Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
B rock stacked new kindling and logs in the now-dead fireplace for the next poor sucker who needed fire as Ophelia took care of business outside. He’d already searched the area for the shooter, finding nothing. The storm had cleared, leaving a bright and freezing-cold day. Their clothes had dried through the night, and he couldn’t see any evidence of frostbite on either of their bodies.
Once he’d settled her down to sleep the night before, he’d found the box of flares and fired the purple one, letting anybody looking for them know they were okay and not to take drastic measures. Ace and Christian must’ve believed him because they hadn’t shown up, which was good since the storm had raged for hours.
Ophelia walked back inside, wearing her snow gear and his coat. “I’m not taking your jacket today.”
“It’s clear but cold, and I’m wearing long johns, a T-shirt, and a flannel, city girl. What about you?” He moved slowly in the morning, but a good meal and a workout would get his blood pumping again. As usual, his left leg hurt, but that’d never change. Sometimes, a bullet made itself known forever, and the one that had hit him while on a mission in Afghanistan would always leave an ache. But he’d left that world behind when the Navy honorably discharged him.
She huffed. “Just a sweater.” Then she kicked her foot in a move that could only be interpreted as adorable.
Man, he had to get a grip on himself before he screwed everything up. “Exactly how long do you want to argue about this before we get going?” He needed coffee.
She lowered her chin, her skin a healthy hue, and her eyes clear. “Has anybody ever told you how stubborn you are?”
“Most folks who’ve been around me long enough to have a conversation.” He finished repacking the bins with the now-dry blankets and sleeping bags.
She exhaled slowly. “How long did you work as a Navy SEAL?”
He securely shut the bin and turned to face her. They’d talked some before falling asleep the night before, mainly about the town and nothing serious, so the question caught him off guard. “Why?”
She pulled gloves out of his coat pocket and tugged them over her hands. “Just curious. You haven’t said, and the meager file I found didn’t tell me much. The way you moved yesterday after the shooter engaged seemed natural, as if you’ve been shot at quite a bit.”
He strode across the room and opened the door, his gun at his waist. “I did my job.” The last thing he wanted to discuss with her was his military time. Although it was a large part of his life—and one he sometimes missed. He sighed, looking out at the bright and cold-as-shit day. “I led a SEAL team.” He moved for the snowmobile, brushing snow off the seat, his skin feeling too tight after sleeping around her all night and not kissing her again. The cold settled around him, burrowing into his bones.
“Impressive,” Ophelia murmured, shutting the door behind herself. “You led a SEAL team?”
He paused in readying the seat. “I did. I left because of too many old wounds to move as fast as necessary, and I’m still in contact with my brothers from the team. We lost many, but we survived much.” He had no clue why he gave her this. “Did I wake you last night?” He’d thought he’d awakened fast and quietly from the nightmare, but maybe not.
“No,” she said. “You’ve been out for a year?”
“Almost.” He straddled the machine, his senses on alert for whoever had shot at them. Nothing disturbed the silence.
She glared at the snow and then stepped away from the hut, gingerly putting her boots in the footprints he’d left in the snow. “You left a year ago, Ace left six months ago, and Christian?”
Where the heck was she going with this? “About two months.”
“So, after Hank’s death, you each left as soon as your tour ended.” She patted her pinkening cheeks. “Yours ended in December and you came home for not only Christmas but for good. Hank died, and then both Ace and Christian retired from the military as soon as possible. That’s interesting, right?”
Not really. “We’re all around the same age, and we did our duty.” Not in the mood to be questioned, he twisted the key, pushed the button, and the engine roared to life.
She pressed on, reaching him. “Except for Damian. Or is his current tour not up yet?”
“Get on the sled, Ophelia.” Brock’s temper spiked faster than the river had last spring.
She faced him head-on, not afraid in the slightest. “I won’t let this go.” Then something caught her eye. She lifted her head, delight brightening her expression. “Is that a bald eagle?”
He couldn’t look away from her face. To him, she looked intriguing and lovely, which were two words he’d never used about anything or anyone before. “Yeah, that’s an eagle.” Probably. Tons flew about.
She craned her neck to see better, her sapphire eyes sparkling. “I’ve never seen one in real life. He’s majestic, right?”
“He’s a bird of prey, Olly.”
Her attention dropped from the sky to him. “I seem to be drawn to that kind of thing.”
Did the sight of the eagle leave her unguarded, or was she flirting with him? “You think I’m a hunter, Agent?” His blood started to hum and not from the thought of coffee.
“Oh, you’re definitely a hunter, Commander,” she whispered, biting her lip like she wanted to solve an interesting puzzle. “Do you think somebody shot at me because I saw that body from EVE or because of the cases I’m trying to solve—including Hank’s?”
If that was her idea of flirting, the woman needed to buy a book about the matter. If he spent one more night in her presence, he would lose his mind. Then he caught her meaning, the deeper one, and barked out a laugh. “Was that your casual way of asking if one of my brothers shot at you yesterday because you’re investigating Hank’s death?”
She lifted a shoulder, clearly challenging him, although she looked miniature in his jacket. “The bullets impacted near me and not you.”
“Not a chance did either of my brothers shoot at you.” He gestured for her to get on the sled. They’d have to travel past where they’d been fired upon the day before, and he wanted full daylight for the trek.
“How can you be so sure?” She finally straddled the machine.
He handed back her helmet. “Because neither one of them would’ve missed.”
