Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
B rock’s gut twisted like a steel coil. Someone had killed Tamara—brutally—and he hadn’t seen it coming. He’d been half-living since Hank died, trudging through the motions, barely paying attention to the world around him. That had to stop. He shouldn’t have left town for so many months, but he’d needed the time. To heal.
Poor Tamara.
True, most of the town—including Leo—had figured Tamara had simply gone off to party somewhere else, wanting to escape the weight of responsibility. But someone should’ve looked deeper into her disappearance. Someone should’ve cared enough to ask more questions.
He now sat in Leo’s home next to Ophelia on a loveseat, facing Leo and Loretta sitting on a matching sofa as he gave them the notification.
The man’s face crumpled. Tears filled Leo’s eyes along with shock. Loretta had clutched his hand, pale and trembling.
“I don’t know how I’m going to tell the kids,” Leo muttered, shaking his head.
“We’ll tell them together,” Loretta said softly, her voice steady despite the tears. “I think...I think we all knew Tamara wasn’t coming back. But having it confirmed...it’s terrible.” She looked up at Brock, her expression fragile but fierce. “Who would do this to her? It doesn’t make sense.”
Brock’s eyes felt like somebody rubbed sandpaper in them. He and Ophelia hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. “I don’t know.” He kept his voice low. He didn’t mention the missing eyes. Their removal hadn’t caused Tamara’s death, and Leo didn’t need to know that haunting detail. “We’ll find out, though,” Brock promised.
Leo’s expression shifted. “So...you’re taking the sheriff’s job?”
Brock didn’t answer.
Ophelia cleared her throat, her presence calm but commanding. “We’ll need to interview you both later—once you’ve had time. But, Leo, I’d like you to walk me through the last time you saw Tamara.”
Loretta began to speak, but Ophelia raised a single finger, stopping her mid-sentence. “No, thank you, Loretta. Just Leo, for now.”
Brock leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. He knew what Ophelia was doing—she didn’t want to give them time to get their stories straight. He understood that from a law enforcement perspective, but as a neighbor and friend, it grated on him.
Leo scrubbed a hand over his face, pressing his ring fingers into the corners of his eyes. “I honestly don’t know,” he admitted. “It was sometime in May. She’d come and go. Sometimes she’d show up to take the kids for a weekend. Sometimes she’d call—if there was cell service.” His shoulders sagged. “But I can say for sure I saw her at the kindergarten graduation mid-May. But she did not attend the Knife’s Edge annual town meeting on June first, and I thought it odd. We elected Brock sheriff that day.”
Brock’s jaw clenched. “I should’ve attended that meeting,” he muttered.
“Yeah.” Leo gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Maybe you could’ve convinced everyone to elect Ace instead. Too late now.”
“You might as well be sheriff,” Loretta said softly. “We’re all treating you like one anyway.”
If Brock could take the job officially, he would. But not yet.
“So, the kindergarten graduation,” Ophelia prompted. “That’s the last time you know for sure you saw her?”
Leo nodded. “It all blends together after that. I may’ve seen her when she came to get the kids, but I don’t remember clearly.”
Her eyes shifted to Loretta. “What about you?”
Loretta’s cheeks flushed as she twisted her hands in her lap. “I saw her at the graduation as well. Leo and I sat together...holding hands. It angered her. She glared at us and flipped me off as she walked out.”
Leo’s eyebrows shot up. “She did?”
“Yes.” Loretta shifted uncomfortably on the sofa next to her husband. “I didn’t say anything because—well, you two already didn’t get along. And I figured seeing you happy...when she hadn’t figured things out yet…probably made her furious.”
“I get it,” Leo murmured. “We’re all human.”
Ophelia studied the two of them carefully. Loretta looked young and fresh beside Leo, her long hair in a neat braid trailing over her shoulder. But Leo’s broad, calloused hands gripped his knees tightly, the muscles tense.
“Did either of you hurt Tamara?” Ophelia’s question was blunt, delivered without hesitation.
Loretta’s jaw dropped, and Leo leaned back in disbelief.
“Of course not,” they said in unison.
Loretta’s eyes glistened with fresh tears. “We would never do that.”
“She has—had—children,” Leo said, his voice cracking. “Even if I was some kind of asshole who’d hurt a woman—which I’m not—I’d never do that to my kids. They always come first.”
