Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
N ight blanketed the small town as Brock finally returned to the station after working as a handyman for most of Mrs. McGillicuddy’s neighborhood until after supper. The town definitely needed a sheriff. Maybe Ace would think about taking the job and stop drinking.
Ophelia strode outside and gingerly made her way down the icy steps. Her foot slipped, and he caught her by the elbow before she could fall. She’d been there all day? The woman showed clear dedication, no question about it.
He didn’t want to release her. “There should be salt in the basement. I’ll have Amos take care of the steps and sidewalk.” Amos usually enjoyed spreading the salt far and wide. Perhaps he wanted to avoid the federal agent.
She looked up, her blue eyes wide in the light from the entryway. “Thanks. It might take me a little while to get my snow feet under me.” She looked down the quiet street, noting the rapidly falling snow.
He grinned. “This is just the beginning. Where are you going?” It was late to be heading out alone.
She rubbed her already red nose. “Flossy found a truck for sale at Mountain Man’s Garage. I called, but nobody answered. Since the garage is just down the sidewalk, I thought I’d walk.” The snow fell onto her black leather jacket.
“The garage closes at five, but it’s too late, anyway. That was Bob Milt’s truck, and it already sold to the Pierce boys.” Brock dug a scarf from his pocket and quickly wrapped it around her neck, tying it securely beneath her chin. The blue matched the exact color of her stunning eyes.
Those eyes widened. “You brought me a scarf?”
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “I had a call to Mrs. McGillicuddy’s house, and she knits scarves to make extra money in the winter. I figured you needed one.” He felt like a dork.
A pretty pink infused her cheeks, and for a moment, she looked confused. Adorable and bewildered. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” He cleared his throat. “Why did you need a truck?”
“I’d like to find my own way around, and since Wyatt Yankovich is refusing to see me about the EVE case, and his doctor is shielding him in doing so, I want to head out tonight to interview the Randsom family about Tamara Randsom’s disappearance.” She pursed her lips. “There has to be a vehicle for sale somewhere around here.”
He eyed his truck. “There isn’t, and soon, vehicles will only be usable right in town and for the first twenty miles of the river road. Other than that, you’ll need a snowmobile, RZR, or dogsled. Maybe snowshoes, but not for long distances.” He could offer his truck, but he’d rather provide cover for her. Somebody had shot at her the other day. It was probably related to her finding the dead body and being a Fed, but he couldn’t be sure. “When did you plan to visit the Randsom homestead?”
Her eyebrows rose, and a snowflake landed on the right one, melting instantly. “Right now, actually. I’d hoped to catch them more relaxed after dinner.”
He sighed. “I’ll take you.”
She paused, looked like she wanted to argue, and then shrugged and carefully strode toward his truck. “I obtained a new phone earlier today at the mercantile and managed to get my number moved over. Even though we don’t have much service around here.”
He released her elbow and followed, almost running her over when she stopped.
She looked over her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. You’ve been out of the office all day and probably haven’t eaten dinner.”
He preferred her prickly side to the sweet because sweet shot right to his groin for some perverse reason. “Mrs. McGillicuddy fed me both lunch and supper,” he admitted. “Sandwiches for lunch, and then some delicious meatloaf. I may not need to eat again until next week.” He absently rubbed the scratch on his neck from the cat. The meatloaf had helped with the sting.
“Good.” Ophelia opened the passenger-side door and climbed inside.
He kicked a chunk of ice off the sidewalk and moved around the truck to the driver’s side, sitting and quickly starting the engine to get the heat going. “I don’t suppose you called ahead?” He pulled away from the curb.
“Nope. Wanted to catch the Randsoms off guard.” She clicked her seat belt into place.
Sounded like a Fed. He flicked on the windshield wipers to keep the snow from piling up.
“Christian swore on the souls of his ancestors that you didn’t kill Hank but wouldn’t vouch for himself.”
Sounded just like Christian. Brock turned up the heat in the truck. “Why don’t you concentrate on one case at a time since we’re headed out to the Randsom house?”
She shifted her weight in the seat and held her bare hands out for the heat. “I can multitask.”
Yeah, she seemed talented and way too dedicated. “Where are your gloves?” He turned the heat up higher, driving away from the town.
“I forgot them at the station.” Something she probably wouldn’t do again.
Suddenly, a series of bullets impacted the truck. The back tires blew, and the truck skidded across the ice toward the river. “Hold on,” he bellowed, throwing out his arm to protect her from the dash.
The impact of Brock’s arm hitting her chest smashed Ophelia back in the seat, much stronger than the seat belt already protecting her. The wind blew from her lungs, and she gasped, instinctively reaching for a gun at her waist that wasn’t there.
Brock released her and manacled the steering wheel with both hands, his feet working the brakes as the truck whipped around on the ice and bounced off a snowbank with a loud thunk. Her body jerked, and her head whipped forward and back. Faster than she could track, he unbuckled her belt and pulled her across the seat and out his door, crouching and yanking her down. He pulled his gun from the back of his waist.
She sucked in freezing air, her mind clearing, the snow thick beneath her boots as she crouched low enough that her butt became covered in snow. “Extra gun?”
Without looking her way, he plucked a concealed pistol from an ankle holster in his boot. “Glock 26. You have ten in the mag.” He handed over the black weapon.
She took it, letting the warmth of the metal seep into her hands. “Location?”
He shook his head. “Other side of the truck. Heard the impact but didn’t see anything.”
