartass look Ace cut him might get Ace another bruise to match the one on his jaw from earlier. “After you, Sheriff.”
Ophelia stumbled and then partially turned, her dark hair swishing and dropping snow onto the interior rubber mat. “Sheriff?”
“No,” Brock said, pausing inside the doorway just as Ace chuckled, moving past them and the long, wooden counter that ran the length of the kitchen. Ace headed for a table in the back, next to a roaring stone fireplace. Christmas decorations showed on each table with bulbs and smiling Santas.
Ophelia’s eyes darkened to a midnight blue, and a fine pink filled her pale cheeks. “Why did he call you?—?”
“Hey, Sheriff.” Gus leaned down on the other side of the window from the kitchen, his huge frame filling it. “Looks like you brought the FBI lady here. Thought you was gonna drop her butt in Anchorage.” His grizzly gray eyebrows drew down.
“Knock it off, Gus.” Janet, his wife, stood up from behind the counter, her hands full of straws. Gray liberally streaked her black hair, and her blue eyes sparkled. “Hi, hon. Welcome to Knife’s Edge.”
“Thank you,” Ophelia said, her head tilting. “Did you call him the sheriff ?”
Gus snorted. “The sheriff eats for free, as you know. You eating for free, Brock?”
“No,” Brock growled, grasping Ophelia’s elbow and propelling her past several empty tables.
Gus rolled deep black eyes and stood, revealing only his green flannel shirt. “Dumbass,” he muttered, turning back to his grills and disappearing from sight.
Brock’s ears heated as he pulled out a chair for Ophelia across from Ace, who’d already sat so he could watch the door.
The woman took her seat, looking around. “We’re the only patrons.”
Ace nodded. “It’s only five, but it seems later because it’s been dark for a couple of hours. The dinner rush, which means about five more people, won’t come in ‘til six or seven.”
Ophelia brushed snow away from her dark hair, which looked like silk. The mass spread over her shoulders, and the smell of strawberries tickled Brock’s nose. His phone buzzed from his pocket. He reached for it, already pissed off that somebody was calling him. Why did the cell service still work, damn it? “What?”
“Brock? It’s Sylvie Yankovich. Wyatt went out earlier to ice fish, and he hasn’t been back. He promised to return before nightfall, and it fell about two hours ago.”
Brock nearly bit through his lip to keep from asking why the young newlywed bothered to call him. He sighed. “Sylvie, you know I’m not?—”
“Please, Brock,” Sylvie whispered. “I’ve heard the stories. All of them. What if?—?”
“The stories aren’t true. Don’t believe in silly tales created to keep kids from venturing into the tundra.” He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible, and as truthful, because who the hell really knew?
Sylvie sniffed. “I don’t know what to do.”
She should have refused to move to the middle of nowhere with her new husband at the age of nineteen. “Sylvie,” he started.
“Forget it. I shouldn’t have called you. I’ll go look for him myself. It’s not a big deal.” Her voice trembled, and she cleared her throat.
Damn it all to hell. The young woman would never find her way home, and then he’d have to go searching for both of them. Why did people think they could move to the middle of nowhere and survive without any learned skills? “No. Stay inside where it’s warm. I’ll go look for him. Did he head for a crick or the river?”
“Um, he said Arctic Crick today. I tried his cell, and he’s not answering.” The kid sounded like she was about to cry even harder.
“I’m shocked you still have service at your place, but I’m sure Wyatt doesn’t, if he’s out fishing. So if he doesn’t answer, no worries.” Brock said. “Next time have him take a radio. For now, stay there in case he comes home. If so, call me.” He clicked off and slid his phone back into place. If he held the sheriff job—which he did not—he’d make sure everyone moving to town took a wilderness survival course. Maybe several of them. “I’ve got to go.”
Ophelia jolted, and Ace grinned.
“Shut up,” Brock muttered to his brother.
“No problem, Sheriff.” Ace flattened his broad hands on the table. “Take the snowmobile. I’ll make sure your agent gets home tonight.”
