Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A fter an unsuccessful argument with Ophelia about having the doctor take a look at her, Brock stopped the snowmobile at Sam’s Tavern, where several sleds lined up neatly parked outside. Ace leaped off his and strode inside, no doubt wanting a double. Christian had disappeared a mile before town, quietly and without a goodbye.
Brock could use coffee. A lot of it.
Flossy hustled outside, her black coat worn in several places and her boots sliding across the ice before she regained her balance. Brock frowned. The elderly woman needed a new coat, and he’d have to find a way to get her one without ticking her off. He partially straightened.
She shook her hand at them. “Are you two all right? Where did you stay the night?” She paused, and her papery skin dusted with pink. “Oh. Did you stay with Brock, Olly?”
Ophelia made a strangled sound.
Brock shook his head. “We got caught in the storm after taking a tumble into the river, and we waited it out.”
Flossy’s thin eyebrows rose. “My goodness. Has Doc checked either of you for frostbite?”
“We’re fine, Flossy,” Brock said. “Just want to get some food and drink before I go back out searching. Olly will stay here with you.” He didn’t care if Ophelia argued because she needed rest to get over that dunking. There was no reason for her to go out searching, especially since it would be for a body and shooter as well as Wyatt.
Ophelia turned her head and sneezed.
“Bless you,” Brock said automatically, focusing back on Flossy. “Is there still food at Sam’s, or should we head to the diner?” They both needed warm food, and now. He moved to get off the sled.
Flossy shook her head, her red-feathered earrings shaking. “The food is warm at the diner, and I think Gus made his chili, so go there. But first, the Miller boys found Wyatt. He’s at Doc’s right now. I heard something’s wrong with him, Sheriff.”
Brock paused. He wasn’t the sheriff and had no right to check on Wyatt.
“Let’s go,” Ophelia said, tugging him to sit.
Well, she was an FBI agent, and she did need a ride. Good excuse. Plus, maybe Doc could examine her feet for residual frostbite. “You’ve got it.” He sat and twisted the ignition, circling around to head toward Dalika River Road and then driving a block. The town was set in a grid with three roads coming off the river drive with buildings on either side. The hospital, Doc’s office, and dentist all shared a heavy wooden building that abutted Dalika River Road and First Street, which ran parallel to Main Street, with Second Street on the other side of Main.
He pulled the sled up front to the double doors and waited for Ophelia to slide off before following her.
She shook snow off her pink pants and sighed before stepping across the shoveled walk and pushing her way in. He followed, kicking snow off his boots on the rubber mat right inside. She did the same.
The waiting room, dotted with folding chairs, appeared quiet and empty. Someone had painted snowmen on the windows, and Christmas music filtered through invisible speakers. Nancy Phylets looked up from the reception counter and smiled, her red lipstick bright and cheerful. The woman was in her early thirties, smart, and frighteningly efficient, even with a swollen belly, which would be her fourth baby. Probably her fourth son. “Sheriff. It’s good to see you.”
He sighed.
Ophelia moved forward, lifting her badge from her chest with the chain. “I’m?—”
“Olly Spilazi, FBI,” Nancy said, tapping papers smoothly into a manila file, her black hair in a no-nonsense bun. “You’re sure a pretty one. Look just like that Angie Harmon from that lawyer show. Are you Italian?”
“Yes.” Ophelia tucked the badge away. “I’d like to see Wyatt Yankovich, if I could. What’s his status?”
Nancy leaned forward, her dark eyes wide. “He’s lost his mind. Is babbling something about a knife and blood. It’s so weird. Doc is checking to see if he hit his head or something.”
Ophelia straightened. “Knife and blood? Anything else?”
“Not that I know,” Nancy said.
“Any frostbite?” Brock asked.
Nancy nodded. “Oh, yeah. We have him on a drip with hands and feet already wrapped.”
Brock winced. “How bad is the tissue damage?”
Nancy shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Doc.” Metal file cabinets lined the wall behind her with potted plants spread across the tops, and she turned toward an open doorway to her left to yell. “Doc? Sheriff and the FBI lady are here.”
“I’m not the sheriff,” Brock said.