Silence howled around them with the snow falling and the sky dark. She inched sideways down the truck toward the rear, putting her back to the vehicle and sliding easier. Brock edged toward the headlights, keeping his head down until he reached the front.
Then they waited, in perfect sync.
Nothing. Just silence and more snow. Her breath puffed out, and she took care to turn her head so the telltale sight stayed hidden behind the truck. Her heart beat powerfully inside her chest, and she let the adrenaline rush center her.
Brock leaned his back against the quiet vehicle, closing his eyes. He still crouched, his gun in both hands, his long body looking ready to uncoil at the slightest noise.
She blinked, watching him. The wind intensified, and clumps of snow dropped from the high boughs of fir and pine trees around them, thudding softly on the ice-crusted ground. In the distance, a wolf howled, followed by a cacophony of answering calls, mournful and determined. Ophelia shuddered and gripped her weapon tighter.
Five minutes passed and then ten. Finally, at fifteen minutes or so, she gingerly stretched her shoulders and bounced back on her heels, trying to keep her body from becoming too cold to move quickly.
Brock’s eyes opened, and the deep green pierced her. He signaled a plan and then stood, firing his gun over the truck’s hood before dropping back down.
No response.
He looked at her and frowned, shaking his head.
She took a shallow breath, not wanting to freeze her lungs. There hadn’t been any sounds of a four-wheeler or snowmobile. So, was the shooter still out there?
Brock jerked and looked at their side of the trees, which now concealed the river. He cocked his head slightly to the side and then lifted his weapon, tracking east to west.
She aimed at the forest, trying desperately to hear what he had noticed. Had the shooter somehow circled around them? They stayed exposed against the truck, but what if two shooters waited? If she moved to the other side, she might be doing what they wanted.
What had Brock heard?
He lifted his chin and let out a barely there whistle with one low note.
An answering whistle instantly echoed.
He motioned for her to lower her gun and then stood. She blinked and slowly pushed to stand, her joints creaking and protesting from the cold. “What’s happening?” she whispered.
Christian strode between two sprawling fir trees, the snow up to his knees and the puppy bounding at his side. “Heard gunshots.”
Brock launched into motion so fast he was just a blur. One second, he stood down the length of the truck, and the next, he’d grasped Ophelia’s arm and hip, moved to the door, and lifted her inside. “Stay there and stay down. If anybody comes near the truck, shoot them.” He motioned, and the wolf bounded into the truck with her before he shut the door.
Her mouth gaped. What the heck had just happened?
He motioned something to Christian, who pulled a large flashlight out of his backpack and pointed it beyond the truck and into the forest. Then they moved.
Together, synchronized, they inched forward with their weapons out and ready, their dark forms illuminated by the headlights. As one, they caught a scent and pivoted, their movements fluid and perfectly aligned. Without hesitation, they crossed the road in a synchronized dash, diving deep into the snow and trees with silent precision. Each step mirrored the other, a practiced dance of instinct and trust. Within moments, they melted into the wilderness, vanishing like shadows on a hunt, focused entirely on tracking the shooter.
She gulped, her hands shaking from the cold. The wolf-dog puppy panted with his nose against the passenger-side window, his wet tail wagging across the leather seat.
Okay. Deep breath and then another. She swallowed and carefully watched outside for movement. Only the falling snow remained visible. She was a trained agent, but she’d worn the wrong boots and didn’t have any experience tracking in the snow, so she stayed at the ready in case the shooter doubled back toward the truck. Brock could handle any emergency, and her entire body warmed at the thought. The quiet of the night pressed in, and the windows started to fog. Minutes passed, and she wiped off the glass, looking for anything.
Her mind wandered back to the fact that both Brock and Christian had sounded truthful when claiming Brock’s innocence. Or did she just want to trust him? Not once, in her entire life, had somebody jumped into action to shield her.
She didn’t need protection, but the feelings that rose from his attempt overwhelmed her at a depth and level she’d never realized. Brock Osprey was becoming way too appealing.
He and Christian emerged from the trees, covered in snow.
She opened her door and jumped out with the animal right behind her. “Anything?”
Brock stepped back and looked at his truck, his broad face grim. “No. The trail leads to a popular sledding slope, so footsteps abound.”
Christian lifted a shoulder, and snow scattered. “Wasn’t a bad plan, really.”
Ophelia tucked the gun into her waist and blew warmth into her hands. “Plan?”
Brock paused and then prowled around the front of the truck. “Suicide Hill is a sledding hill for kids. Well, and adults. It’s a long hill, and there’s somewhat of a parking area at the bottom. The shooter sledded down and must’ve had a rig waiting.”
Christian dropped to his haunches and ran his hand over the front tire on the driver’s side. “You have three flats. Want to take care of it tonight or tomorrow?”
A muscle in Brock’s jaw ticked visibly. “Tomorrow when it’s light and not so cold. I’ll meet you here and buy you breakfast after.”
“Deal.” Christian stood and nodded at Ophelia. “That’s twice, Agent. We’ll find out who wants you dead and why.”
Her legs trembled. She needed to get to a store tomorrow and buy long underwear or thermals. “Brock was with me both times. Maybe the shooter aimed at him.”
“It’s possible,” Christian allowed, turning back toward the river and pushing through the snow. “Come on, Tika.”
Brock watched him. “You can stay at my place tonight.”
“Nope. Need to check on Ace.” Then the trees swallowed him.
She shook her head. What an odd man. “Um, what now?”
Brock pointed down the desolate and icy road. “My cabin is that way.”