Ace barked out a laugh.
Christian nodded, his eyes sparkling. “Yeah, I get it.”
“No shit,” Ace agreed.
Brock sighed.
After a breakfastof waffles with blueberry syrup, Ophelia called the hospital while Brock showered, and the doctor relayed that Wyatt refused to speak with her. So, she booted up herlaptop and rapidly typed an affidavit to obtain a warrant to hold Wyatt Yankovich as a material witness in the EVE murder victim case. Signing it electronically, she fired it off to the Assistant U.S. Attorney in Fairbanks, who would make the motion to a judge. Hopefully today.
Rolling her neck, she tried to ignore the headache holding Wyatt would cause. The town wouldn’t like it, but since he refused to speak with her, she had no choice.
Standing, she wandered over to an old collage of pictures in a faded wooden frame on the wall near the door. Pictures of Brock playing football, Christian on a motorcycle, and Ace wrestling with Damian took up squares. As did a couple of Hank working on an engine and fishing. Frowning, she leaned in and squinted at a ball cap on his head. The symbol appeared familiar.
“You ready?” Brock strode into the living area, his hair wet and his hard body in jeans and a T-shirt.
“Is that the EVE symbol?” she whispered.
Brock paused and looked over her shoulder. “Maybe? I don’t know. The picture is old and faded.”
She turned and looked up at his chiseled face. “Did Hank work for EVE?”
“No.” Brock’s gaze warmed. “You’re always working, aren’t you?”
“Brock,” she murmured.
He removed her jacket from a hook to hold out for her to shrug into. “Hank worked with diesel engines in the service, and EVE runs on those, so I think he contracted with the facility a couple of times through the years when they had an emergency. Nothing major. He didn’t really work there.”
Yet…now Ophelia had a connection between Hank and EVE, a possible one with Tamara Randsom with her environmental grant, and the disappearing victim in the snow. Could EVE beinvolved with all three? Anticipation lit through her. “Let’s get going.”
“Sure thing.” He reached for his truck keys.
She followed him out to his powerful looking truck and engaged the seat warmers immediately. They drove in silence for almost an hour around the river and through a canyon with hard edges of snow up both sides. “How likely is an avalanche?” She decided to finally breach the peaceful quiet between them.
“We’re okay for at least one more snowstorm. Then all bets are off.” His sunglasses hid his expression as the sun finally blazed across the stark white world outside. “The EVE facility likes to stay remote, so they don’t do anything to clear the roads, and the town doesn’t have the resources.”
She settled her hands on her clean and dry jeans, having washed them earlier that morning. The shirt was Brock’s, and she’d tied the white button-up at her waist over her tank top, going for casual. It wasn’t her usual uniform to interview suspects, but at the moment, she didn’t have much choice. “If you’re not the sheriff, why are you escorting me?”
“I’m not the sheriff, and you keep getting shot at,” he rumbled, his hands more than capable on the wheel.
Looking at said hands, a flush wandered through her entire body. Yeah, he definitely knew how to use those hands. And his mouth. And the rest of his body. Never in her life had a man taken overherbody, and he’d done it effortlessly. Even now, hours later, she tingled. He’d marked her, in several places, leaving light nips or whisker burn. She wore him right now. The thought flipped her abdomen over. She cleared her throat. “Why don’t you just give in and be the sheriff?”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, but other than that, he didn’t react.
She tapped her bottom lip, thinking it through. “You like helping people, and you’re a bit of a control freak with danger.”He’d make the perfect sheriff. “The only reason you’re not interested is…” Her mind ran through all the facts. “Oh.”
He turned the truck out of the canyon onto a road next to a wide field covered in a massive antenna array field. Thousands upon thousands of them glinted in the weak sun. “I’m just not interested in the job.”
“Wrong.” Oh, he was definitely interested. She turned to study him even closer. “You can’t take the vow and do the job because you know who killed Hank.” It was the only thing that made sense. While she didn’t know him nearly as well as she wanted to, Brock Osprey was all about honor, duty, and badassery. And she’d slept with him last night—although they hadn’t slept much. He wouldn’t be able to ignore his duty, and there no was doubt his loyalty stayed with his brothers. “Who killed him, Brock?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know.” He glanced at either side of them and seemed to tense. “There’s too much man-made crap around here.”
“If you don’t know, who do you suspect?” Her blood flowed faster as she caught a scent in the case.
He shook his head. “I suspect a hunter.” The man made a decent liar, but he’d been inside her the night before. They’d bonded, whether he liked it or not.
“I can tell you’re lying,” she murmured. “The only reason you won’t take the job is because you’d be torn between your duty and your family.” Unless the murderer was somebody from town, but he didn’t seem close to anybody except his brothers. “Which of your brothers killed Hank, and why?” Then another thought caught her. If Brock had found the body, he might’ve helped cover for one of them. “Are you an accessory after the fact?”
He swung his gaze to her. “Of course not.” He tipped up his glasses, revealing those green eyes. “Give me a break.”