“Sure, you are. We elected you.” Nancy rolled her eyes. “Bobby said you need to stop being a dork and just take the job.” She smiled at Ophelia. “Bobby is my husband, and he and Brock played hockey together in high school. I headed the drama club, and I got the two of them to act in Macbeth. I’ll bring you some pictures. It’s hilarious.”
Ophelia blinked. “Sure.”
Oh, man. Brock subtly shook his head at Nancy. He and Ophelia were not dating, and he didn’t need to be fixed up. Nancy’s eyes sparkled, but she held her tongue. He’d sigh again, but why bother? “This way.” He gestured Ophelia toward the open doorway and followed her through. The long hallway led to several examination rooms and one trauma center. “Doc?” he called out.
Just what had Wyatt seen?
Ophelia followed Brock down the hallway and stopped short as a woman emerged from one of the examination rooms, her blond hair in a ponytail and oval-shaped glasses covering her blue eyes. She wore aqua-blue scrubs over a white turtleneck. A stethoscope hung around her neck. “What is all the yelling about?”
“Hey, Doc,” Brock said. “This is Special Agent Ophelia Spilazi from the FBI.”
Ophelia stepped forward and held out a hand for a firm shake. “Hi.” All right. She’d stereotyped, figuring Doc would be a grizzly old guy with a grumpy nature and a heart of gold. This woman looked to be in her early thirties with intelligent eyes and stylish boots lined with fur. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you. My full name, which nobody seems to remember, even though I’ve only been in town since September, is May Smirnov.”
Ophelia tilted her head. “You’re new to town?”
“She saved us,” Brock said. “We’ve had a series of rotating doctors for a few years, and not one of them has wanted to stay because of the weather. Doc here signed a three year contract.”
The doctor nodded. “The signing bonus was a great temptation, and I always wanted to work in a more rural area as a full family practice. I love the snow and quiet.” The doctor looked beyond Ophelia to Brock. “Why did you miss poker night last week? My wallet is light, and I wanted a knit hat from that new store in Anchorage. Now I’ll miss the next supply plane.”
Brock snorted. “If I remember right, Smitty won the pot the week before.”
Smirnov pressed her pink lips together, the light in her eyes dancing. “I don’t know how, but I think he cheated.” She rolled back on her heels and stuck her hands into the pockets of her scrubs.
Just how close was Brock with the pretty doctor? Ophelia ignored a totally irrational spurt of curiosity and cleared her throat. “How is Mr. Yankovich?”
The doctor winced. “Are you asking in an official capacity?”
“Yes,” Ophelia said. Hopefully, the doctor wouldn’t require a warrant before giving her information.
Dr. Smirnov shrugged. “Fair enough since the sheriff is with you. Wyatt has frostbite on his extremities, and it’s too early to tell if I’ll be able to save his fingers. We’ve wrapped all injured skin and are administering an IV with a tissue plasminogen activator. We’ll see from there. I’ve provided him pain medication, and he’s currently resting in relative comfort.”
“Can we see him?” Ophelia asked.
Smirnov looked at Brock, who nodded. “All right, but I have to warn you, he’s not quite there.”
Ophelia shoved down irritation at the doctor seeking Brock’s approval, but in a small town like this, she remained an outsider. A federal one. “Thank you.” Yes, she wore fluorescent pink snow pants that looked like they’d been through a meat grinder, her hair frizzed in every direction, and her bruised face lacked makeup, but she straightened her shoulders and strode into the room with as much authority as she could find. Her slightly stuffy nose left her hoping she didn’t smell too bad.
Brock followed her inside.
Wyatt Yankovich looked tall and lanky with bluish-pale skin and red hair sticking up in tufts. His brown eyes were wide, and his shoulders kept jerking beneath a blanket drawn up to his neck, even though his torso remained elevated in the hospital bed. He slowly turned his head. Red burns from the cold—and probably the wind—marred his entire neck and lower jaw. “Sheriff?”
Brock sighed. “Wyatt, this is Ophelia. She needs to talk to you, okay?” Pressing a large hand to the small of Ophelia’s back, Brock gently prodded her toward two purple plastic chairs by the bed.
