Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A fter the too cozy breakfast with the hot bodied Osprey brothers, two of whom were murder suspects, Ophelia carried the files from her three open cases to the conference room at the sheriff’s station, stepping around a stack of newspapers. She had to figure out who killed Hank so she and Brock could move on with their relationship.
Could they if she arrested one of his brothers? Her stomach cramped. She sat and stretched her neck.
She owed those two brothers of Brock’s for changing her tires the night before, and the feeling of being included in the family was way too tempting.
A blizzard absolutely attacked the building, and she considered turning up the heat. Flossy had called in sick with a cold, so Ophelia didn’t feel right using so much of the electricity.
At the moment, Brock and his brothers had planned a family meeting at his place. Well, in a half an hour or so. Her gut told her Brock would find out who shot Hank.
But would he tell her?
She doubted it.
Going on a hunch, she’d purchased online access to the local newspaper and had spent the morning reading about town events starting in May when Tamara had disappeared through the previous December when Hank had died, just looking for any sort of lead. Taking a break from the computer, she now read through the case file for Tammy Randsom, now much thicker since her body had been found, and made a few notations of people she might want to talk to in town. She’d called and Leo had been adamant that she not speak with his kids, and she couldn’t blame him too much. Perhaps Brock could get her an in with Leo so she could speak with the children about their murdered mother, and she’d be gentle.
Sighing, she pushed the file aside and turned her attention to the nearly empty file folder regarding the dead man with his eyes gouged out who’d worn the EVE logo. Not even her boss had been able to get a handle on the place.
Sighing, she returned to the computer and conducted a search specifically for Hank Osprey. The paper had featured him many times through the years, showing him in town, at events, and during many fishing derbies. He won one a couple of years previous. She looked at his strong and still healthy features. So cancer hadn’t caught him yet. A knit cap was half off his head with some sort of symbol in the center. She peered closer, trying to make it out. For the briefest of seconds, she thought it formed the letters for EVE. But a closer examination proved it was some sort of smooth logo. What was that?
She couldn’t make out the shape.
Ugh. How freaking frustrating. She closed the laptop, and her stomach growled. Maybe she should run down to the diner for lunch. Standing, she shrugged into her coat and strode through the office, shoving open the front door.
Snow billowed all around, white and thick. She blinked and started toward her Jeep when something hit her hard in the back of the head. She fell sideways, her vision going black. What was happening? Pain echoed through her entire skull, and she shook her head to keep conscious. Rolling onto her back, she tried to lever up onto her elbows on the freezing concrete.
A thick white boot kicked her leg.
She focused on the boot until her vision cleared and then looked up to see Monica Luna standing above her, pointing a silver weapon. “Monica?” The woman’s face wavered in and out.
“Hi, Ophelia. Man, you have a hard head.”
Ophelia stared up at the barrel of what appeared to be a nine-millimeter. “That’s a lovely Smith & Wesson.” Her stomach clenched, and blood rushed through her head, ringing in her ears. With the storm, nobody ventured out on the sidewalk or across the street.
“Thank you.” Monica gestured with the weapon. “Nobody’s around except Amos, who no doubt is downstairs. Come with me, and I won’t have to shoot him, too.”
How was this happening? “Sure.” Ophelia stood and ignored the trembling in her legs, groaning as agony ripped through her head. She had a better chance of getting the gun if they were on the move. Her mind spun as she tried to keep control of herself. “This isn’t making sense. Have you been shooting at me lately?”
“Yep.” Monica’s eyes gleamed with an odd light. “You shouldn’t have come here. You don’t belong.” She turned and motioned again with the gun.
“I’ve heard that before,” Ophelia murmured, trying not to throw up. The woman’s hand remained steady on the weapon. “You know, you’re not a very good shot.”
Monica reared back. “This close to you, I don’t need to be.”
A true statement. Bile rose, burning Ophelia’s throat. Her vision kept going black. She reached to the back of her head, feeling blood and a large lump. The door to the interior of the office remained open. Could Amos hear them? “Did you kill Hank?”
Monica snorted. “Of course not.”
Why couldn’t Ophelia concentrate? The world spun around her. “You hit me with the gun?”
“Yeah. Thought it’d knock you out, but I guess not. It’s better if you walk to the Jeep, anyway.” Monica grinned. “I still have the spare set of keys. You should’ve asked for them.”
This was insane. The woman couldn’t just kidnap Ophelia in the middle of the day from the sheriff’s office. She hitched down the stairs to the sidewalk and looked both ways. The snowy sidewalks remained vacant. “This is a mistake, Monica.”
“Right.” Monica stepped up and pressed the barrel into Ophelia’s rib cage. “I could shoot you right now, run, and nobody would even know it was me. Nobody’s out in this crazy storm.”
