Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A fter a night of sleeping like the dead, Brock pushed open the door to the sheriff’s office, surprised to find it unlocked. Warmth hit him instantly as he walked inside, and he stopped short at seeing Flossy behind the receptionist’s desk, humming to muted Christmas music from a radio behind her as she organized case files. “What are you doing?” He shut out the cold with a shove of his hip to the door.
Flossy looked up, her eyes focusing behind her thick glasses. “Since you’ve finally gotten your butt to work, I decided to take my old job back. I ran this office for Sheriff Blazerton, you know.”
Brock paused. “I’m not the sheriff.”
Flossy rolled her eyes. “Stop being an ass, Brock.” She patted the gray hair piled on her head and pulled a pencil from above her ear. “We’ve got a federal agent in town, a bunch of unsolved murders or disappearances, and now a dead EVE man with his eyes clawed out. We totally need a sheriff.”
Brock banked his temper. “Then find somebody who wants to be the sheriff.”
A swish of sound echoed, and Ophelia walked out of the conference room. Today, the woman wore a light green sweater and dark jeans. She started. “Oh. Good morning, Brock.” The scent of strawberries wafted his way.
He barely kept back a grimace. Instead, he studied her from head to toe. Her eyes sparkled, and her complexion had a healthy glow. “Any residual effects from falling into the river?” he asked. With their health restored, he could take a moment and appreciate the feeling of her naked body against him the day before. Damn, she had some nice curves.
She shook her head, and black hair feathered over her shoulders. “No. A good night’s sleep and then one of Flossy’s delicious breakfasts have me back on track. How about you?”
His stomach growled. “I’m fine.” He hadn’t even had coffee yet.
Ophelia wavered and then straightened her shoulders to look even taller. “There’s hot coffee in the small kitchenette, and then I’d like to formally interview you, with recording, about Hank Osprey’s death. Afterward, we need to find Christian so I can question him regarding Wyatt Yankovich’s statement about him seeing Christian around the now missing EVE victim.”
“I’m not in the mood for questioning, Olly,” Brock retorted. But he was in the mood for coffee. He started to walk toward the kitchenette.
Flossy cleared her throat. “If you’re not finally going to admit you’re the sheriff, why are you here?”
He paused. “I came to check on Amos. Ophelia upset him the other day.”
Flossy nodded. “He’s fine. I took scones down to him when I arrived, and he’s glad you’ve decided to get to work. Said it’s been lonely not hearing footsteps above his head.” She lowered her chin. “There are more scones in the kitchen. For the sheriff.”
“There isn’t one. But I’m here, and I’m starving.” Brock turned without another word and hustled into the kitchenette, downing two of the delicious scones before pouring himself a generous mug of the fragrant-smelling coffee. He didn’t think Flossy would come after him with a letter opener for eating the scones, but even if she did, the treat was worth it. Of course, they were strawberry.
He just couldn’t get away from the fruit.
As if to prove the point, Ophelia entered the room and refilled her coffee cup. “I’ve set up a war room in the conference room with the three most urgent cases, and I need to interview you for all three. Now is a good time. I’d rather not call in reinforcements from the federal government, but I will.”
The skin at the nape of his neck prickled, and he forced a smile. “There’s nothing I like more than a threat first thing in the morning.”
The woman didn’t blink. “It wasn’t so much a threat as a plan of action. Take it as you will.”
Not many people met his gaze when he turned growly. The fact that she did had his unwilling admiration for her growing even more. “Fine, Special Agent Spilazi. Let’s take a look at your interviewing skills.”
“Excellent, Sheriff.” With that last zinger, she turned on her boot heel and strode down the hallway to the conference room.
Yeah, he watched her butt as she moved. The woman had a phenomenal ass. He took a deep drink of the coffee, letting the heat and flavor slam into his gut. Then he followed her.
