“Most folks who’ve been around me long enough to have a conversation.” He finished repacking the bins with the now-dry blankets and sleeping bags.
She exhaled slowly. “How long did you work as a Navy SEAL?”
He securely shut the bin and turned to face her. They’d talked some before falling asleep the night before, mainly about the town and nothing serious, so the question caught him off guard. “Why?”
She pulled gloves out of his coat pocket and tugged them over her hands. “Just curious. You haven’t said, and the meager file I found didn’t tell me much. The way you moved yesterday after the shooter engaged seemed natural, as if you’ve been shot at quite a bit.”
He strode across the room and opened the door, his gun at his waist. “I did my job.” The last thing he wanted to discuss with her was his military time. Although it was a large part of his life—and one he sometimes missed. He sighed, looking out at the bright and cold-as-shit day. “I led a SEAL team.” He moved for the snowmobile, brushing snow off the seat, his skin feeling too tight after sleeping around her all night and not kissing her again. The cold settled around him, burrowing into his bones.
“Impressive,” Ophelia murmured, shutting the door behind herself. “You led a SEAL team?”
He paused in readying the seat. “I did. I left because of too many old wounds to move as fast as necessary, and I’m still in contact with my brothers from the team. We lost many, but we survived much.” He had no clue why he gave her this. “Did I wake you last night?” He’d thought he’d awakened fast and quietly from the nightmare, but maybe not.
“No,” she said. “You’ve been out for a year?”
“Almost.” He straddled the machine, his senses on alert for whoever had shot at them. Nothing disturbed the silence.
She glared at the snow and then stepped away from the hut, gingerly putting her boots in the footprints he’d left in the snow. “You left a year ago, Ace left six months ago, and Christian?”
Where the heck was she going with this? “About two months.”
“So, after Hank’s death, you each left as soon as your tour ended.” She patted her pinkening cheeks. “Yours ended in December and you came home for not only Christmas but for good. Hank died, and then both Ace and Christian retired from the military as soon as possible. That’s interesting, right?”
Not really. “We’re all around the same age, and we did our duty.” Not in the mood to be questioned, he twisted the key, pushed the button, and the engine roared to life.
She pressed on, reaching him. “Except for Damian. Or is his current tour not up yet?”
“Get on the sled, Ophelia.” Brock’s temper spiked faster than the river had last spring.
She faced him head-on, not afraid in the slightest. “I won’t let this go.” Then something caught her eye. She lifted her head, delight brightening her expression. “Is that a bald eagle?”
He couldn’t look away from her face. To him, she looked intriguing and lovely, which were two words he’d never used about anything or anyone before. “Yeah, that’s an eagle.” Probably. Tons flew about.
She craned her neck to see better, her sapphire eyes sparkling. “I’ve never seen one in real life. He’s majestic, right?”
“He’s a bird of prey, Olly.”
Her attention dropped from the sky to him. “I seem to be drawn to that kind of thing.”
Did the sight of the eagle leave her unguarded, or was she flirting with him? “You think I’m a hunter, Agent?” His blood started to hum and not from the thought of coffee.
“Oh, you’re definitely a hunter, Commander,” she whispered, biting her lip like she wanted to solve an interesting puzzle. “Do you think somebody shot at me because I saw that body from EVE or because of the cases I’m trying to solve—including Hank’s?”
If that was her idea of flirting, the woman needed to buy a book about the matter. If he spent one more night in her presence, he would lose his mind. Then he caught her meaning, the deeper one, and barked out a laugh. “Was that your casual way of asking if one of my brothers shot at you yesterday because you’re investigating Hank’s death?”
She lifted a shoulder, clearly challenging him, although she looked miniature in his jacket. “The bullets impacted near me and not you.”
“Not a chance did either of my brothers shoot at you.” He gestured for her to get on the sled. They’d have to travel past where they’d been fired upon the day before, and he wanted full daylight for the trek.
“How can you be so sure?” She finally straddled the machine.
He handed back her helmet. “Because neither one of them would’ve missed.”
Ophelia heldon tightly as Brock drove the snowmobile fast, twisting in and out of treed areas, his body feeling taut and alert. The shooter had waited for them the day before, knowing their path, so they might be waiting right now. The sun shone down as if the storm had never happened, the sky a true blue, and the snow drifting softly and sparkling with life. After maneuvering through the hills, he kept away from clearings and gullies, riding along the river but not close to the rushing water.
When they neared the area where she’d fallen in, she tapped his leg. He ignored her. She tapped harder. Still nothing. Fine. The snow appeared thick enough that she could drop and roll through it, probably stopping before hitting a tree. She released her hold on him, bunching her legs to slide from the snowmobile.
In a shockingly fast move, he twisted and snagged her around the waist with his left arm while also yanking the machine to the right. Using the momentum of the turn, he pulled her around and in front of him, plopping her unceremoniously to face him, straddling him.