Yeah, Ace was gonna get punched again. Brock grunted and turned on his heel toward the door. Janet stopped him with a brown paper bag, no doubt containing a cheeseburger cooked just the way he liked it.
“Here you go, Sheriff. Can’t have you out on an empty stomach.” She handed him the food and turned back toward the kitchen before he could protest, her thick boots squeaking across the dented wooden floor.
Could this day get any worse? When he found Wyatt Yankovich, he planned to scare the stupid kid back to Anchorage. If he found him alive.
Ophelia leaned back in her chair, a million questions gathering in her mind.
The waitress bopped up while also pulling her thick hair up into a ponytail. She looked to be in her fifties or early sixties, with fine lines spreading out from her light blue eyes. “If it isn’t Ace Osprey. It’s about time you stopped drinking yourself to death all by yourself.” She pressed a hand to her ample hip. “It’s much better to drink with others, you know.”
Ace nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Janet Luna, this is Ophelia Spilazi.”
Finally, somebody who didn’t introduce her with her full title. Ophelia smiled. “This is a nice place you have.”
“Thank you.” Janet smiled brighter than the neon pink sweatshirt she wore. “How’d you talk the sheriff into bringing you here? Thought he was dumping you in Anchorage.”
Had the entire town talked about her? “I didn’t give him much choice,” Ophelia admitted.
Janet’s lips pursed. “Huh. That’s a new one for Brock.” She tapped her fingers together. “Tonight, we have burgers, the beef kind, and spaghetti, also with beef meatballs. That’s it.”
Okay. Both sounded good, so she’d go with the safer choice. “I’ll have a burger cooked medium,” Ophelia said.
“Gus cooks it the way he wants.” Janet turned her focus on Ace. “You?”
“Same,” Ace said. “And a beer.”
Ophelia straightened. “What kind of wine do you carry?” She could use a glass after the day she’d had, although she was starting to understand why Ace drank alone in his cabin.
“Red or white but no pink,” Janet said, partially turning. “Gus?” she bellowed. “Two burgers with cheese and fries.”
Ophelia barely kept her mouth from dropping open at the casual approach. “I’ll take red. Thank you.” This would be an adventure.
“No prob, Olly.” Janet turned and loped toward the kitchen, her boots noisy in the vacant restaurant.
Ace chuckled. “You’re here less than one day, and you already have a nickname. Welcome to Knife’s Edge.” He sat back in his chair, studying her.
She returned the exploration. Ace Osprey’s hair ran a shade or two lighter than Brock’s, and his eyes appeared a smidge lighter green, but his jawline appeared to be the same. The men shared the same straight nose, high cheekbones, and broad shoulders, although Brock seemed thicker. They definitely sprang from the same genetic pool. “Your brother failed to mention he’s the sheriff.” Should she feel foolish or angry? Anger seemed to be winning, considering how hot her blood felt.
Ace shrugged. “The town voted him in six months ago after he took off for his walkabout. He keeps refusing. Didn’t want to be on the ballot, but that’s what happens when you don’t attend the annual town meeting in June. You get elected sheriff.”
She unzipped her jacket and slipped out of it, placing the leather material around her seat. The fire crackled and warmed the room nicely. “Let me get this straight. The town elected Brock to serve as the sheriff, but he doesn’t want the job, and nobody cares.”
“Yep.” Ace grinned when Janet plunked a beer bottle down next to a generous pour of red wine. “Thanks.”
Janet nodded and hustled off.
Had Brock told the truth about needing time alone? Made sense. But had he needed that time to deal with more than his discharge from the Navy? Did Hank’s death weigh on him? If so, how and why? Ophelia sipped the wine, which exploded on her tongue and warmed down her throat. “This is delicious,” she murmured, taking a bigger drink. What vintage had they secured here?
“You never know with Gus.” Ace tipped back half the bottle before speaking again. “Returning to Brock. I honestly don’t know if he’s gonna win this one or if the town is. I mean, Brock’s outnumbered by far, but truth be told, he’s the most stubborn son of a bitch I’ve ever met. Begging your pardon, Agent.”