She sat across from him with records, photos, and notepads stacked neatly in front of her. Behind her, she’d used the old chalkboard and taped up four areas showing her cases: Hank Osprey, EVE Victim, Tamara Randsom, and Missing Persons.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Missing persons?”
She nodded, rifling through the notebooks for a clear one on the bottom. “Yes. Statistically, Alaska has more missing persons than any other state in the Union, and several are from this area. I started thinking about the victim wearing the EVE jacket, about Wyatt’s allegations, and then figured maybe there’s a connection. So, I added another section to my current load.” Then she looked up, her blue eyes clear and bright. “After I solve those, there are more cases, as you know. No wonder the FBI assistant director wanted somebody brought into this place.”
Brock rubbed the scruff on his jaw. “Alaska has so many missing people because it’s Alaska. Some come here to become missing. Others succumb to the wilds and the weather. Statistically.”
“Maybe,” she allowed. “Although if I wanted somebody to disappear, this is where I’d bring them.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He took another drink of his vanilla-flavored coffee. How did Flossy create delicious coffee every time? “So. What do you want to know, Agent?”
Ophelia clicked her pen to write. “Let’s start with your brother, Christian. Is it possible he murdered the man we found in the snow with his eyes gouged out?”
Ophelia waited patiently after hitting Brock with the first question.
His smile surprised her. Slow, smooth, and amused. “No.”
She blinked but made sure not to look down at her blank paper and show weakness. It didn’t help that the former Navy SEAL had probably been trained by the best to withstand interrogation. Nor did it help that he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen outside of movies…and he’d saved her life the other day, getting her naked for survival and being a perfect gentleman the entire time. The feeling of his hard—incredibly hard—body bracketing her all night had given her dreams that should embarrass her. “If your brother requires assistance, I want to help him,” she said quietly.
Brock’s gaze softened to a mossy green. “If my brother needs help, I’ll get it for him.” His hand looked big and broad around the large coffee mug. “Christian has never been good with people, and he lives off the grid because it’s his choice, not because he wants or needs to hide. If he wanted somebody dead, he’d kill them with either one bullet or a clean slice across the jugular.”
Ophelia swallowed. “You’re okay with the fact that your brother could be a killer?”
Brock’s eyebrows drew down—barely. “Honey? What do you think we did in the Navy?”
“I see. Your contention is that Christian didn’t kill that man because the scene felt too bloody and, well, downright strange?”
Brock lifted one powerful shoulder. “Sure. Plus, there’s no reason Christian would want that guy dead. It doesn’t make sense.”
Fair enough. “Wyatt said he saw Christian that day,” she reminded Brock.
“Wyatt was out of his mind,” Brock returned. “The guy might’ve seen Christian another time.”
She tilted her head to the side. “I don’t know about that. It seems to me that if Christian doesn’t want to be seen, then he isn’t.”
“Good point. Maybe Wyatt didn’t see Christian at all.” Brock kicked back in the chair.
Nice deflection. “That’s not where I was going, and you know it.” She tapped her pen on the paper. “What was Wyatt talking about? What mythical creatures only come out at night?” Although she’d been exhausted the night before, she’d spent time on her laptop searching for legends about the area and finding nothing. Dangerous wild animals included bears and wolves, but neither were known to just gouge out eyes. “Talk to me, Brock.”
“Honey—” he started.
She held up a hand. “You can’t charm me, SEAL boy. Don’t honey, darlin’, or sweet cheeks me. It won’t work.” Although, she was a complete liar. Something about his rugged voice and the endearments made her go all gooey when she really couldn’t afford to do so. “All right?”
“Sweet cheeks?” Amusement glimmered in the impossible green of his eyes.
She gave him her best federal-agent glare.
The amusement deepened. “All right. Here it is. There are legends, told by parents to keep kids from venturing out into the Alaska wilderness at night, about creatures that kill and gouge out eyes. The truth is that most scavenger animals instinctively target soft tissue first because it's easier to consume. This means that areas like the eyes, lips, and internal organs are often the first to be eaten, which is why victims' eyes are usually missing when scavengers have been involved.”
