She looked up, her blue eyes wide in the light from the entryway. “Thanks. It might take me a little while to get my snow feet under me.” She looked down the quiet street, noting the rapidly falling snow.
He grinned. “This is just the beginning. Where are you going?” It was late to be heading out alone.
She rubbed her already red nose. “Flossy found a truck for sale at Mountain Man’s Garage. I called, but nobody answered.Since the garage is just down the sidewalk, I thought I’d walk.” The snow fell onto her black leather jacket.
“The garage closes at five, but it’s too late, anyway. That was Bob Milt’s truck, and it already sold to the Pierce boys.” Brock dug a scarf from his pocket and quickly wrapped it around her neck, tying it securely beneath her chin. The blue matched the exact color of her stunning eyes.
Those eyes widened. “You brought me a scarf?”
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “I had a call to Mrs. McGillicuddy’s house, and she knits scarves to make extra money in the winter. I figured you needed one.” He felt like a dork.
A pretty pink infused her cheeks, and for a moment, she looked confused. Adorable and bewildered. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” He cleared his throat. “Why did you need a truck?”
“I’d like to find my own way around, and since Wyatt Yankovich is refusing to see me about the EVE case, and his doctor is shielding him in doing so, I want to head out tonight to interview the Randsom family about Tamara Randsom’s disappearance.” She pursed her lips. “There has to be a vehicle for sale somewhere around here.”
He eyed his truck. “There isn’t, and soon, vehicles will only be usable right in town and for the first twenty miles of the river road. Other than that, you’ll need a snowmobile, RZR, or dogsled. Maybe snowshoes, but not for long distances.” He could offer his truck, but he’d rather provide cover for her. Somebody had shot at her the other day. It was probably related to her finding the dead body and being a Fed, but he couldn’t be sure. “When did you plan to visit the Randsom homestead?”
Her eyebrows rose, and a snowflake landed on the right one, melting instantly. “Right now, actually. I’d hoped to catch them more relaxed after dinner.”
He sighed. “I’ll take you.”
She paused, looked like she wanted to argue, and then shrugged and carefully strode toward his truck. “I obtained a new phone earlier today at the mercantile and managed to get my number moved over. Even though we don’t have much service around here.”
He released her elbow and followed, almost running her over when she stopped.
She looked over her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. You’ve been out of the office all day and probably haven’t eaten dinner.”
He preferred her prickly side to the sweet because sweet shot right to his groin for some perverse reason. “Mrs. McGillicuddy fed me both lunch and supper,” he admitted. “Sandwiches for lunch, and then some delicious meatloaf. I may not need to eat again until next week.” He absently rubbed the scratch on his neck from the cat. The meatloaf had helped with the sting.
“Good.” Ophelia opened the passenger-side door and climbed inside.
He kicked a chunk of ice off the sidewalk and moved around the truck to the driver’s side, sitting and quickly starting the engine to get the heat going. “I don’t suppose you called ahead?” He pulled away from the curb.
“Nope. Wanted to catch the Randsoms off guard.” She clicked her seat belt into place.
Sounded like a Fed. He flicked on the windshield wipers to keep the snow from piling up.
“Christian swore on the souls of his ancestors that you didn’t kill Hank but wouldn’t vouch for himself.”
Sounded just like Christian. Brock turned up the heat in the truck. “Why don’t you concentrate on one case at a time since we’re headed out to the Randsom house?”
She shifted her weight in the seat and held her bare hands out for the heat. “I can multitask.”
Yeah, she seemed talented and way too dedicated. “Where are your gloves?” He turned the heat up higher, driving away from the town.
“I forgot them at the station.” Something she probably wouldn’t do again.
Suddenly, a series of bullets impacted the truck. The back tires blew, and the truck skidded across the ice toward the river. “Hold on,” he bellowed, throwing out his arm to protect her from the dash.
The impactof Brock’s arm hitting her chest smashed Ophelia back in the seat, much stronger than the seat belt already protecting her. The wind blew from her lungs, and she gasped, instinctively reaching for a gun at her waist that wasn’t there.
Brock released her and manacled the steering wheel with both hands, his feet working the brakes as the truck whipped around on the ice and bounced off a snowbank with a loud thunk. Her body jerked, and her head whipped forward and back. Faster than she could track, he unbuckled her belt and pulled her across the seat and out his door, crouching and yanking her down. He pulled his gun from the back of his waist.
She sucked in freezing air, her mind clearing, the snow thick beneath her boots as she crouched low enough that her butt became covered in snow. “Extra gun?”
Without looking her way, he plucked a concealed pistol from an ankle holster in his boot. “Glock 26. You have ten in the mag.” He handed over the black weapon.