“I’ve already noticed that myself.” Ophelia shared a grin with Ace before returning to business, the good wine instantly mellowing her. “Who do you think shot Hank?”
“Ah. Getting right to it, are you?” Ace twirled the bottle on the table, his gaze catching the refracting light. “I have no idea who shot Hank. It happened around Christmastime, and I’m sure plenty of folks headed out hunting, so it could’ve been anybody who fired accidentally.” He drew the bottle up and finished it.
Ophelia took another healthy drink of the wine. “That’s the same story Brock gave me.”
“Isn’t a story. It’s the truth.” Ace looked up as Janet brought over another beer bottle and whisked the empty one away.
Ophelia shook her head. “Somebody shot Hank, yes. But the autopsy report shows water in his lungs, so he actually drowned. Whoever shot him could’ve possibly saved him after shooting him.” Probably not, according to the report. He’d only lived long enough to fill his lungs, but she didn’t have to tell Ace that.
Ace watched his bottle again. “You read the autopsy report. Interesting. I never saw it. Did Hank sustain any other injuries?”
“Like what?” she asked, the base of her neck tingling again.
“I don’t know. Any type of animal scavengers? We have many around here.”
What an odd question. “No. The autopsy report didn’t include any such facts.” Did relief filter across his face? The expression disappeared as fast as it had appeared.
He sighed. “Listen, Olly. Around here, a year ago might as well be a century. Hank’s long buried, and so is your case. You’re not going to find anything more.”
So her new nickname might stick. She’d figure out how she felt about it later. This wasn’t her first difficult case, and she always found more evidence. She swallowed, switching topics to keep him talking. “Tell me about your brothers.”
Ace finally looked up, his light green gaze piercing. “Well, Brock is the sheriff and is responsible for you, which seems to have made him crankier than usual. That’s saying something.”
She ground her back teeth together. “You guys need to join this century. No man is responsible for me.”
Ace grinned. “That’s not a chauvinistic position. You could be male or female, young or ancient, human or horse. Brock brought you to town before the snow hit, and that makes you his problem if you turn into one. I really wouldn’t turn into one if I were you. Brock seems easygoing, albeit stubborn, but he’s not a guy you cross. Ever.”
She set her wineglass down. “Is that a threat?”
“Of course not.” Ace leaned back as Janet delivered two large platters holding burgers and an obscene amount of large-cut french fries. “That’s just a fact.”
Ophelia reached for a fry and paused when it burned her hand. “Where are Christian and Damian?”
“Dunno.” Ace reached for his burger. “Christian is around here somewhere, but he really doesn’t like people, so you probably won’t meet him. Damian is in intelligence, and he gets word to us once in a while, but he can’t say where he’s stationed.”
Well, then. “When you and Brock say that Christian is around here, what exactly does that mean?”
Ace paused in bringing a fry to his mouth. “The words are clear. Christian is usually in the mountains, so that means he is where he is.”
She frowned. “Huh?”
Ace shrugged, obviously not willing to go into more detail. The Osprey brothers presented a solid wall she couldn’t get past.
She’d have to start with Ace and Brock for now. She munched on a fry, humming happily at the salty taste. That Gus sure could cook. “Let’s start back at the beginning. Walk me through Hank’s death. Who found him?” That salient fact hadn’t been listed in the sheriff’s report, either.
Ace took a large bite of his burger and chewed thoughtfully, studying her intently. After he’d swallowed, he placed the food back on his plate. “Haven’t you already interviewed Brock?”
“Kind of, but we’re just getting to that day.” She ate another fry. “Why?”
“Brock found Hank’s body. It’s common knowledge. I figured you already knew that.”
She jerked and barely kept from swearing. What the heck? Yet another fact Brock Osprey had kept from her.
What else was Brock hiding, and why wasn’t that fact included in the sheriff’s investigative file?