Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Ace walked into Sam’s Tavern, his head still aching as he made his way to the bar.
The place breathed with low nighttime energy and would continue to do so while darkness left them alone.
Summer in a small Alaskan town meant the sun had only recently dipped below the horizon, leaving it light outside.
The air carried the mingled scents of beer, fried food, and old wood, layered over decades of stories soaked into the walls.
A ceiling fan turned lazily overhead, more symbolic than useful.
From behind the bar, Amka Amaruq looked up, her dark eyes mellow, her black hair pulled into a ponytail. She hitched one hip against the counter, already assessing him. “How’s the head?”
“Ah, it’s fine. Didn’t even need stitches.
” In fact, he’d already helped an elderly neighbor get her cat out of a tree, chopped wood for Mr. Lanskey, and delivered the mail to Mrs. Grassline because she was out with a bad cold.
It had been a busy few hours since May had patched him up, refusing to discuss her problems with him.
Amka shook her head slowly. “Ace…”
He held up a hand. “Don’t want to hear it.”
She sighed, the sound threaded with long familiarity. They’d been friends forever, and she was currently engaged to Ace’s brother, which somehow gave her more license to lecture. “I’m not serving you alcohol. You could have a concussion.”
“Just one beer.”
She blew out air. “Beer, not hard alcohol?”
“Just beer.”
“Fine.” She pulled a longneck from the cooler and flipped off the cap. Foam hissed softly at the lip before settling. “We need to talk about expenses for our LLC.”
He accepted the bottle. “I approve. Whatever you want.”
She rolled her eyes. “We’re partners, and you need to at least—”
“Nope.” He said it easily, more than happy to let her take the lead.
The cold bottle pressed against his palm, condensation slick against his skin.
The first swallow burned just enough to remind him he was still human.
The two of them had formed an LLC together, bought the building next door, and started adding onto it for apartments.
Knife’s Edge was growing, whether anyone liked it or not.
Might as well make some money off it. “Honestly, if we have the funds, I trust you.” He really wasn’t interested.
“Okay, but if I get all pink appliances for the apartments?”
“I think that’d be adorable.” He took another deep swallow and looked around the familiar bar, noting many unfamiliar faces.
Laughter drifted from a corner table. Someone fed quarters into the jukebox, and a group was becoming rowdy by the far pool table.
“Looks like the tourists are giving you some decent income.”
She followed his gaze. “They really are.” She grabbed a rag and wiped down the area near the sink. “I love tourist season. Sometimes it pays for my whole year. You know, you could make a lot more money from tourist season too. All you have to do—”
He held up a hand.
Her eyes softened. “Seriously, Ace. You know that expression about falling off a horse? You’ve got to get back on it.”
Ace took another long swallow. “I didn’t fall off a horse.
I crashed a plane.” It wasn’t exactly a plane, but he couldn’t tell her more than that.
He’d been a pilot in the Navy, and he’d gone down.
He hadn’t been back in the air since. Even now, the thought tightened something ugly and electric behind his ribs.
“I just think you’d feel better if you were back in the blue skies,” she murmured.
He snorted. “How often do we have blue skies around here?”
She chuckled. “Not often. But we’ve got a couple good months, including right now. It’s the perfect time to take tourists out to remote fishing areas. Plus, then hunting season’s coming up.” Her pretty eyes glowed. “I’d be willing to entertain a partnership.”
Faint amusement wandered through Ace. “Amka, you’re adorable.”
She frowned. Her petite features scrunched up, and her nose wrinkled in obvious annoyance. The bar’s soft amber lights caught along the curve of her cheek, highlighting an expression Ace knew too well. “Don’t be an ass.”
“Sorry,” he said automatically. He clocked the new pool table she’d acquired just last week, then at the older dartboards.
The corkboards were scarred from years of bad aim and good nights.
His gaze drifted past a pair of laughing tourists, past a couple of locals hunched over drinks, and then landed on his brother by the fireplace.
Damian sat with that loose, coiled posture that never really meant relaxed.
“When did Damian come into town?” Ace asked.
She craned her neck to look toward the fireplace. “About half an hour ago.”
“Huh. Thanks.” Ace took his beer and wandered through the tables.
Chairs scraped. Someone cursed at a missed shot behind him.
