“I don’t know.” His tone of voice remained the same.
Was he messing with her? “Do you want to know?” she asked.
“Not really,” he admitted. “A lot of folks hunt in December around here, legal or not, and somebody probably shot him accidentally.” For the first time, his gaze flickered, and he covered the action by looking at the pup at his feet.
But she caught it. The flicker. All right. “You know, Christian,” she murmured, “you seem like a guy who has no problem meting out justice if necessary. This isn’t a case where you’re looking for vengeance and want me out of it. This is a situation where you want to bury your head and pretend Hank’s death didn’t happen.” Sometimes, her instincts with people came in handy, even if she didn’t understand where the insight came from. Probably growing up in harsh circumstances and learning to protect herself. “There’s only one reason I can think of that would keep you from seeking answers for Hank.”
“Is that a fact? Just one?” Christian asked.
“No.” She placed the pen down next to the pad of paper. “Four, actually—if you didn’t kill him. I think you know that Hank was killed by Brock, Ace, Damian, or…Amka. If you thought anybody else shot him, if you had an inkling that a screwed-up tourist somehow murdered Hank in December, when visitors actually don’t come here, you’d be all over this case, figuring it out so you could avenge a man you supposedly loved. One who saved you and raised you with love afterward.”
The animal at his feet sneezed. “That’s an interesting hypothesis, and you’re wrong,” Christian said evenly. “Nobody would’ve murdered Hank. We loved him.”
“So, you’ll take a polygraph test?” she pressed.
Christian looked around the small conference room. “You have one of those handy?”
She smiled. “No, but I know a guy in Anchorage.” She didn’t, but she’d find one. “How about we fly out the next nice day and hook you up to a machine? If you pass, I promise I’ll leave you alone.”
His smile lacked the charm of earlier. “I can beat any polygraph, Agent. So, it would be a complete waste of time, even if I were hiding the truth, which I’m not.” He stood.
The wolf stood with him, yawning and shaking the fur down his strong back.
“We’re not finished,” Ophelia said, remaining in place.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Christian lifted his jacket, partially turning and revealing a pistol at the back of his waist. With the knife strapped to his thigh, he looked every bit as dangerous as she’d suspected. “I’ve told you all I know, and I’m done being inside for the week.”
Was he being facetious? She couldn’t tell. “Wyatt Yankovich said he saw you near the dead body the day before yesterday. You know the guy with the EVE jacket who had his eyes gouged out?”
Christian zipped up his coat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.” She stood, facing him down. “Did you kill that man?”
Christian turned for the door. “If I had killed him, you never would’ve found him.” He strode down the hallway toward the exit.
“That’s just it, Christian,” she called after him. “I can’t find him. He’s gone.”
Christian turned to face her, his eyes burning—both colors of them.
She paused. “Does it bother you? Having two different-colored eyes?” Was there a significance to the eye-gouging of the victim the other day?
Flossy gasped. “Now, Ophelia. That’s just not nice.”
Christian chuckled. “Many things bother me in this world, but my eyes never have. Sorry, Olly. That isn’t a motive for me.” He studied her for a heartbeat. “I give you my word, on the souls of my ancestors tied to this land, that Brock did not kill Hank and has no clue who did. He looks at you in a way I’ve neverseen, and I want that for him. Peace and something more. You. Give him a chance.” Truth rang in his tone.
She couldn’t breathe…and she believed him. “So Brock doesn’t know who killed Hank. Do you?”
“Take a chance with my brother. You won’t regret it.” Christian opened the door, stepped outside with his canine companion, and closed it quietly. Then Christian Osprey disappeared as fast as the body had the other day.
Damn it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Night blanketed the small town as Brock finally returned to the station after working as a handyman for most of Mrs. McGillicuddy’s neighborhood until after supper. The town definitely needed a sheriff. Maybe Ace would think about taking the job and stop drinking.
Ophelia strode outside and gingerly made her way down the icy steps. Her foot slipped, and he caught her by the elbow before she could fall. She’d been there all day? The woman showed clear dedication, no question about it.
He didn’t want to release her. “There should be salt in the basement. I’ll have Amos take care of the steps and sidewalk.” Amos usually enjoyed spreading the salt far and wide. Perhaps he wanted to avoid the federal agent.