She took in the machinery beeping quietly around the patient. Brock’s hand at her back should be annoying and not reassuring, yet she didn’t pull away from him. Her body ached, her eyes hurt, and an exhaustion she’d never felt before kept weighing down her limbs. As soon as she interviewed the obviously frightened kid, she needed to sleep and recuperate from the day. “Hello.”
Wyatt looked younger than nineteen. “Brock? What’s out there? What happened?” The kid’s lips trembled. “Where’s my wife?”
May poked her head in the door. “Sylvie is on her way, Wyatt. The Miller boys took a side-by-side out to get her.”
Wyatt shuddered. “I hope they’re armed.”
The doctor exchanged a look with Brock and then disappeared.
Awareness ticked up Ophelia’s still-cold shoulders. She sat, trying to look reassuring. “What happened to you, Wyatt?”
The kid sniffed. “I got caught in the storm during the day.” His voice lowered, and he looked over her shoulder at Brock, shock slackening his oval-shaped face. “It was still daylight, Brock. They don’t come out in the day. Why was he killed during the day?”
Brock drew out the chair next to her. “You’re not making sense, Wyatt. You’re in shock.”
Ophelia sat up straighter. “Who doesn’t come out in the daylight?”
Wyatt removed his hands from under the covers, revealing bandages covering them up to his elbows. “I saw the dead EVE man. With his eyes gouged out completely. Gone. Always the eyes.” He gulped and then gagged.
“Whoa.” Brock looked around frantically. “Do you need a bucket?”
Ophelia leaned forward, her instincts humming. “You saw the dead body? Did you see who killed him?” She fought to keep her voice level. “Did you get any pictures?” Why had she dropped her phone in the river, damn it?
Wyatt looked away from Brock and focused on her for the first time. With his pupils dilated from the pain medication, he finally seemed to see her. “You’re the federal lady. Aren’t you supposed to be in Anchorage?”
“I brought her here,” Brock said quietly.
“Huh.” Wyatt glanced down at her bright pink snow pants and then back up to her head. “What happened to you?”
She barely kept from smoothing down her hair. “I fell into a river and had a rough night. What happened to you?”
Wyatt swayed side to side as if he couldn’t get his balance, even on the bed. “I faced a storm and then hid from a monster. A real one. It’s true, Brock.” He shook his head and gulped again. “I thought it was all bullshit, but it’s true. They’re out there. Just waiting for eyes.”
Ophelia’s blood pumped faster, and she pressed a hand to the blanket on the side of the bed. “What’s out there, Wyatt?”
The kid shook his head. “Ask Christian. I saw him there yesterday. I think. Didn’t I?”
Brock jerked. “Christian? My brother?”
Wyatt nodded.
Ophelia stiffened. “You saw Christian out there with the dead man? Before or after the murder?” Or during? Christian seemed to have issues. Had he killed that man for some reason? “Wyatt?”
Wyatt shook his head. “I’m done. Need sleep.” He curled onto his side, facing the other way. “Tell me when Sylvie gets here.”
Brock stood and placed a hand beneath Ophelia’s elbow to help her up. “The kid needs sleep. We can talk to him again tomorrow.”
She shook her head, but Wyatt started snoring. Well, all right. She’d question Brock first. “I’d like to stay and speak with Wyatt’s wife.” Maybe Sylvie knew something about whatever the heck Wyatt had been talking about. Ophelia walked out into the hallway with Brock, nearly running into Dr. Smirnov.
The doctor shook her head. “I spoke with Sylvie on a radio, and she’s beside herself. As her doctor, I’m refusing access until she has seen her husband and calmed down. That’s only if I don’t have to administer a sedative for her.”
Irritation forced Ophelia to clench her back teeth. “All right. Please have her call me at Flossy’s when she’s available to speak, as I’ve lost my phone.” She couldn’t wait to jump into the warm pink decorated bed and sleep for hours. “For now, Wyatt is talking about some sort of monster that gouges out eyes. Do you have any idea what that’s about?”
The doctor shook her head, no expression revealing her thoughts. “Wyatt is heavily medicated. No doubt he’s just talking through the trauma of a night spent in the freezing cold. I don’t believe in monsters. Supernatural ones, anyway.”
The image of the EVE man’s clawed face and gouged out eyes flashed through Ophelia’s memory. “Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” she murmured. Monsters definitely existed. “I’m going to find this one.”