The air held that summer-night contradiction, late but not dark, the sky outside still plenty bright.
Sam’s Tavern hummed with the kind of life that came from isolation and familiarity, and he didn’t much like all the tourists taking up space.
He reached his brother. “D? What are you doing here?”
“What do you think?” Damian just looked at him.
He was probably the oldest of the four brothers by maybe a year?
Who knew. The four of them had been found in a half-buried home in an even more remote town after an avalanche had taken everyone else out.
Just toddlers, they looked alike but had never bothered to check genetically.
They were brothers. Their guardian, an old trapper named Hank, had adopted them, and that had been that.
Ace pulled out a chair and sank into it. “Again, it’s an odd night to just show up in town.”
Damian rolled his neck slowly. “When my brother calls me to do a deep dive on a U.S. senator, I figure that’s something we talk about in person.
” He had thick, curly black hair and dark green eyes.
He’d been an intelligence officer in the Navy before taking over as head of security for the Electromagnetic Vibrational Experiment, or EVE, the mysterious facility outside town that supposedly studied the weather or the atmosphere. Or so they said.
“What did you find out?” Ace asked.
Damian tipped back the last of what looked like scotch in a crystal tumbler. “Why do you want to know?”
Ace twirled the bottle on the table. When had Amka purchased crystal? Now they were getting fancy? “The senator is here in town.”
“I’m aware of that.”
Ace lifted an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Damian rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. When U.S. senators come into our small town, I know about it. I’m head of security for one of the most secretive organizations in the world.”
Ace snorted faintly. “Really? Strong sell. Tell me more about EVE, would you?”
“No.” Damian didn’t even hesitate.
Ace shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re actually working at that place.”
As kids, they’d made up all sorts of stories about EVE. Even the name seemed kind of ominous. There were people who truly thought the facility could influence the weather and cause hurricanes or tornadoes across the globe. Ace wasn’t sure what he believed.
“I like it there,” Damian drawled.
The hair on the back of Ace’s neck rose. He turned just as Christian stepped inside the tavern, leaned over to kiss Amka squarely on the mouth, and then headed their way. Christian was definitely the quietest of the brothers. Solid and watchful.
“He quit drinking yet?” Christian tugged a chair out with his boot before dropping into it.
Ace exhaled through his nose. “I don’t need to quit drinking.”
Christian’s mismatched eyes—one green, one black—zeroed in on the bandage above Ace’s eyebrow. “You probably need to quit fighting.”
“Not really,” Ace said.
“Fuck.” Christian angled back. “I’m going to take you to Smitty myself.” He’d been threatening that for a while.
Ace took another swallow of beer, letting the cold brew calm him. “Anytime you want to go, let’s go.” Ace could use a good fight, and Christian would absolutely give it to him.
Damian dragged a hand down his face. “Both of you guys shut up.”
Amka arrived with a bottle of her best Scotch and poured more into his glass. The tavern’s warm lighting turned the liquid to gold.
“Thanks.” Damian reached for it.
Christian looked up at her, his gaze warm. “Hey. You got any clam chowder left from today?”
Amka gave his ear a tug. “’Course I saved you some. I always do.”
Christian looked pleased. Then he tugged her onto his lap. “You’re the best.”
Whoa, it was weird seeing Christian happy.
Amka giggled and slapped his chest. Geez. When had Ace ever heard her actually giggle? Sure, she often laughed, or even chuckled. But giggle? It was nice to see them both happy.
Damian swirled his drink once, watching them. “Find anything while you were out searching for psycho killers, Christian?”
Christian’s expression darkened. “I was scouting the last body dump area. Didn’t see a damn thing.”
“That’s not good.” Damian’s expression shifted, the humor draining away. “Maybe whoever killed those people left. Maybe they’re done.”
“They ain’t done,” Christian said. His voice had gone flat and certain.
Ace went still, bottle hovering near his mouth.
For almost a year, bodies had been found in remote areas of Alaska with their eyes torn out.
The locals were inventing monsters in the mountain myths, but somebody out there was using Alaska as a killing playground.
Christian was kind of working off the books to help hunt down the killer. For now.
“Shit,” Ace muttered. “When do you leave, anyway?”
Christian exhaled. “In just over a week.” The words came with a low, irritated growl.