That appeared to be true. Ophelia let her body sag. Obviously she’d gotten closer than she realized with one of the cases. Which one? “Did you kill Tammy Randsom?” Had David maybe slept with Tammy? Was he one of the men she’d taken to the Tundra?
“Shut up. Let’s go.”
Damn it. Ophelia couldn’t see clearly. “How did you get here?”
“Parked down by the river and walked through the blizzard. Nobody will see my vehicle.” Monica shoved harder, and pain flashed through Ophelia’s abdomen. “Start moving or I’ll shoot you and then Amos.”
Ophelia tried to find help through the snow, but everyone remained inside and out of the snowy day. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and she might not make it three feet. “Fine. Let’s just get inside the Jeep.” She started sliding across the ice.
Monica tried to grab her, loosening her hold on the gun.
Tension roared through Ophelia, and she turned, hitting down at the weapon.
The gun discharged, and the sound echoed in the silent day. A second later, agony burned hot and bright through Ophelia. She cried out, and then she went down. Cold flashed along her hands and then her face as she impacted the ice.
Then unconsciousness took all the pain away.
In his shop, Brock leaned over his snowmobile, tightening a bolt near the throttle assembly and adjusting the fuel line, his gloved hands precise despite the cold. He’d already replaced the spark plugs and tested the carburetor, making sure the machine could handle both the ice-packed trails and deep snowdrifts outside of town. The shop smelled faintly of grease, metal, and fresh pine from the fire burning in the corner. The wood crackled as the flames flickered and danced, casting a warm glow over the workbench cluttered with tools and parts.
The door creaked open, and cold air swept in as Christian stepped inside, stomping snow off his boots. The wolf-pup padded behind him, its fluffy coat dusted with white. It sniffed the air, spotted the fireplace, and immediately headed for the warmth, curling up in front of the hearth with a contented sigh.
“Hey,” Christian said, brushing more snow from his shoulders and hair.
“Hi,” Brock replied, watching as his brother’s gaze followed the pup.
Christian’s lips twitched in something that almost resembled a smile before his usual serious expression returned. “I couldn’t get Damian to level with me yesterday. About what he’s doing at EVE.”
Brock’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Christian’s tone remained calm but resolute. “I don’t trust much in this life, but my instincts are usually spot on. Damian’s in trouble and doesn’t know it yet.”
A chill crawled down Brock’s spine, and it wasn’t from the cold. Christian’s instincts bordered on the supernatural, and Brock trusted them more than most things. “Did you find a way in to the facility?”
Christian shook his head. “No. But I will.”
Brock nodded slowly. “It might be better if you just talked to Damian again. Maybe just the two of you meet somewhere private—not in a public place like Sam’s Tavern.”
Christian’s eyes sparked with fire. “Since when do we all talk?”
Brock exhaled through his nose. “Good point. We’ve all been hurt, trying to be loyal, but we haven’t done ourselves much good. It’s time to put everything on the table.”
Christian’s expression tightened, but he nodded. “Did you help Hank to die?”
“No.” Brock’s throat constricted. “You thought I did it?”
Christian’s shoulders shifted in a half-shrug. “I figured that’s why you wouldn’t be sheriff. Or you knew who did it and wouldn’t take the job.” He brushed snow off his whiskers. “Damian?”
“No. I looked in his eyes and asked him. Wasn’t him.” Brock’s chest ached at the memory.
Christian’s jaw flexed. “Well, there’s only one of us drinking himself to death. I thought Ace threw himself into a bottle because of his last mission and the plane crash he won’t talk about. Guess I was wrong.”
Brock’s chin dropped to his chest, guilt pressing on him like a physical weight. “Guess we both were.”
Christian’s gaze flickered toward the wolf-pup near the fire. “We’ll have a discussion topic when Ace and Damian get here in about an hour.” He paused. “Your woman is smart. She’ll figure it out and arrest Ace.”
“There’s not enough evidence.”
“Will that be a problem?”
Brock wouldn’t let it be one. “No.” The sound of his phone buzzing made both brothers still. He tugged it from his jacket pocket and pressed it to his ear. “Osprey.”
“Hey, sheriff! It’s Amos. I’m down in my apartment, and I’m pretty sure I just heard a weapon discharge upstairs.” The man’s voice trembled. “I don’t know what to do.”
Panic shot through Brock like a lightning strike. “I’ll be right there.”
Christian moved closer, his expression darkening. “What is it?”
“Shots fired in the sheriff’s office, and Ophelia is alone there right now.” Brock dropped his screwdriver and pressed Ophelia’s number into his phone, his fingers nearly slipping. His pulse thundered in his ears as he waited.
She didn’t answer.
He rolled his sled out the door and ignited the engine as Christian ran around the side of the building for his own, ordering the wolf pup to stay in the shop.
Brock’s gut clenched. He had to get to her. Now.