Ophelia held on tightly as Brock drove the snowmobile fast, twisting in and out of treed areas, his body feeling taut and alert. The shooter had waited for them the day before, knowing their path, so they might be waiting right now. The sun shone down as if the storm had never happened, the sky a true blue, and the snow drifting softly and sparkling with life. After maneuvering through the hills, he kept away from clearings and gullies, riding along the river but not close to the rushing water.
When they neared the area where she’d fallen in, she tapped his leg. He ignored her. She tapped harder. Still nothing. Fine. The snow appeared thick enough that she could drop and roll through it, probably stopping before hitting a tree. She released her hold on him, bunching her legs to slide from the snowmobile.
In a shockingly fast move, he twisted and snagged her around the waist with his left arm while also yanking the machine to the right. Using the momentum of the turn, he pulled her around and in front of him, plopping her unceremoniously to face him, straddling him.
It all happened too fast for her to struggle, much less scream. When he pressed the throttle again, the force propelled her flush against him, and she pushed against his chest, her feet fighting for purchase on the footboards.
He drove between trees, turning into a stop in the middle of several spruces and punched the kill switch.
She flipped her face guard up and then reached for his. “What are you doing?”
He ripped his helmet completely free and looked around, his body tense. “Be. Quiet.”
She went on full alert, scouting the area. Slumps of snow fell from tree boughs, but the wilderness seemed peaceful. The area felt peaceful.
Finally, his body relaxed, and he faced her, his expression hard. “What did you think you were doing?” He clenched his teeth so hard she heard them grinding at the back of his jaw.
“You ignored my tapping.” Wasn’t that obvious?
“Yeah. I’m not stopping at the area where somebody fired at us from cover yesterday.” He looked around again.
She breathed out. “I’m a federal agent who found a dead body on federal land yesterday. I need to secure the scene, or at least take more pictures since I think I lost my phone in the river. Please let me use your phone. At the very least, I’d like to make sure whoever shot at us hasn’t returned.”
“No.” Brock smacked snow off his helmet. “I’ll bring Ace or Christian back out later for the body.”
She stiffened, sitting straighter. “That’s a nice thought, Big Man, but you’re not the law enforcement around here, remember? You’re not the sheriff. I am an agent, and I’m calling the shots.”
The look he gave her made her want to swallow, so she didn’t. Instead, she faced him, wondering if she had a chance in a fight with a Navy SEAL. Oh, she could grapple, but he had skills beyond the norm.
“This isn’t federal land,” he said mildly, surprising her. “Not your jurisdiction. Sorry, Agent.”
He didn’t sound sorry.
She moved to get off the sled. “That’s okay. I’ll just?—”
The buzz of an engine caught her attention, and she stilled. He slipped off the snowmobile, taking his gun from beneath his jacket and pulling her off to stand behind him. “Get down.”
Why had she dropped her damn gun in the river? She dropped to her haunches along with him, using the sled and the surrounding trees as cover.
An animal bounded out of the trees lining the river, white fur flying, eyes blazing. “Wolf Warrior,” Brock murmured, standing and holding a hand out to help her. She ignored his offer, planted a palm on the seat of the sled, and stood all by herself. It would’ve been a better accomplishment if he didn’t look so damn amused.
The animal licked her glove and whined. She patted his already large head, even though he was still a puppy. “Is he a wolf or a dog?”
“Both. I think we’re calling him Tika,” Brock said.
Two sleds rode into view, following the animal. Christian rode in the front, a shotgun slung over his shoulder and the same dark hat on his head. His snowmobile gleamed black with deep red accents, while Ace’s sported blue hues with black stripes. They stopped, both remaining quiet and studying them.
“You okay?” Ace asked.
Brock nodded. “Yeah. Somebody shot at us yesterday. Since you’re here, let’s take a moment to see if there’s anything to find, although the storm probably obliterated any evidence.”
Christian tilted his head. “Shot at you? With what?”
“Shotgun,” Brock returned, pointing toward the river. “Took cover in here somewhere and was a crappy shot.”
“Unless he didn’t want to hit you,” Ace murmured, jumping from his sled into snow up to his thighs and striding into a bigger stand of green trees Ophelia couldn’t identify.
Christian sat back on his sled, removed his glasses and revealed those odd eyes. His helmet didn’t have a face guard. “Who would shoot at you?”
“At her,” Brock said, tucking his gun back into place.
“Ah,” Christian said, his face clearing. “Makes sense.”
She frowned. “Hey.”
He shrugged. “Nosy people get shot at around here.”
She sat on the sled. “I want to go back to the body. We’re safe in numbers, right?”
“Body?” Christian asked.
Brock straddled the sled, holding out an elbow so she could swing on behind him. “Yeah. Follow us.” He pushed the ignition button and the engine roared again before he turned the machine and drove toward the river. Ice already covered the area where she’d fallen through, but her black coat could still be seen trapped down low.
She shivered at the memory.
Brock stopped the sled.
She pushed off, sinking in the snow and looking at the pristine white mounds. “He’s buried?”
“Maybe.” Brock moved close to the river and then took several wide steps away before stopping. “The body lay right around here.” Slowly, he began kicking snow out of the way in every direction. Soon, a little bit of red ice spread out.
Ace emerged on his sled through the trees, stopping near Christian, who sat on his machine watching. “I found a decent vantage point, but the storm destroyed any evidence of a shooter.”
That figured.
More red ice spread out as Brock kicked.
Ophelia’s breath caught. “You found his blood.” She moved to help, kicking snow as gently as she could. They cleared a decent area but only discovered more red snow sparkling like rubies in the sunlight.
She looked up, meeting Brock’s gaze. “The body is gone.”