Amka kissed his chin, sliding off his lap. “It’s only a few months, Christian. It’ll be worth it.”
“I know,” he said. “I still can’t believe I’ve got to go to training.”
Ace nodded. “You’re built to be an Alaska Wildlife Trooper.”
Christian’s mismatched eyes slid to him. “You know what would make it easier?”
Ace already felt the punch coming.
“If my brother still flew a plane. Then I could come home on weekends.”
“Other people fly planes,” Ace said.
“Yeah,” Christian replied. “But I trust you.”
The statement felt like a punch to the solar plexus. “Any idea of my getting back in a plane makes me want to puke.”
“I’ll get your chowder,” Amka said softly. She pressed a kiss to Christian’s forehead before turning away.
Christian swatted at her butt.
She jumped aside, laughing. “You better be quicker than that when you’re a Wildlife Trooper.”
Christian grinned.
Ace stared at him. Seeing his quiet, stone-faced brother smiling like that was downright unsettling. “I’m glad you two found each other.”
“Ditto,” Damian said.
Ace shifted his attention back to him. “You find your wife yet?”
Damian’s amusement vanished. “No. Stella was an operative, and if she wants to stay hidden, nobody will find her.”
Ace studied his brother. Damian was one of the best. Always had been. He and Stella had married during an op and apparently never divorced. Then she’d drifted through town pretending to be an influencer during the spring fishing derby, but Damian hadn’t crossed paths with her.
“She’ll be back.” Damian’s gaze drifted toward the tavern door, distant and certain. “She didn’t come to town just for fun.”
Yeah, good luck to her. Damian wasn’t a guy who messed around, and he didn’t look happy. He tipped back his scotch.
Ace watched him over steepled fingers. “What’d you find out for me?”
Damian exhaled through his nose and cut a look at Christian. “Senator Kyle Mercer’s in town.”
Ace leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “That we already know.”
Christian rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Why are we concerned with a senator?”
“Apparently,” Damian continued, “our former pilot here wanted a deeper look into the man campaigning to save our environment while upping our taxes.”
Ace’s jaw flexed. “I’m not a pilot anymore.”
Damian ignored that completely. “Mercer is a U.S. senator running for reelection, and he’s making a lot of noise about salmon, the ozone layer, EVE, and saving some tree beetle. It’s his new platform.”
Ace gestured with his empty bottle. “And?”
“As to why he’s in Knife’s Edge?” Damian shrugged. “No clue. Probably the usual political theater. Photo ops. Handshakes. Maybe a few staged fishing shots.”
Ace frowned. “Is he even from Alaska?”
Damian looked toward the window. “No. Mercer grew up in New York City, saw a political opening up here years ago, got residency, then ran. He comes from money and spent a lot of his own on that first campaign. Looks like he’s doing the same thing this time.”
“Did you find anything in Mercer’s past?” Ace asked.
Damian tilted his head. “I’m still digging, but I did find a domestic violence report from his college days.”
Ace went still. “Where’d he go?”
“Harvard.”
Ace huffed softly. “Yeah. That tracks.”
Christian’s eyes narrowed. “What’d the report say?”
“I ordered the complete report but haven’t received it yet. The case never went to trial. From what I could glean, he wasn’t charged. Looks like the victim declined to press charges, and the DA didn’t pursue it.”
Ace didn’t hesitate. “Get the details.”
“Why?” Damian asked.
Ace exhaled slowly. “Because he’s in town, and I didn’t like May’s reaction when she saw him.” Or the jerk’s reaction to her.
Christian straightened. “The doc knows the senator?”
“Oh yeah,” Ace said grimly. “She knows him, and she wasn’t comfortable.”
“I don’t know much about her background,” Damian said. “The town hired her before I took over the security at the facility, and it’s not like they would’ve consulted me, anyway.”
Christian lifted his chin. “Still. She signed a three-year agreement when nobody else would. That says something. We’re not exactly a dream destination.”
Ace’s response came fast and defensive before he could stop it. “She likes it here.”
Christian glanced at him. “Yeah. We like her, too.” He clocked the room, his gaze landing on Amka and then returning. “But not many women run to the middle of nowhere without a reason.”
Ace stiffened. His brother wasn’t wrong.