It was a plausible explanation. Almost. “The victim from EVE hadn’t been dead long enough for scavengers to attack. Whoever killed him took his eyes.”
Brock nodded. “Yep.”
“That seems ritualistic, don’t you think?” she asked, her mind running.
Brock exhaled slowly. “Yep.”
“There are more than the average number of serial killers in Alaska, you know,” she said, her instincts flaring wide awake.
His frown drew his eyebrows all the way down this time. “How many serial killers are there?”
She pursed her lips. “Not as many as people think, but I believe Alaska has its share.”
He snorted. “That’s not true. They’re all in the Pacific Northwest.”
“Not true.” She looked down at her still-clean notepaper. “So far, you aren’t helping with my cases.” She looked up. “I’ve called the EVE facility and have a meeting scheduled for tomorrow at noon to discuss the victim.”
Brock lost his frown. “How the hell did you manage that?”
She wrote the date on the top of her notepaper as well as his name. “I had my immediate boss at the FBI make the arrangements. Personally.”
Brock blew out a whistle. “Impressive.”
She tried not to warm at the compliment and still needed that additional research on the place. Her contact in DC hadn’t gotten back to her yet. “I don’t see why if EVE is just a research facility.”
“It is and always has been,” Brock returned. “They study the ionosphere, and they’re not big on visitors. Did they give you any indication about the identity of the victim?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t talked to anybody yet. They want to meet in person, whoever they are.” Curiosity roared through her. “Can you give me any more information before I go?”
“Yeah. I’m going with you.” When she just looked at him, he smiled, all charm. “The ride isn’t easy, and you’ll need somebody who knows the way. I’m probably the only person in town who will voluntarily take you through that gulley and along the river. It’s dangerous this time of year.”
What wasn’t? It was uncomfortably reassuring to know he’d be accompanying her. She had to get over this dependence on him—after they met with the EVE personnel tomorrow. “I’d like for you to join me,” she said, almost primly.
His chuckle warmed parts of her. “All right. Are we done for the day?”
“Ha. I’ve only been here for a few days, and I’m already finished with the secrets, Brock. I think you suspect who killed Hank, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why you’d want to protect them. Unless it was one of your brothers.” Although, the entire town seemed close, almost like family. Maybe he’d protect any of them. Her gut told her he was innocent, even though he’d found the body. Unease filtered through her. Was she being objective?
His head lifted, and his eyelids dropped to half-mast. “I’m not keeping secrets from you. I don’t know who shot Hank, but I guarantee it wasn’t one of my brothers. We’re all trained, and we wouldn’t make a mistake like that—considering you said the shotgun blast didn’t kill him, and he actually drowned.” His voice roughened and became hoarse.
What was he hiding? “Was he dead, already drowned, when you found him?”
“I already answered that question in the affirmative,” Brock said.
Oh, he was good, and if she didn’t know his background, she’d believe him. He looked earnest, regretful, and honest. But logic ruled, and his answer didn’t make sense. Why didn’t he want vengeance for his guardian? “You loved him,” she said quietly.
Brock nodded. “We all loved him. He was everything.”
“Then why don’t you want to know who killed him?” she pressed. Something eluded her, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t grasp it.
“I’ve talked all I’m gonna about it,” Brock said. “You’ve interviewed Ace, as well as Flossy, I assume. That leaves Christian.”
She blinked. “Yeah. I didn’t figure he’d be easy to pin down.”
“He isn’t, but I spoke with him last night.”
She perked up. “You did?”
“Yes. Christian sometimes uses my shop to tweak his snowmobile, and I told him he had to speak with you to avoid more folks landing in town. Figured that would work.” Brock glanced at his phone just as the outside door opened loudly. “Although, he’s here now. I guess you’re up, Agent. Good luck with my brother. He’s a peach.”