The truth in his voice was palpable, but Brock had seen enough in life not to put blind faith in anyone.
“Okay,” Ophelia said, her tone softening. “I need you both to put together a detailed journal of the time between the summer you discovered Tamara cheating on you, your divorce, and her disappearance. Write down everything—every time you saw her, every person who was around her, anything she said or did. Can you do that?”
Loretta nodded silently, wiping at her eyes.
Leo didn’t answer. He just stared, his eyes filled with simmering anger.
Brock held his gaze for a moment, then shook his head and stood. “Questions have to be asked, Leo. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Leo’s face twisted, but he said nothing as Brock stepped past him and escorted Ophelia out.
They made the snowmobile ride back to town in silence, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional rush of wind tearing past them. Brock had insisted Ophelia sit in front of him to shield her from the worst of the cold. He kept his arms braced around her, his legs snug against the outside of hers to keep her steady and as warm as possible. She sagged against him, probably half asleep.
He tightened his hold on her, making sure she stayed somewhat awake.
She nodded, then tilted her head back just enough to clunk the top of her helmet against his. The playful gesture was so unexpected that he chuckled. Even with the cold trying to freeze them both solid, that small movement warmed him more than the layers of gear ever could.
He felt the shift in his blood—an unmistakable heat spreading through his veins like a shot of fine whiskey. Having her this close, her body tucked against his, made him forget for a moment how brutal the day had been. His legs tightened involuntarily as if to pull her closer.
Would he always feel this way around her?
That thought made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Would there even be an always ? He’d been running on autopilot since Hank died, trying to keep his brothers and himself afloat. His life was still a mess. Until he figured out how to patch himself up, he had no right to consider something more with her. But the other night—the way she’d whispered his name, soft and raw—had stitched something together inside him that he hadn’t even realized was broken.
He pulled into town and parked on the curb in front of Sam’s Tavern. Ophelia swung her leg over the seat and stood with surprising grace despite her obvious fatigue.
Brock slid off behind her and stepped forward to undo the chin strap of her helmet. His fingers brushed her jawline as he lifted it off, and she shivered. “You sure you’re up for this right now? We both need sleep.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. We really need to talk to Jarod. I’m curious about the timing of the Tundra Haven fire.” Her voice was steady, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her reluctance. “Then Ace. Please call him again.”
If Ace didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. “I will,” Brock said, knowing it was useless. Ace would get back to him when he wanted.
Ophelia shifted her weight and let out a slow breath. “I think I should speak with Jarod alone.”
Brock straightened to his full height, and pulled off his own helmet, holding it at his side. “Excuse me?”
Ophelia turned to face him fully, snowflakes clinging to the strands of hair that had escaped from beneath her hat. One flake landed on her nose and melted instantly.
“I think,” she repeated, “he’ll be flirty and more forthcoming if you’re not there. If you are, he’ll try to act tough and macho.” She hesitated, then added, “And Brock...you haven’t officially decided to be the sheriff.”
He flinched slightly, but she didn’t back down. Her eyes locked with his, her chin lifting in quiet defiance. “You’re acting like it. People are treating you like it. But until you make that commitment, you’re not.”
The challenge hung in the air between them. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong—but she wasn’t. He growled low in his throat. “All right,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “You can talk to Jarod. But if he gives you any trouble?—”
She cut him off with a wink which was cute, even with the exhaustion evident in her pretty eyes. “I know. Plant him on his ass.”
A grin tugged at his lips despite the weight pressing down on him.
“Trust me,” she added, stepping toward the tavern doors. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“I do.” Brock sucked in freezing air, forcing himself to awaken completely.
She turned suddenly to face him, still outside, her face reddening from the air. “Ace is hiding from us, Brock. I like you. A lot. But you have to realize that there’s more than a decent chance that I’m going to have to arrest your brother. Even if I can’t prove it yet, I think I have enough to arrest him on suspicion of murder.”
No, she didn’t. She had enough to try and that would normally scare somebody. Not Ace. “Ace didn’t hurt Tamara.” He knew to his soul that Ace would never harm a woman.
“What about Hank?” she whispered. “You know as well as I that he left Doc’s earlier to avoid us. There was no reason for her not to tell him that we were bringing in a body, so I’m sure she did. And he did not stick around.”
“We don’t know that,” Brock said, his gut churning.
Where the hell was Ace?